Echoes of the Garage

To light another fag,

to let the swirls of this smoke flow,

flow through the streets of South Central.

Ground control — the place where many don’t walk through to see.

Today’s story?

It’s that of a young woman in her twenties — she could be any girl.

A woman full of anxiety, full of hate for her own face.

Why, oh why, is this my face?

Why is it so fucking ugly?

Why do I look like him?

Why do I look like my father?

Standing in that piercing white bathroom with the trifold mirror,

every angle covered.

“And she’s hooked to the silver screen.”

Oh, that silver screen.

She sits in the recliner past midnight,

the glow of the screen filling the room,

the darkness swallowing her whole.

Mornings filled with loved ones moving through the hallway,

throughout the house,

while she slumbers.

Oh, why doesn’t she seem motivated?

Why doesn’t she get up and do anything?

Questions, questions…

Graduated from university in the COVID year of 2020.

Some would say she’s done.

She’s cooked.

She’s a loser.

But sometimes, you just need one small victory —

one spark to flip the script.

Mmm, mmm, ba-da, boom-boom —

some good news.

One day she woke, tied her sneakers,

walked her dog, and finally said:

“I’m gonna go sign up at my local gym.

I want to be happy.”

To be happy — one day at a time.

I now put this fag out.

🥷 You don’t have to believe. You can ignore it. But if you knew… would you believe it happens?