Street Talk

He spoke to me, said
“Hi, beautiful.”
Chose to believe him
Stopped, smiled in response
Wondered where this could go.

He spoke to me, said
“Pants don’t belong on my woman.”
Wondered if anyone believed him
Stopped smiling, tried to respond
Wondered if this ever worked for him.

I spoke to him, said
“Luckily I’m not yours. Have a nice day.”
Turned away as he spluttered something
Straightened my shoulders, smiled
Walked, swaying my jean clad hips.

 

©Esther Moreira

Broken Inside

I see the broken, dead pigeon. His wings flap ineffectually in the breeze as he dangles from his broken foot trapped in the small space on the railing. I gaze at him and wonder if that’s what I’ve become. I have to be broken inside. No one has ever chosen to love me. I have always been alone, even when surrounded by friends and family. I feel stuck, trapped by invisible forces. By fear. By my narrow mind. So many speak of heartbreak but I can only give you hearsay examples. No one has broken my heart. No one has gotten close enough to know me. No one has taken a chance to see me. I laugh and joke and show off my pretty face, but I hide my heart behind flippant responses and sometimes cruel judgements. I am so afraid to let people in, even though fragments of me disappear in solitude.
©Esther Moreira

 

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August 14th prompt – Weeping Willow by @christy_aldridge

Single Lady

“You’re on the shelf.”

Said her downstairs neighbor, sixty year old Mrs. Sibales.

“Don’t you want kids?”

Asked her childless coworker Joe.

“Being alone when you’re old sucks.”

Said her widowed and childless aunt Angelica.

“Don’t you get lonely?”

Asked Lauren, her roommate’s girlfriend.

“You’re not getting any younger.”

Said Mr. Garcia, her father’s business partner.

“Don’t your parents want grandbabies?”

Asked Nita, her nail lady.

She tried to play it off, but at night she wondered,

Was she too ugly?

Too proud?

Too picky?

Was she too blunt?

Too coy?

Too sensitive?

But the stars only provided cold

illumination without answers.

©Esther Moreira
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August 9th prompt – Tell Me Where it Hurts by @j.r.rogue

Smile, beautiful. 

Let me express myself without judgement.

Anger, disappointment, hurt, sorrow

They’re a part of me not a stereotype.

I can’t always smile. I can’t always perform.

Let me be real and true, not some caricature. 

Awkward, destructive, hollow, sullen

They’re emotions everyone can feel.

I won’t always smile. I won’t ever perform.

©Esther Moreira
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August 8th Prompt – Mad Woman by @kat.savage

Is It Today?

I wake up alone every morning and wonder if today is the day.
Will I meet him while I wait for the train?
Will he see me in line at La Colombe?
Each moment could be the beginning of our story.
Will I *accidentally* stumble into him at Whole Foods?
Will he be next to me at happy hour?
Every day I don’t meet him, is one day closer to the day that I do.

 

©Esther Moreira

 

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Find Me in Heaven by @kris_johnston_author

Veiled Tribe

Late again, just like my birth 😉

 

The sky was awash with colors. Pinks, purples, deep oranges all seeping into indigo. A cold wind swept through the oak trees, rustling the leaves and bending the grass. A few feet away stood a woman. She looked out at the field in front of her and watched the land become darker as the sun slipped away. This was the time when her people walked and she could guide them on their journey. Steam curled up from her Sailor Moon travel mug, filled with cider and bourbon. As the stars became more visible, she took a deep breath, rolled her shoulders back and grounded herself. In the distance, the first of many rose.

 

©Esther Moreira

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The Rising
by @corvina.de.obsidiana @poetry_goddess88 @trvp3zoid @open_journal @fictionvixen11 @kris_johnston_author Devon West and Erica Harris