Orwellian Nightmare

I drove my grey Jeep
Bought by my short, fat, new husband
With a dark brown mustache

To my new house

This was a two bedroom home
With yellow walls
Light blue and tacky red plastic countertops 
One bedroom had two twin size beds
Assuming we’d have children

I brought my Chick-fil-a inside

And went to sleep with this stranger

My two dogs, a chug and shepherd 

Slept in the large, single-floored living room

A hurricane swelled outside in Long Beach, CA

Sinking the city peninsula

The crashing waves and rising tide

Don’t care about your 6 million dollar property

I felt eerie and paranoid

Like my car was getting towed

The city itself was sinking

And facial recognition cameras lined the streets

The dollar’s becoming obsolete because

Followers are the new currency

Women pay transactional love

Trading their sovereign hand for Joint Tenancy 

I wrote myself a poem

In blue sharpie on the back of my receipt

“This was some Orwellian nightmare,”

I scribbled, because

I write even in my dreams