Answers
It's pretty long, props to NexxJordan for the idea:
Dear Mrs. G:
We’ve never been formally introduced, but I know you can’t help me
Although you seem to be the resident problem solver according to the other tenants
Sorry to bother, you must be busy, you’re apartment always seems empty
I know you can’t help me, but I just wanted to say that I don’t need your help
Neither does anyone else, please keep to yourself, but I guess that’s not up to you
Neither is your transcendent reputation, the thought process’ and fears of the other residents manifested and projected onto your body like some kind of parasitic growth
But I don’t understand how you can see through the floorboards and all of those mice trapped in the ceiling
Supernatural beings are not allowed to make mistakes, and that’s what they see you as.
They hold your hollow advice as if its body were full of blood red wine
But I noticed you keep the lights on in your apartment at night, are you afraid of the dark?
Afraid of the monsters waiting in your empty closets and in the spaces under your bed?
Faces turned upward, waiting with human hand halos,
Fingers stretched and curled into the sharp hooks at the end of question marks,
Biting and tearing their way out of that place where curiosity and fear coincide
It’s easy to imagine being scared when you’re all alone up in that empty apartment
I’m scared of the dark too
Though my question marks were always more like exclamation points that took a haymaker to the face and stayed that way
You sit high on your pedestal of sacrilege, asking us to ask you
But I ask you, If you trip than who falls? And we I trip do you fall?
Since when did you get your rocks off solving relationship problems?
Why does everyone always go to you? It’s not like you’re all that good at problem solving
You’re the only beneficiary of this association
But everyone downstairs seems to respect you, which is why I’m writing
Because when they darken your doorstep, fingers rapping on the door
Bent into the gnarled, hooked legs of the common man asking stained glass windows if they would let him check the weather, I just hear them muttering like a skitzo, and I listen for voices
I don’t know why I’m writing, but I know you can’t help me
They say you wrote a pretty popular self help book back in the day
After your son passed away, after the heaving sobs became the light in your window reflecting down onto the balcony where I used to watch the petty criminals from above
I read the obit, Mrs. G: “Bi-Racial 33 year old found dead in central park, victim of a hate crime”
Big capital letters in the paper
I remember that he had “one love” scrawled across his chest in gothic lettering
The bullet holes that drew a vertical line between “one” and “love” remind us he was human too
I don’t know what to feel about him, I don’t know what to feel about you
I wish you could help me, I know you can’t help me
Sometimes I feel like your crooked influence has wrapped its greedy, hooked, fingers around the other residents
Ever since I moved into the building, you’ve seeped through the phone lines and internet cables, pulling on them like a blind immobile puppet master
Curling your fingers over flimsy wooded strips nailed across each other
Clutching them as if the puppets would run away if only they knew you were there
But they do know, Mrs. G
I can’t fall asleep because of the constant whispering thuds of footfalls ascending, ringing like the hallelujah chorus
No disrespect intended, I just think people should solve their own problems
I wish you could help me, I want you to help me
I know you can’t help me
I looked in the mirror and couldn’t stop seeing myself
I can’t remember the last time I cried
My bird flew away, Mrs. G, I can’t remember his name, Mrs G
I’ve never been in love, Mrs G, I’m worried about worrying that I’ve never been in love
I want to be in love, I don’t want to grow up, Mrs, G
But I already no enough that you can’t help me
-One floor down
@Nexx - I wrote it as spoken word, so I guess its not as tedious that way, only 2-3 minutes, but I agree it needs trimming down.
No idea why I made her a woman, a whim?
sexy
Though my question marks were always more like exclamation points that took a haymaker to the face and stayed that way
pssssst .nexx posted a poem just now too
i like yours better
TSSH HHSSSHH!!!!!!
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