welcome to ghost town
copyright © 2018 by gretchen gomez
All rights reserved.
Cover: Munise Sertel and Cyrus Parker
Font Credit on Cover: 1942 Report by Johan Holmdah
First Edition
ISBN-10: 1717348505
ISBN-13: 978-1717348500
also by gretchen gomez
love, and you
dedication
to the survivors
who’ve been plagued
with ghostly visitations,
may you rest and
be empowered by
your strength.
trigger warning
this book contains
sensitive topics
pertaining to:
domestic violence
emotional abuse
intimate partner abuse
physical abuse
rape
death
sexual assault
religion
anxiety
suicide
fire
gun violence
mental illness
drug abuse
homophobia
self-harm
child abuse
stalking
abandonment
blood
blackmail
nudity
aggression
other topics as well. please remember
to practice self-care during or after this book.
table of contents
authors note
introduction pt. i
introduction pt. ii
ghost 1: the shadow girl
ghost 2: mr. motel hotel
ghost 3: the big bad wolf
ghost 4: the girl of masks
ghost 5: the not-turned charming beast
ghost 6: the firefighter
ghost 7: oh father, you have sinned
ghost 8: a chaotic mess
ghost 9: 1-800-273-8255
ghost 10: jezebel the witch
ghost 11: paper thin home
ghost 12: she laughs like god
ghost 13: the creep
ghost 14: till death do us part
ghost 15: children of abandonment
ghost 16: the prisoner
ghost 17: the congregation says amen
ghost 18: the storm sisters
ghost 19: #metoo
ghost 20: the thief of peace
ghost 21: the blackmailer
ghost 22: the slippery snake
ghost 23: the fire flamed boy
ghost 24: la dama de noche
ghost 25: the sunflower that bloomed in darkness
acknowledgements
about the author
authors note
this collection first started as a poetry series on my blog in august of 2016 titled people i once knew. the first poem in ghost 1-17 are from that poetry series. this series started from a place of people who kept revisiting my mind like a ghost. i remember getting this idea of simply writing about these specific people and a few days later, i clicked post. you should know that this book is not in chronological order and there are mentions of my insanity.
i broke a promise of an early release to the blogger community, i apologize for breaking that promise. life has a way of making things happen. it’s here though. welcome to a glimpse of the ghosts who’ve haunted my life.
spoiler alert: there is no healing and hope in the pages to come.
in this story
all
the
men
are
trash
- introduction pt. i
this is not the
poetry book
where you will
c o n n e c t .
resonating does
not live in the
spaces of these
p a g e s .
- introduction pt. ii
demons followed her around.
or so it was assumed by the
way her eyes danced when
she spoke to you.
demons followed her around
and they would leave her alone
every time she went to the bathroom.
seeing her the other day yet she didn’t
look back. wondering if she still smells
like cigarettes and a straightening iron.
wondering if she still believes in psychology,
numerology, and the non-existing.
“everything connects”
“i got goosebumps”
“oh, what’s their sign?”
“that makes so much sense now”
everything was a connection through energy
and she thought people came into one another’s
lives for some deep existential reason. when she
spoke to you, she wouldn’t look at you.
she was sad. she was paranoid. she was fascinated
with criminals and their way of being.
she was obsessed with beings and theories.
she was a switch. when you asked her about her
own life, it’s as if the shadows consumed her.
and with each bathroom break,
the shadows lessened.
the
shadows
were
always
taller
than
you
when
you
walked
- they were conspiring against you
your anxiety attached
itself to me, clinging
like a child without
c o n s o l a t i o n
- shadows lurking in the deep
daddy issues while trying to
make sense of every word
that seeps through lips.
turning off our emotions,
yet still feeling everything.
looking through the cracks
of every human being to
better understand a deepness
that lingers. a shift in energy
due to someone’s vibes.
our horoscopes say we make
great friends due to our
c o m m o n a l i t y .
and now you’re nothing more
than a ghost who haunts me
in the women i see.
t.w. : mental abuse and emotional abuse
he was the devil disguised in charm,
pretty words, sweet lips, and soft fingers.
i thought he was a god with the
way he controlled my every move.
and i thought he would love me
if i became his puppet.
beings like him don’t know what the fuck love is.
i tried so hard to understand him.
who traumatized you?
am i paying for her mistakes?
did your parents not love you enough?
were you raped?
but you can’t make up excuses for an asshole.
he never noticed how much i tried.
i tried to be pretty and i fought my
depression to make him happy.
he was too busy fucking someone else.
i smelled her on his sweet sour lips
after she would leave
and then i would go over
and after i left the other girl was waiting outside
and after she left
the other girl came back the next day
then it was my turn
then it was her turn
then it was the other girls turn
and mine, and hers, and she, and them,
and me, and her, and me, and she, and them
and me
and me
and he fucked me crazy
not the sexual kind
and i still let him drive me crazy, crazy, crazy
because he told me i was the best.
he was the master at mind games
till one day i mastered him.
we didn’t fuck that day.
he kicked me out of the house that day.
he slammed the door on my face that day.
but i was scared
for myself, my weakness, my health.
i got tested and came out clean.
he sleeps in dirty motel rooms now.
he must be living the life right now.
count yourself
as an
executive producer
in the making
of the monster
you made out of me
- my first heartbreak
i play this game in
my head of who’s
the worst one of
them all.
you,
and him,
and her,
and him,
and you
sometimes win.
i, the rag doll, in your
collection of toys.
you played me, got
bored of me, discarded
me, came back to me,
taunting me, promised me,
kissed me, deceived me.
- stacking us one on top of the other
when men call me preciosa,
i cringe deep into my shivering
bones and bite my teeth till
they almost crack. your name,
your fucking name is still
attached to that word.
preciosa stings like a bee but
there’s no honey, only aching.
you whisk me away at night
and visit me in my dreams.
there are times that you say
sorry and there are other times
that you say you love me.
these are the words i never
heard in our reality.
then there are the nightmares
where you look to find
which room is yours,
the room you bought
for the night. except, you’ve
been doing this for years.
you bang and bang and
bang till you find me.
i yank the door handles and
make sure that you cannot
come in where you are
not welcomed.
- for every door you slammed on my face
to the boy with pretty charm and lies in his tongue;
if anyone was to ever ask me if i miss you, i’d say
that you take up a space that i do not want you
to have. i’d ask what is two lungs if the other is
not there? i’d say that i cannot flourish till you
water my roots.
but you told them my name and whispered horrors
while you did the same when you laid with me.
you made me look like a psychopath while you
lied to me. it was easy for you with my depression
that you mocked. you pinned me against other
girls who just like me, fell for your enchanting trap.
and worst of all? somehow i still love you.
she had fallen for the big bad wolf.
after all the time she spent in the woods,
the big bad wolf had caught her heart.
and with that heart, he took her mind.
and with that mind, he took control.
he was the big bad wolf after all.
while he was covered in wolves clothing,
she wore the pieces only he wanted to see.
covered up in parts of herself that she didn’t recognize.
hypnotized under the spell of this creature.
she was his trophy. showing her off like an object.
using his big bad pride. silenced by his looks, only
speaking when spoken too, clothed in his weak
promises of doing and being better.
the big bad wolf; a liar in disguise.
“next month, i promise”
“next week, i promise”
“i’ll never do that again, i promise”
“i’ll give you better than this, i promise”
but the big bad wolf had other plans,
he wanted to make her small.
make her a dollhouse and keep her there
where she wouldn’t go out and do other
things but be with him. wait for him when
he went out. deal with his addictions.
and small and all she wouldn’t be.
he had created a fire inside her.
one night, she had a dream.
where the big bad wolf proposed
for marriage in the darkness
without getting on one knee
and when he showed her the ring,
it didn’t have a diamond.
that morning she woke up distraught
and in search of meanings:
unchangeable
hardheaded
prideful
darkness
coldhearted
she planned her escape
from the big bad wolf.
he was comforted by the
thought of her staying
in the dollhouse forever.
he couldn’t put out the fire inside her.
she burned down the pieces
only he wanted to see.
she burned down the parts
of herself that weren’t a part of her.
she burned the dollhouse and
all the things inside of it.
she burned him to the ground
and poisoned his pride.
“i was going to fucking propose to you”
the big bad wolf said to her while the
dollhouse that was in the woods burned down.
ashes! ashes! you will fall down!
you
woke
up
the
dormant
monster
that was
hiding
under her
red cape
mourning you was bittersweet
it
was
the
sadness
and
the
in-between
breaths
of
happiness
of
starting
over
again
and
letting
your
toxicity
go
you blamed me for the wreckage.
you cursed me to the ground while
you stitched your doll and
remodeled the dollhouse with
old remains. your blood type is
toxic+ and the cycle keeps going.
oh big bad wolf,
there is so much irony in how you,
despiser of puerto ricans, took your
new girl to my island on your first
vacation together. tell me, did you
think of me while you swam in her
ocean and laid on my beach? does
she know that when you opened the
oyster for her ring of pearls, that you
had hidden the same ring which was
meant for me?
i gained the trophy not
by being his but by
winning myself over,
saving myself in the end.
- this narrative never gets old
liar liar,
your house is now on fire.
and the girl under the red
cape now sits on your her
throne in the underworld
with wolves laid at her feet.
- the dead a
nd i now raise hell
when attending a masquerade ball,
do remember people are doing just that,
hiding behind a mask.
we had attended a masquerade ball
for years on end. me and her.
till one day she grew tired of attending the ball.
and on that day she took off her mask.
she showed herself, in hues of ugliness
and projection of insecurities.
in which she tells me exactly how
she feels about me and my life
but she hides very deep within
the mask and says to me
“i’m just being honest”
“you need to get over it”
“get mad all you want”
“you shouldn’t write about that”
during the masquerade ball she
tells me how much she supports me.
during the masquerade ball, in a sea
of people and all the pretty dresses,
she tells me how proud she is of me.
the definition of trust: i don’t
the definition of her: i did
once she leaves the masquerade ball
and i chase her for days on end,
i could no longer run
and i sat and wondered…
how did we get here?
where you become cold
and i become distant?
where you hurt my feelings
and i take off my own mask
showing hues of hurt and pain.
remember during the masquerade ball
when we laughed so hard to tears?
and now that we have left the ball,
i’m remembering our friendship
and i’m left to tears because it’s over.
we laughed over spilled drinks
about books with repetitive
clichés. we the girls with stories
on our pens. we the lovers of
romances. we the dreamers.
- we, the friends
we went shopping
for the masquerade
ball one day.
while i tried on masks,
you bought ones
behind my back.
the mask of dishonesty.
the mask of distrust.
the mask of deceit.
you had woven them all together.
Welcome to Ghost Town Page 1