I find refuge in a hidden alleyway, an alcove whose brick is damp, but warm as I slide down it to cradle my knees. When will it get better? My eyes squeeze shut like it might help somehow. 
Tap. 
Tap. 
It's such a light sound. Snow bouncing off my down jacket. I close my eyes again. 
Tap. 
Tap. 
...Tap. 

This time the soft drumming marks one of my shoulders, with more strength. It's a human finger. 
"Hey," the voice calls. How didn't I hear them approach? So focused on the snow, I guess. "You alright?"
"Yes, thanks." 
The stranger curls his lips into a smirk, one that doesn't believe me. To my surprise, he pushes his back to the wall and slides down, just like I did. The snow paints brightness in his dark strands while the sky draws his almond eyes upward. It's like they're in a convo I wasn't invited to.
Swish swish swish. Swish swish swish. He rubs his gloves together and exhales a big puff of steam. "Nothing beats sitting in an alleyway at 11pm on a Tuesday night, huh?"
"I didn't tell you to join me."
A short burst of steam. A laugh. 

- m.j.m

and I guess you'll never be mine
you'll belong to all the other eyes
that you meet on the street
while you're holding my hand.


- m.j.m

you, the dream,
the dream I dream.
was it ever reality?

december haze
oh, I held you again in a dream,
and the world sighed
because, for once, 
comfort breathed
where snarling lived.
grayscale
painted with color. 

you are the dream,
the dream I dream.
and i danced with 
a devil, and it
tarnished our world. 

- m.j.m

21st-century woman;
oh, aren't you filled with rage?
your men are dominated by lust,
fantasies filling every page. 

but we laugh at the quandary,
of 'new ideas,' because 
women have raged, competed
since we were marked with an XX. 
Men, always marked by the triple. 

We've seen blurred lines,
in spots where
we're objectified.

How do we rebel? How do we
fix the sickness that infects, 
with its grip on a 60% divorce rate,
churning attention, green profits
for those that don't give a damn
whether you're talking to a lawyer about
who gets the house, or a therapist
about why you just want to matter,
why you just want your husband to 
stop staring at the girl in the crop top
while he's holding your hand
and claiming to love you. 

the sickness of this world,
i don't belong to it, i never have. 
i've craved a love that maintains its lust within its own walls,
that finds the depths of attractiveness in what's been traversed together:
every hand of consolation, every touch since its inception, every joy of experience, every hard path contacted by shared boots.  

- m.j.m

morning frost,
ice-tipped pines,

the stirring begins,
realigns. 

meaning found in
sun-filled blinds,
lightened waterfall,

well-kept time.

pour in,

overflow,

one entity,

undertow.

- m.j.m

"so terribly sad."

both hands wrap around a tea cup.

"all this love with nowhere to go."

she shakes her head and sips slow. 

- m.j.m

hello seattle

seattle coffee shop:

matcha. feta/cheese, ham/cheese empanada. petting 

dogs.

working class talking

about their conversations

with ChatGPT.

initial impression:
New York energy 

but sedated, calm. 

glimpses of Pittsburgh, buildings like Toronto. 
Green overpasses. Flowers everywhere. Green like matcha. 

I like it here.

- m.j.m

A birth certificate and college diploma peek out the corners of a box. Red marker is scribbled across the cardboard, reading "error report." 

Thin paper crinkles as it rolls, sealed by his tongue. 

Flick. Flick. Light. Puffs of smoke fill the air, catching window sunbeams as they float. 

"Why are you here?" he asks. 

A million thoughts cycle through in a matter of seconds. One stands out, but I don't know if it's entirely truthful. 

"Because I believe in you."  

- m.j.m

 "That’s not love. That’s starvation with sprinkles."

he looked at me
like the world began and ended in my eyes

- m.j.m

the call

The call shakes the rafters
traverses rooftops and shingles
with a thousand tiny bells. 

Oh, the lively cells within
a web of veined walls. 
Where are you sending me? 

I hear whispered songs
from ancient hymns -
reminders of the cracked origin,
that seeks to call me home. 

- m.j.m

you're going to get through this

 "No one told me it'd be this hard."
"And if they did?"
"I don't know, maybe I could've mentally prepared myself, even just a little. Instead, I feel like that...that green Styrofoam for fake plant vases that just crumbles apart the minute you pinch it."
She pinches me.
"Look, you're not falling apart."
I don't laugh. Instead, I sigh, roll my eyes. 
"I'm not going to say sorry," she says. 
She cranes, peeking up at me like she's searching for something. Her tone changes, serious.
"You're one of the strongest people I know. You're going to get through this. You always do." 
"A part of me feels broken this time," I respond.
"Most things that are broken can be fixed." 
"I hope you're right."
"When have I ever been wrong?" she tilts her head, smirks. 
"Plenty of times." I manage to chuckle. It's almost spiteful. My fingers find a loose splinter in the table and I pull at it until it breaks off.
"Thanks," I say. 
"For what?" 

- m.j.m

"Put yourself first, my dear." 

- m.j.m

Alone with demons.
You would've been
in the other room. 

But no, now I have
a loving gaze, a soft touch. 
"It's okay, I'm right here,
everything is okay.

I won't hurt you.
Your pain is my pain.
You are my priority.
I'll do anything for you."

- m.j.m

"Maybe this isn't love."
"What do you mean?" 
"Look around you. Look at us, at this." 

- m.j.m

EXT. FRONT PORCH - SUNSET

A MAN looks out at a sinking orange sky. The man blinks, slow, releases his breath. A YOUNG MAN walks up, hands full of snow equipment. 

MAN

How was it?

YOUNG MAN

Good. We have to get you out sometime.

The man shakes his head, pulls a cigarette from behind his ear.

MAN
Too old. 

YOUNG MAN
Yeah but I'm sure - 

Man shoots a sharp glare. Shakes his head again. A long drag. 

MAN (exhales)
Too old. 

BEAT

The young man rubs his chin, eyes scanning his surroundings.

 

MAN 

That used to be a real mountain. 

YOUNG MAN (softly)
It's a real mountain now, dad.

MAN
No. A real mountain has snow. A real mountain doesn't have a goddamn dome over it. 

The young man shifts his weight, hesitates. 

YOUNG MAN
You take your medicine?