Day 33

My Corner

I've been sitting here all day, or so it seems. I have so much work to do but am totally consumed with one class, my creative writing class. For years I've been showing friends and family little tid bits of my work and I always get the same response. "Oh yeah, that good." But they are friends and family and I kind of doubt whether they are telling me the truth. So, when I found out that my poem from last week was posted up for critic I got really nervous but excited at the same time. This was a chance to get some real feed back. Unfortunately I didn't like the assignments from last week. They were really creepy and totally out of my element. I was supposed to write a rant to God for one poem (I'm not mad at God), and for the other I was supposed to write from the perspective of someone who scares me (Creepy). Both of them seemed kind of draining to me. I finally did them last minute because I kept putting them off. So this is the poem that my professor chose for my classmates to critic. So far everyone loves it, which satisfies my ego just fine. It's kind of embarrassing to show because it makes me look psycho, but this isn't me it's someone that would scare the crap out of me. I kind of channeled "Kiss the Girls" on this one. Here it is...

"Midnight Comfort"
By Nina Chapman

It’s at night when I feel the most comfort.
I walk down the street once its dark.
I like to smell her laundry as I sneak past her back door.
The warmth that illuminates through her window invites me to go inside.
Sometimes I do,
Only when the lights are out.
It took me awhile to gather the courage but she wants me there.
She waits for me.
She can feel me in her dreams.
I can tell by the way she breathes in her sleep.
I like to slide my fingers over her hair as it drapes across her pillow.
I’ll lean over her and smell the nape of her neck.
I love her smell.
It’s different each time.
Soap, when she’s happy with me.
Sweat, when she wants me.
Smoke, when she’s mad at me.
I know she’s dreaming about me just like I dream about her.
I know everything about her.
I know how often she shaves her legs.
When she’s on her cycle.
How often she has sex.
I know all of this from what remains in her trash.
I sift through the tampons, razors and used condoms
Searching for a sign that she loves me back.

When the sun rises my comfort subsides.
Ten past eight.
Everyday.
I stroll past her driveway as she enters her car.
I wave.
She smiles and waves back.
Thanking me for my company.