Sincerely, Jennifer x

As I fell asleep,
I awoke in Hell’s arms,
pleasantly surprised by my surroundings.
The world was awash with white bulbs that flashed,
lighting up the sky like I was a movie star.
It was December,
and Daddy’s little Princess had platinum cards,
painted nails and a Prada bag with her name on it.

My demons were not wealthy,
but I was dreaming,
spoiled by my subconscious,
ready to write a new right for every wrong that had wounded me.

I was dreadful.
Spending,
seething,
dreaming of something that couldn’t be purchased,
and couldn’t be permitted,
for even in my dreams,
the man who made me was a tyrant.

Try as I might,
I could not escape his anger,
even when my eyes were closed and my mind was my own.
I ran away,
but he was always on my mind,
even as I built us a little home,
hoarding my hopes upon a hill and holding out for a miracle.

We fell in love again,
never to be parted.
It was Christmas time,
and not a thing could go wrong.

It was not enough.
I was dramatic,
dying to be adored,
daring to be admired,
I was your wayward wee girl,
unsatisfied with the joy that waited beneath my shimmering tree,
stomping my ballet flats and breaking your heart by being such a brat.

I’m just trying to survive.
Can’t he see that?
This is all I have.
These dreams,
so fantastical but so fragile,
slipping through my sobbing hands.
Can’t he leave me to my lovely lover in our field of lilac?
He lurks by the window,
shrivelled, decaying head shaking as his echoed tuts torment me.

Not even Heaven can be helped when Hell has her in his grasp.

We fought,
fraught with the terror of what he had taught me,
tortured by the tuts,
endless, like the ticking of a clock,
running you off,
until I was all alone,
no longer watched over by the disapproving patriarch,
no longer tolerated by the tired lover.
I was just a sleeping girl,
submerged in solitude and left to drown.

I tried to drown,
but the whole thing felt tired and reductive.
I had to be above it.
I always had been.
Too sad to live,
but too self absorbed to die,
so I just cried.

Oh, how I cried,
filling the room with my flimsy feelings,
swimming in my misery while Bing Crosby played softly,
and as my teardrops fell like the promised snow,
I remembered the last words my demon spoke,
when my eyes were closed,
and my pen pushed him to speak, like a vaudeville ventriloquist to its favourite puppet.

It will all be over by Christmas.