The name was weird.

As was the address.

I had a lot of questions on both.

He answered all with patience, nearly convincing me he was God but, a question rang in my head. How was he distracted? What was he doing? Did he engineer the incident to meet me?

Why?

What could be the reason?

The love of my life left me when I spoke of marriage.

My parents just about abandoned me as soon as they could. Were unsuccessful for a very long time.

My friends are my online avatars. No god's there too.

Why? Did he want to meet me, help me? No. No. No. No. No.

Nothing makes sense.

My understanding of Ockham's razor applicability says he made a mistake.

So, I asked him to prove he was not distracted performing a miracle for someone.

His question was, "How do I do that?"

I told that he needs to convince me and not to question me. How do I know there was no miracle taking place in the world at the time of the accident.

With a smile on his face he said, let me think about it.

MMMM

DISCLAIMER: I might seem weak, broken, down and out. But I’m resting, rebuilding my strength, gaining back my stamina, and I’ll come back like a Phoenix on fire, stronger than ever before. I’ve defeated depression, addiction, PTSD, many an unwitting bar patron who had the misfortune to insult someone I care about, I’ve defeated heartache and loneliness, rejection after rejection, the pain that keeps you up at night crying and howling at the bleeding moon. I’ve conquered joblessness and hopelessness, gods and demons, weight loss, running, karate, Crohn’s disease, liver disease, bipolar disorder. I’m a legitimate super hero. I’ve beaten it all. I’ve beaten bullies and low self esteem, deaths of loved ones, alcoholism and the pain of not fitting in. They’re all just new notches on my bedpost, scars on my Killmonger chest. I’ll beat divorce too. I’ll come out roaring like a lion breaking out of its cage. So don’t think a little setback will knock me down forever. I’ll just come back stronger and better. Persistence is my middle name. I don’t know how to give up. There won’t be any breaking me. There won’t be any destroying me. There won’t be any stopping me. And one day, when things get really really hard, I might be the one helping you, pushing you along, carrying you if I have to. Whatever it takes. So this is my disclaimer: never, ever underestimate me.

And here I am again

with my mirror image

in female form.

I can’t tell her

how everything she does,

everything she says,

writes, thinks, feels

confirms that she’s the one for me,

that our pasts are linked like chains

running through the haze of time,

that when I’m with her,

all of the wrong in my life

feels right.

All the pain and stacked up sorrow,

heartbreak, addiction, suffering;

it all fades into the shining moment of now.

I can’t tell her

how I want her to stop wasting time

with guys who are no good for her

and start being with the one man

who would do anything in his power,

give up anything

to try to make himself perfect

for her.

Who would drive any distance,

climb any mountain,

run any marathon

to be closer to her.

I can’t tell her that.

So I’ll just smile and say hi,

share a firm hug,

and call her friend,

wearing the most painful mask

I’ve ever had to wear,

hoping it’ll hide the tears.

I always fall

for women who don’t want me

like a dog chasing cars,

a child chasing shadows.

I write my love poems

for muses and angels,

nonexistent beings,

glass dreams that shatter

when a strong wind comes,

so I need to forget false hope,

learn to be alone,

place my love in my children,

try to build a house

with a concrete foundation,

and though I may never find happiness

in the glow of another’s eyes,

in the comfort of another’s touch,

maybe I can at least be content.

Maybe the storms will end.

My life

is a war zone,

a graveyard,

a lagoon of rusting shipwrecks,

and the largest is me,

a monument to disaster,

a concrete tanker

that never quite set to sea.

And all you see

is the part still above water;

you don’t know how

to swim out

to explore the rest.

And it looks beautiful

in the sunset

that colors the water

orange, yellow, pink;

you can’t even tell

it’s dead.

A female fox. Fem Fatale.

Back in the day I was quite a looker, unfortunately. A girl has to be quick witted and aloof in the world of men.

As I got older I acquired certain skills, foxes can be quite charming and charismatic when dealing with certain individuals. How else do you think we slip in and out of situations so easily?

Actually, the fox is my spirit guide, and probably the reason Death and I are friends. In Native American mythology, the fox was the escort for souls to the other side.

I have been dead 3 times and ever since, I have had foxes cross my path.

I would see them everywhere, so I decided to spell it differently and that’s how I came by the name.

Pronounced Vixen. Or Vicksen.

Truth: the body of real things, events and facts; that which is true or in accordance with fact or reality; a judgement, proposition, idea or belief that is accepted as true.

“We see the world not as it is, but as we are – or as we are conditioned to see it. When we open our mouths to describe what we see, we in effect describe ourselves, our perceptions, our paradigms.” (Stephen R. Covey, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People)

That is, regardless of the visible “facts” of any given situation, we see what we expect to see, based on our perceptions of reality.

There are some 7.8 billion people walking the earth at this moment. Put any two together, have them witness the same scene, and, even assuming they speak the same native language (there are about 6500), chances are they will describe it differently. Highlight different aspects, completely ignore or be unaware of others. Even though the visible facts seem self-evident. I mean, you’re looking at the same scene, how much more self-evident can one get?

If we cannot agree on what is “self-evident” to the eye, how can we hope to agree on that which is evident only to the mind or the heart and must be expressed with words that are filtered by the sum total of our divergent experiences?

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.

Lovely sentiment that, at the time it was written, was much more limited in scope and application than the all-encompassing words imply. And the country whose shackles begat the defense of said truths…disagreed. As did most if not all the world’s governing powers in their own spheres of socioeconomic inequality. And even many of the peoples who would be subject to the new and improved government to which this declaration sought to give rise did not agree with the very broad and beautiful words that were only words and not truths self-evident to any, quite possibly not even the writers. They sound wonderful. Worthy. I mean, who wouldn’t fight to ensure that ALL MEN had the right to LIVE FREE and with the opportunity to seek happiness? (The other side, apparently.)

The Golden Rule has versions across the world’s major religions so one might consider it self-evident. It is, to paraphrase, treat others as you would wish to be treated. Looking around, though, you would think the actual rule is treat others as you anticipate you will be treated, where one is always anticipating the worst.

Truths, like beliefs and ideas, cannot be seen, so the path to “self-evident” is even murkier than agreeing on what we can actually see with our eyes. Ultimately, we make a choice to believe, to accept ideas and truths…or not. And, far too often, even if we profess certain beliefs, and support generally accepted truths, actions belie our words.

A choice.

The only self-evident truths that we have no choice but to accept as true? We are born and we will die. Everything else, as we see on a daily basis, is subjective. Relative. Debatable. Based on so many things that are not self-evident.

Truths today, but maybe not tomorrow.

She thinks herself of average wit

though none can match the rhymes she’s writ

the words she’s birthed to fill a blank

when standard words were rank and stank

the twists and flips of clever lines

inviting even doltish minds

to tumble down the rabbit hole

and swallow bits of logic whole

or gibberty garbledygook

that makes us laugh and throws a hook

that keeps us riveted reading

following where she is leading

teaching while tickling funny bones

conveyed by feathers never stones

always tries to understand

opposing views are never banned

welcomed, digested, dissected

dissent perhaps but respected

never churlish forever kind

no aspiring writers maligned

a pleasure at any hour

the poems of EstherFlower.

I came to Prose to write.

I stay for

the community

I have found,

dare I say,

the friends,

for the writers

who move me

to laughter

and tears,

who inspire me,

make me think,

and feel,

who,

through their

words,

their characters,

the worlds

they imagine

and the

world they inhabit,

let me

SEE them.

I stay

to bear witness

to the tales woven by

gifted storytellers

like

@Huckleberry_Hoo,

@rlove327

and

@SamWebster

whose every next

story

I await with bated breath;

to wordsmiths like

@Mazzmyrrheyes

whose masterpieces

of lyrical poetry

should be mandatory reading,

her work is a treasure,

with every poem

a gem;

I am thankful to have

the ever witty poetry of

@EstherFlowers1

to keep me laughing

or crying

always thinking;

so too,

the rhythmic rhyming

of @fudo who

also tells a great story

(but keeps deleting them);

I stay for the stories

essays

poems

of @BonnieBoo,

@TW, and @finder,

the gutwrenching

pieces

of @undermeyou;

@anarosewoood and

@sandflea68's

poetic flair;

for

@WhiteWolfe32,

a talented storyteller

whose poetry

makes me bleed,

and the prolific

and kind

@Mnezz.

And for

all those

I haven't named

but who have

enriched my life

by sharing

a little of

themselves

here....

It was a

very lucky day

the day

I found

Prose.

What is love?

It’s

butterflies in the tummy

heart pounding, hands trembling

I want to spend my life

looking into your eyes;

It’s

holding hands without

chaining a soul –

glorying in being together

being one

while respecting that we are two;

It’s

wanting someone else’s happiness

as much as – or more – than your own;

It’s

a difficult balance

of compromise

understanding

agreeing and

agreeing to disagree;

It’s

giving up the last piece of your favorite pie

because it is also your loved one’s favorite;

It’s

showing up

even when you would rather stay in bed;

It’s

cooking dinner, doing laundry, mowing the grass

taking out the garbage, cleaning the toilet

washing dishes, food shopping;

It’s

working hard

working through

working together

because

your love

is worth

the effort;

As time passes

the years fly by

the life you share

is a living testament

to the fleeting

goosebumps

and sweaty hands

that fade with time -

buried

under the daily grind

the stresses imposed

by existence -

but which find a way to surface

now and again

if only you look

and remember

what is love.