Contemplation with Cleanliness- S. of C.

-Originally hand scribbled in June 2015-

Warmth cascades over my body.
 The water dissipates but is sufficing. 

 I stare at the pastel blue tiles in front of me trying to find patterns. 

It's has been a habit of mine since I was a child.

 In the shower with only the dingy plastic curtain hiding my nakedness from the shared space. 

This is the extent of my privacy these days. 
It’s only a slight step up from that drop in center at Hunt's Point. 

Where I first went into hiding and began to write and read again. 

To be myself again. 

To get away from him. 

This new place is nothing posh but it would give you zip code envy. 

Don't worry N.Y.C and it's continued Disneyworld plans are working their abra cadabra. 

They have already pushed this place out, 

Even though it has been helping women in need since before the 1980's. 

The building is already sold, within a year it will be another shopping hot spot of NoHo beneath outrageous luxury condo's.

I am here now, this place that I sleep, where I read, where I am safe.

 A million spiritual and emotional miles from Maverick other poisons. 

Even though he may well be on that very same sidewalk only a block north. 
The Greatest of Great Jones, where we once slept together. 

We once held each other beneath our shroud, bodies locked and familiar. 

We created our own universe beneath those filthy zero degree bags. 

They might as well have been Tuscany’s finest linens.

 We might have been any normal couple, if only. 

There was nothing normal about any of it Mary Catherine...

The day’s of “if only” are over. 

I am weary with of thought and I am nearly finished in the shower. 

I begin to rinse the Tresemme conditioner from my hair when I hear them.

 The mad ones are here. 

Those amiable voices with piercing laughter. 

They infiltrate the sliver of peace and solitude I had managed to find.

My thoughts once again wander in an irrational direction. 

Are they mocking me because I never speak to any of them? 

Then that would mean they don't like me. 

Big Fucking Surprise. 

Who the fuck cares? I do, somewhat. 

After all is it not basic human instinct?

 One who is deemed unworthy of the space they occupy is purged. 

This is some kind of primal instinct. 

I believe that everyone concerns themselves with this sort of thing at one point or another.

Some more then others, still, only to an extent.

They are a goddamn lie if they say otherwise.

Never trust one who makes such a proclamation. 

That's what I say.

Besides it anyone doesn't like me, then they most likely fear me, out of misunderstanding I assume... As Machiavelli said! 

Something like...

"If you can not be both feared and loved it is better to be feared then to be loved." 

I agree, but I suppose that your motives for wanting to be feared must be considered.

(I can still hear these women squawking inane attempts at conversation.

 On the other side of the plastic, at the sink, in front of the mirrors. 

I try my best to not pay attention despite the unnecessary volume they speak in.) 

"The Prince".

 I know, contentedly, that not everyone is fit, nor is expected, to rule. 

This, at least is indisputable.

I turn off the water, open the curtain to grab my towel and the thought provoker's have vacated. 

However paltry our sovereign may seem, we are only the size of our mind anyway.

Mary Catherine, Cowardice Queen