see a little boy looked at me

as I tilted my feet over the creek , and said to me What are you doing ?

I told him , for I am testing my wings .

He said , What wings I can't see them ?

I told him , you can't see em because I am still on the ground

he said that isn't possibly , Humans can't fly

I told him , I am angel

he said , My mom most have been one too , she jumped a week ago . Does that make me immortal .

I said , it makes you mortal

He said , How come ?

I said ,The devil didn't choose you ,God only takes the ones , with the razor marks

He said , What are razor marks

I said , Those are marks done by the devil , strikes in the middle of the night , when the quiet whispers the lonely .

He said , I think I have those too , ( he slipped up his sleeves and he showed me his marks he carved his mothers name Dahalia )

I asked him , What does your devil look like

He said , it was long and sliver with handle on it , sharp enough to cut through skin , He said what does yours look like

I said , mine is , a doubled edge with a slant bar , the blade is slightly curved , I said does yours ever talk ?

He said , It only says the things I know to be true , Mother is dead , and you couldn't save her , What does your say ?

I said , Mine tells me , I am dead , and no one can save you , Do you think angels go to heaven or hell ?

He said , Heaven Because only sinners understand heaven , Hell is place for people , who hurt gods angels . you gonna jump Now

I said , My wings won't open

He said , Neither can Mine , Lets try

we stood There for five mintues with our hands stretched outward , waiting for the wind to catch us .

He turned to me , he said , shaking and crying with disbelif , Momma was angel , wasnt she ? could've took me with her , to meet the man upstairs .

I giggled , and put my hand in my pocket and a lit cigar , and watched the smoke fade in the air , and mumbled , angels...

#angels are everywhere #fallen angels are the ones , who broke their wings on reality # duct tape wings #a little pixie dust never hurt nobody

She loved me once. I can barely remember the last time she held me, let alone touch me. I don't even know how soft I am anymore. I sit on her dresser, making friends with the dust bunnies who grow behind her piggy bank and wait for the moment she sees me again. Every day, she walks past me and I hold my breath for just a glance in my direction. I get none and I'm suppose to be okay with that.

There was a time where she couldn't go to bed without me. She'd cry if Mother stole me to wash me and then complain that I didn't smell the same. I wasn't suppose to smell like roses and buttercup blossoms. She couldn't explain it, but I knew what she meant. I always did. I remember what she smelled like. Peanut butter and fresh chocolate chip cookies. Her laugh is a faint hum in my ears. I never hear her laugh anymore.

I try to remind myself that I'm just a bear. I'm stuffed for a reason so I shouldn't care. I see her now, twice the size she was, with pink hair and metal in her mouth. She rolls her eyes and curses now. She was so sweet and small. Like me. I'm old now, with more stuffing in my left leg than my right. One blue button for an eye because the dog thought I was his toy. I never found my other eye. She stopped looking for it years ago. Maybe I should too. 

She tosses in her sleep now, mumbling and sweating. I watch with distress, hoping the nightmares would leave her alone. All I do is sit and watch, in tormented agony, knowing I can't do anything from the neglected prison she left me in. I know she would sleep better with me, she always did. 

I haven't slept in years. 

The stranger knocked upon the door,

A creaking, wooden throb,

And someone on the other side

Unlatched and turned the knob.

Uncertainty, a soft, "Hello,"

And, "May I use your phone?"

The person on the other side

Appeared to be alone.

An observation taken in,

No pictures on the wall.

He pointed somewhere down the way-

"Go on and make a call."

The thunder boomed; the stranger stalled

As wires were cut instead.

The gentleman began to sense

A subtle hint of dread.

A conversation thus ensued-

"So what has brought you out?

The rain has flooded everything,

And wiped away the drought.

Say, did you walk, or did you drive?

Why don't I take your coat?"

The stranger slowly moved his arms,

A sentimental gloat.

The water from the pouring skies

Enveloped cloth and shoe.

"Say, would you like a place to sleep?

I'll leave it up to you."

The person on the other side

Discarded his mistrust.

The stranger said his tire was flat,

And shed the muddy crust.

"The phone won't work," he also said.

"It could just be the storm.

Perhaps I will stay here tonight,

To keep me safe and warm."

The patron of the house agreed.

He hadn't seen the wire.

The chilly dampness prompted him

To quickly build a fire.

"You have a name? They call me Ed.

My wife was Verna Dean.

She passed away five years ago

And left me here as seen.

I guess it's really not so bad.

We never had a child.

I loved that Verna awful much,"

He said and sadly smiled.

"No property to divvy up.

The bank will get it all.

Say, do you want to try again

To go and make that call?"

The stranger grinned and left the flame

As to the phone he strode.

Within his pocket, knives and twine

In hiding seemed to goad.

A plan was formed- he'd kill the man;

Eviscerate him whole.

The twine would keep him firmly held;

The knife would steal his soul.

A lusty surge erupted hence;

A wicked bit of sin.

The stranger hadn't noticed yet

That someone else came in.

About the time a shadow fell,

He spun to meet a pan.

The room around him faded out

As eyes looked on a man.

A day or two it seemed had passed,

And when he woke all tied,

The stranger gazed upon old Ed

Who simply said, "You lied."

Reversing thoughts, the moment fled

And Ed said in a lean,

"No worries, stranger. None at all.

Hey, look, here's Verna Dean!"

He looked upon a wraith in rage;

It seemed his little lie

Combusted in a burning fit-

He didn't want to die.

So many victims in his life,

Some fifty bodies strewn.

And now he was the victim; now

The pain to him was known.

The stranger fought against the twine,

And noticed by his bed

The knife once in his pocket left

A trail of something red.

A bowl filled full of organs sat

As Verna poured some salt.

She exited with all of them.

"You know, this is your fault.

We demons wait for just the day

The guilty take the bait

And play with matches one last time-

I simply cannot wait

To taste the death within your flesh;

The venom in your gut.

So now you know the way they felt-

Hey, you've got quite a cut!"

The person on the other side

Removed his human skin-

Before his wife came back for more,

He offered with a grin:

"Say, stranger, is there anything

You'd like to say at all?"

I looked at all the blood and said,

"I'd like to make that call ... "

pretty bird,

your wings

aren’t broken

they’re just tired

of flying

through storms.

I used to be a wife

I will always be a mother

Every action mapped out to accommodate

children and a busy husband

Every mealtime and talk planned around

gymnastics and soccer games

Prom dresses and broken ankles

Snow boarding and pasta dishes

Beds made with white clean tucked sheets

Baby powder and hospital corners

Football in the front yard with the boys

Shopping sprees and giggles with the girls

Dips in the pool at night to steal

away the beautiful blue of my husbands eyes

"Sweetheart, I picked up the dry cleaning."

Peck on the cheek before pancakes and

work to make every frazzled end meet

Effort that people that have not done it

Can or will never comprehend

Tear wiping

Laundry folding

Floor mopping

Toilet scrubbing

No sleep

Dark eyes and sometimes forced smiles

I enjoyed every minute of it

and every day I praised the existence of coffee

The dissolution of my marriage was a mutual choice

A well thought out discussed

respectful division

of two exhausted souls

Both brilliant in our way

Both fighters to the end

It was quite the test of character

For us both

We survived it all

and our children

are as close to perfect

human beings

that we could have ever hoped for

For this effort we are proud

Every heart warming leap of success

Worth it

Every heart wrenching fall of failure

Worth it

I find it often funny

Alone in the desert the questions from strangers

"why are you single?" Choice

"what brought you here?" Work

"where are you from?" California

"who do you spend time with?" Art

Nobody knows your story

or your life in simple terms

I am thankful for my prose family

A place where freedom of expression

Exists fully with awe and respect

Not judgment

Happy Thanksgiving Prosers

Keep writing

Keep living

Keep being true

To yourself

remember to be patient

when things stop making sense

the answers will inevitably arrive

They don't have to make sense to everyone

They just have to make sense to you

Blessings

I.

Like a cloud on top of the earth

One by one forms the weight of the weary

Until that last rain drop breaks the dam,

And the water comes crashing down

II.

As the Autumn trees change -

Leaves turning bloody, soon to fall.

And on the street, we drive by 

Calling their suffering "beautiful."

III.

In the shattering of glass

From the window on a wall

Shards jagged and unrepairable;

Cutting any who come too close

IV.

 Like the comings of sleep -

...slowly, quietly.....unnoticed until

the vestige of a dream fades.....

and awareness returns...pricks,

at our finger tips

V.

As a record on the turntable laps

A single scratch; the song keeps -

A short beat sticks, stuck, repeats.

Trying to move forward but unable to go on

VI.

By starting a fire, warming all around

Yet burning burns the wood slowly down

And in the end the fire must go out,

Leaving only the ghost of what it used to be.

VII.

As a lake slowly freezes over

In the spanning wintertime,

Too cold for the masses to swim;

the danger of falling in pushes them away.

VIII.

like an old toy placed on a viewing shelf,

sitting there like some cheap souvenir

Remembered for the joy it used to give,

yet discarded in favor of new, shinier things. 

IX.

In wind whipping through the city streets

Raging against skyscrapers at every side 

Trying to move the immovable; 

It blows and blows and the buildings stay.

X.

Like letting a balloon fly into the sky,

Floating ever higher into the night

But there comes a point where the

Pressure is too much. The balloon bursts.

XI.

As lightning strikes, 

With a whip and crack

Flashing with a thousand volts

That die as quickly as they came.

XII.

In the way a piece of clothing

Hangs on the rack in a closet

Good enough to buy,

Yet never to be worn

XIII.

Like flowers picked,

bundled together,

torn from their roots

and left to wilt.

Pluck the feathers off of my wings.

Like you pluck petals off of flowers.

Even though you end up with a dead stem.

You still go on, over and over.

Trying to find love.

While you are hurting others.

~simone~