The Enemy

Whenever he comes around I get shivers.
My skin gets goosebumps
and my lip trembles.
I can feel my stomach churn, bile climbing up my throat;
while my bowels release their contents.

Although I want to run away, my body is frozen in place.
My muscles, now weaker than a baby refuse to budge me.
Here I stand, unable to fight or flee, wishing to be away from here.

The minutes flow by as hours as I try to keep him away from me.
Slowly I get control of myself, my breathing starts to slow down,
and my muscles end their rebellion and I can start to move again.

Now I can see that I have nothing to fear,
the enemy has no power over me that I don't allow him.
So I turn and face him, eye to eye, and laugh at him.

Finally I have conquered the enemy and he turns away from me.
As he leaves he turns one more time to face me,
only to find me smiling at him as I wave.
With a frown he turns and walks out of my life.

25/09/2003

I hate Sundays

I hate Sundays, I know most people hate Mondays, but me it's Sundays. That's the day you are supposed to stay home with your family. Spending time with your loved ones. I don't have any loved ones. I don't have a family. I am alone in this world, I hate Sundays.

Sunday you hang out with your friends. Friends, once I had some. One by one they left me. Some to be closer to their loved ones, others just to get away. There are those who just don't want to be around me. I hate Sundays.

Sunday is the day you take care of or home. You mow the lawn; tidy up the family room; vacuum the carpets. I have no home. I live in a one-room apartment. I hate Sundays.

Sunday is the day you attend church, praise god, and celebrate your faith. I have no faith; god abandoned me years ago, leaving me all alone in this world. I hate god; I hate Sundays.

Sunday you take a walk in the park with your lover; sit in the grass; lean against a tree watching the children play. Dream about the future you two will share. Once, many years ago I did that--for many years with the love of my life-- till one Sunday morning a drunk driver returning home from a party ran into her, crushing the life and out future out of her. I hate Sundays.
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Marc Lombart 2002