My backpack makes the perfect companion while out to the theater; it is beautiful, quiet, and secure.
She motioned towards the shower curtain as if to bite it, as if it were flesh of a lover, as she pleasured herself. Teeth exposed, mouth open; lips spread wide. Her fingers outstretched below navigating her smooth skin, perfectly precise; experienced in the release. This was how she began her day.
Not your typical lady of the night; not the type one would expect. Out of trouble, but out of sanity. Who said typical was good?
A product of her environment, but loved, and she loved that. She sensed it, but she needed more, or less. She thought of moving forward, but the move would entail leaving everything behind, she could not leave her family, she could not move forward and come to grips with progressing while her family was left behind. The streets lights, cars, and cold were always there. The town had only become smaller with age.
She loved her companion, but she loved being alone.
She thought to herself, because she had been misguided in the past, not to let anyone change her mind set. She thought that no one would allow such a thing to happen to themselves, no change here, her bad English reflected this as she spoke to herself in the mirror, her inner-eclectic dialectic.
She spoke to herself of change, of betterment, as motivated, almost to the first step, but she was satisfied with everything around her. No luxury could afford her more control. She was profoundly smart, with wisdom of society, entitled, and authoritative. She had control, or something of the nature, no one owned her, or owed her anything.
Her breasts smelled of seduction, she knew this so she neglected to purchase expensive name-brands, no perfume needed. She could steal it with the distraction of figure. Her body, perfect, by standards of any American male, bruises here and there from those very same men, or children.
Aggressively passionate moments, an aggressive release of her thoughts, the stressors; her scars reminded her of the love she had. Ashamed of how it had come to this, not understanding what stepping over a single line for the better would do, more or less.
She put her hands up, finished she thought, and looked into the showerhead, no expression or sentiment was offered.
Her figure was sturdy, she was naturally healthy, thick and fertile; naturally her self-hatred guided her slightly, but there was no overwhelming evidence, visibly-yet, she was sought after. Her life was under wraps; she was grooming herself and getting clean at the same time, just before she stuck her foot out of the shower curtain and onto the rug. She felt for balance and pulled herself out and stood straight up on the bathroom rug. The mirror was clouded with steam. She waited ever patient for the fan in the bathroom to suck up the humidity. She wanted to look at herself and see who she really was, but patients guided her out into the hall and into her large and empty room. Her day had begun, she was satisfied, she smiled into the mirror as she moved the towel over her body dabbing at the wetness.
She threw wet towel in the corner and watched as the neighbor boy tried to catch a glimpse of her figure through the blinds…
She drank her sparkling water, and stood naked, perplexed in thought.