Untitled, Tatiana Castellanos

The alarm clock cannot defend itself.
It screams and cries and beams with pride.
All the while I kick and moan and yell so quick and loud but I feel so alone.

I cover my eyes with my soft old blanket.
It’s filled with lies from a once very young soul who was told she was better off keeping to herself.

Finally after the third shriek, I furiously grab my helpless alarm clock and smack it against the drawer repeatedly.
But I know it’s not the alarm clock that I resent, it’s the sound it beats.
The sound of pain. The sound only I know from previous screams and fights and flowing bloodstreams that come from a light so bright.

The sound imitates my fear.
It imitates pain.
A place where I can catch all of that somewhere near here. We’re not safe, thought it’s been a good year, we can always shift a gear and clear the past for only we know that this pain comes and all we can do is shed a tear. Dear child its only a matter of time until we can be able to once again cheer. And for a mere second steer life into the direction we want but that only happens when you drink one too many beers.

We never get what we want.
And we take it out on that poor alarm clock that is only trying to follow its orders that came directly from us.