cigare

c i g a r e

In life we grow to be afraid. Afraid of our surroundings
physically and mentally.

I’m afraid of love.

When I was born I was given away to an adoption
facility. My mom didn’t want me. She didn’t want her life
to be “ruined” because of me,oh and my dad… he killed himself.

When I was three, I was taken into a foster home. Where I was
abused up until then.

At the age of eleven, I ran away with others from the foster home.
we became homeless and didn’t know where to go.

We slept in homeless communities with
other kids my age and older. I was raped the first night.

At thirteen I was a BP (baby prostitute) I lived in an apartment with others, taking
shifts at night. At first I almost killed my self, but I didn’t and I don’t know why.

I could feel the beaming tower in my face.
It’s late noon. Cigarette in my hand, inhaling
twilight’s humidity. I’d spread out my dirty money
onto the street behind a trash bin and lit it up.
all of $2500. I was going to get busted later. But it really
wasn’t much to start with. I have enough to send
a kid to the U.S to have his own life and go to college.

The day was dimming the skies turned
amethyst and the stars twinkled at a mere sight.
I drop my cig and stand up, my butt was already asleep.
I kill my cigar with my stilettos. And put my hands inside
my jacket. It was Autumn, and it was breezy, but it felt
good. Paris weather always feels comfortable, like room
temperature water.

My heels echoed in the alley and vermin scurried out.
Like little dust particles. Onto the streets people walked,
store lights ablaze ,the tower beamed its beauty ,cafés packed
Bouncers stood outside the waiting lines of trendy people.
One of the bouncers winks at me.
“Bonjour, Aleksandria.” I smile back at him and
he opens the metal door for me.

The music drums through my ears.
throbbing inside my head. The laser
lights and mobs and mobs of people
dancing. Strippers, drunks, and creeps.

I head towards the bar. And sit on one of the comfy stools.
“You’re not old enough to be here, or by that matter
twenty-meters from the club perimeter.” I could hear
The grin on that voice.
“I don’t exactly do legal things Bryer.” I look up at him
“Hmm touché. What do you want?” he looked at me.
“A Strawberry Daiquiri, a Caipirihna and one Martini
and some Blow Job shooters.”I smile real big up at him.
“Must have been a hard days work.” he laughed and went to
get my drinks. I always thought it was ridiculous how they
have names for bartenders, like mixologist. Like really? I mean can’t
they just keep it simple. They mix things but that just sounds snobby.
next to me was a man who clearly needed to get off the bar. Some strangers
making out, others grinding on each other, basically humping. Eww.
Bryer brings me my daiquiri I finish that in two minutes ending with a horrible
brain freeze but it felt good to feel something. Bryer comes back with my Caipirihna and
Martini. Those were just gulps.
“Ahhh!”
“Love, take it easy.” eyes bulging. bringing my shooters.
“Take one with me Bryer baby!” we both shot it down.
Bryer brought me a couple more, and couple more after that
and after those, I didn’t really remember much…or what happened…