Anita Halfpenny
Lives silently in her uncertain world.
She acknowledges each bliss with a
“hello.”
and dismisses them, shortly thereafter, with a
“have a good day.”

She tends to ignore most missing pieces.
She is no longer the depressed, overly social, 18 y/o she once was.

In her world, 2 + 2 doesn’t = 4
In her world, 2 + 2 = 7

She tells herself whatever she can to make it through the pain.

“just breathe”

each night the same arrangement.
each night accepting her share of the profits.
A measly portion of hourly torture.

“by the hour or for the night?”

She’s no longer blinded by her Romeo & Juliet idealism.
Her current career placement takes away from her disillusionment.
To her, love is merely a series of lies people tell each other to make themselves feel better.

Often unsure of life’s temptations
She scrounges around, in dim city lights, looking for an easy fix.
The price often seems too high.
Her innocence has been sold to the highest bidder.

“who needs to feel better when you can feel your best right now!”

we try to be happy for her.
Grow an appreciation for her well developed, overly founded,
abandonment complex.
She looks as if it never really existed.
She’s reminiscent of a television spokes person
“on location at Yoga . . . The place to Just Be.”

She opens her door each morning at 6AM
Home from a long nights work.
Every morning she drops a bit of herself on the way home.

Anita Halfpenny.
The silent lady.
The tainted lady.
The tiny bit of ourselves we fear.

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