6 Word Memoir- Welcome

Welcome to heaven, meet your abortion.

-anna sluder

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C(O2)

When were you going to tell me That I am becoming your carbon dioxide When simply in my presence, at the look at my face Your skin thins of color, until eventually you turn as blue as mold on bread As blue as waters an infant drowns in  And you stumble backwards choking on my existence  Suffocating on her lack of existence  When were you ever going to tell me  That I am your carbon dioxide The putrid taste you wring from your tongue  With a swish of water, with a gulp of her The forgotten halos of cold breaths wispy and wet  Drying and floating away into the icy sky  When were you ever going to choose a damn time to tell me  That I will always be your carbon dioxide  The disposable you will always use like razor blades  That are there for the moment to saw the growing filth off  And then soon in the trashcan as shunned as your dirt But baby I can cut too So when were you going to tell me you fo...
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The Only Future I See

I am afraid to make today my home, I am afraid to buy pillows in the comfort of this moment, so I try to imagine the future, I like to think that it is a road lined with flowers in the colors of my youth, but there are no flowers, I don’t even think that if there is a road, it is lined with commas. When I dare my mind to try to imagine the future, I only see myself, no bills, no house, no job, no person, no plan, just myself standing in a field of baby green ampersands, cutting my hair and then holding a small bird, and the bird doesn’t sing for me,  as I promised I would never ask it to, it just stays alive beside me. So most days we break apart plums with our fingers like stories, and we make each day, each plum our home, and we are perfect and we are whole in this interval of quiet, where the sun is the only one who gets to see. -anna sluder
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First's

Let us not forget the miles it took for us to get here; how long it took to stop getting cozy with chaos, to stop planting any seed we caught from the wind in the garden of our hearts. And let us not forget the first time you turned off the light and sat alone in the dark and you felt safe; because once you’ve survived it’s like having all your first’s again except no one is there to hold your hand, so let us not forget the first time you ate after it happened, I think it was a strawberry Pop-Tart, the first words that you said, even if they were as quiet as dove wings, they were words, the first time you wrote a sentence, even if you forgot the commas, then took a shower and brushed your hair. And let us not base these “first’s” on the fact that this is the first time you walked to your car and no one hurt you, but instead it is the first time you got behind the wheel and you drove, until the sky bled out like a beautiful gunshot wound, ...
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