Welcome to Ghost Town Read online

  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
r />   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.