living.

squeek
her voice squeeks
it's like a dagger
but it doesnt hurt
it's too quick
she's incredibly quick
with her words

i never thought about
it.

about poems
and music
and how they are the same

squeek
the oil
the oil is necessary

squeek
with a sharp wit
bit by bit

i never thought about it
i never knew it was there.
squeek.

i should have.
because one day
it hit me. it hit me like a dagger.
sharp.
squeek.

mouse.
in a house
it shouldn't be a surprise.
but it is.

squeek.

done

--> There’s a place I’ve been where the walls are wearing skin

Where no one lives inside, it’s just an empty hollow hide

The snow falls briskly, leaving you thin, so prickly

Where short, short skirts tend to silken shirts

and we are all so low.

There’s a place I’ve been where you would only hear that pin

Where no one says hello, how dare you consider your friend your fellow

The sky turns purple, orange, red, you might as well rip yourself to shreds

Where wavy hair meets a woman’s stare

and she whispers hello, goodbye.

There’s a place I’ve been where all you want is out

Where children fear

and I tear

Where there is no air

and I tear

Rip it. Deface it. Call it Nothing.

There is a place I have been.

a love letter to snacks

Dearest Snacks,

You know who you are, and this is why I admire you so. It's not your sweet melt-in-mouth goodness, or the crunch that's come (oh!) unexpectedly — it's that's mellow feeling you hollow out inside me that magnetizes me to you without a fight.

But, Snacks, it's clear to me that perhaps our love affair is lopsided. Perhaps I need you more than you need me. Perhaps you can just as easily find another unassuming girl who could get swept up in all you have to offer — and maybe she'd have no guilt in indulging you. I think you actually said this to me once, that I liked you more than you liked me, and then you swiftly exited through the backdoor. I found it rude at the time, and I honestly can say that I don't know why I'm even bringing that up to you now.

I apologize. This is a love letter for Christ's sake. I was going to say for Hershey's sake or Crunch's sake, but I decided to go for sincerity and got the Lord involved. Even just then I would have substituted Lord for Truffle or something insanely perfect, akin to Christ. Or a something like a Whatchamacallit.

This, my darling Snacks, is a love letter. And I love you, Snacks. I love you so much.

Dammit. I feel like a fool for how long I've loved you, stood beside you as you taunted the chubby kids with your soft exterior, and smooth as butter (and sometimes butter) center. Loved you as you made me feel bad about myself. Loved you even when you stood on the top shelf, just out of my reach, but not my sight. You're cruel, but I love you anyway.

I do, Snacks. Please, please — I beg you. Don't leave me ever. The sun couldn't set without the moon there to step in, just as I couldn't live without you. Don't ever say I can't have you. Don't try to make me enjoy you in moderation. I will have all of you or none of you. Anything else would be too painful. You agree, don't you, Snacks?

All or nothing when it comes to you, Snacks. I won't have it any other way.

You understand, don't you? I'm sorry it has to be this way. I love you too much, and maybe, just maybe, that's my problem. But, I won't talk to anyone about it, Snacks. I can only console this imminent grief with more of you. Treat my disease with that which will make me worse.

Let me know how you feel after reading these prose, and if you feel the same as I, either leave me alone forever, or meet me at the Jewel. Aisle 5. You know where to find me.

Love forever, or never,

Brigid E Marshall

settled

Two nights ago I couldn't sleep. After returning late from an improv show at iO I was stuck thinking and rethinking about everything that had happened before, during, and after the show. Since I'm moving to Los Angeles in about a month all I've done lately is reflect on my years in Chicago. I had a few things to do on my checklist before I could leave here. I've done them all, and now I'm more than ready. But it's been all the things and people between those bullet points that have made Chicago everything. I landed here by default, but I chose to stay for as long as I have because I loved it.

All night Monday I was up going through drawers in my bedroom, clearing out what I assumed would be junk, but what I found instead was treasure. I found countless notes, cards and keepsakes from nights out. These were things I knew I would want to look at again before I boxed them in an old shoebox. I know myself well enough to know that these are the things I'll want to look back at when feeling low, maybe in LA, maybe wherever I go after that.

One of my favorite little things I found was a piece of white computer paper that I had written some thoughts on one night while at my parents house. There were existential questions like, "Why are we here?" and hopefully non-predictive statements such as, "Eventually, I will be broke," accompanied by an arrow pointing to the name: Peter Francis Geracy, Illinois' premier bankruptcy attorney. I can't decide if I meant PFG will say this or if he's whom I should call about going broke in the future. Both seem like viable options. But, what I liked most about this note I'd unintentionally written to myself was this poem:

They never loved you
I never loved you
I loved you, but I didn't
I did as much as I could

-and I was timid.
I was nervous. and I acted like we were new. and then it was old.
we were old. and we weren't supposed to be together
-and now I'm scared that I'll be alone and you were it.
and now I'm alone, but I never settled
Is that better?

-I wasted your time.
-I wasted your time.

It was followed with this:

If I were me right now I'd run. I'd be fine, until right before. My heart would race like crazy and I'd convince myself it wasn't nerves -- until I'd realize that would mean I'd have a heart condition. I have it all prepared. I have it played out in my mind. Why does my body convince itself it's not ready. Not prepared. No one else up here is really all that special. Every day I think -- I could do that. But here I am failing at the one thing I want. It'd be sort of funny to want to be a banker. And every time you count money you can't count because money made you so nervous. Living in general would be difficult. Money is such a big part of life. It really is.

There's this constant push to be moving forward, and I love that push. I love that drive, that fire, to pursue life fully despite nerves, despite fear, despite obstacles. It's a funny thing to never feel settled, and perhaps it's less in the destination, but more in the people where you're settled. Once you find your people, that's where the comfort is. So for me, I'm settled in Chicago. I'm settled in Iowa. I'm settled in the U.P. I'm settled in Lake Forest. I'm settled in San Francisco. I'm settled in Los Angeles. I'm settled all over because everyone I love is out there pursuing their lives, as I am.

So no, I did not waste anyone's time and no one wasted mine.