Self-isolation’s a term that we’ve gotten used to in 2020
Stay away, stay home, stay stay, stay alone.
But the fact of the matter is that I’ve been self-isolating long before I was grown.
Tears on my pillowcase teardrops on the bathroom floor, I’ve long known what it was like to be alone.
This doesn’t feel like anything new, somehow living through a pandemic feels like something I’ve already been through.
Lonely nights, the sound of your voice echoing through the house hasn’t been anything anew.
The next day you pretending like I was ignorant like the cover of the night covered your sins.
you’ve been my pandemic my whole life, you’ve cut me off from the outside world, and though I’ve tried to run with every sprint with every attempt you cut my limbs.
Stay at home.
It’s always been your way.
We could never stray.
Stay at home
You’ve taken away my options.
Dear god your nothing but a toxin.
Pandemic is new for this century.
For me, it’s nothing but an old memory.
Phony lies telling me it’s safe outside.
But in reality, all it is is a graveside on a hillside on the eastside where in the end we all go topside.
See you think I’m weak and you can silence me with your disease.
But I will never let you preside.
You will never see my tears on the roadside, or cuts that I scrap by the bedside.
You will never know what you’ve done to me because if you know you affected me then that means I let you get to me.
You will ever only see my strong side with the phony smile and bright jides.
You will never see the way I cried or the parts of me that I’ve killed and left on the roadside, for vultures to divide and the cars to collide.
You will never know my contrite for you.
All I will ever do is be polite, never forthright with you.
See Ill I brush my teeth with the fluoride looking all bright with a cheesy chide to you.
But the truth is I’m only waiting for an off night with a landslide by the seaside with riptide to take you in the night.
And when I watch you try to swim ashore with more empty promises for another chance to make things right and for another chance of a rewrite.
I will look at you and I will stamp denied.
Only then will I be able to collect the tears that I shed by daylight and grab the rawhide of my body parts and then after you are long gone ill set a fire and ignite them by the hearthside.
You my, pandemic will be gone, no part of you will be implied, then maybe I’ll take a joyride to your graveside with an invite.
Telling you to watch from below how I turned out alright.
Title: Between the Redwoods
Author: Sydney C.L (pen-name)
word count: 7,000
The hook: Two convicts have just escaped prison we meet them as they are nearing the next part of their plan.
Something ceremonial should have been done to baptized the moment that they tasted freedom. There should have been something to remind them of the moment, but this needed no reminded it was unforgettable. And as Al put it they were on a bit of a tight schedule. After some time the run turned to a trot, and now as they entered the final leg, they walked.
"I wonder what my first meal out is going to be?" asked Al "I mean I need something that screams victory success", he finished laughing.
"I hope my wife cooks something I mean that's the least she could do, whoa she can't really cook maybe's she got some take-out or something," he said stuttering through his sentence.
"I don't know if I'm going to her though, you know there's a lot to think of, I mean she's the first place anyone with any brains would look. I guess, it really wouldn't matter because were getting out of here anyhow. Just if go back to her now it means we're stuck together forever, I can't mess around after this. You know and take her out of her element, her country, her support group. That's just borderline abusive." he said slapping his hands together.
"But then again money has a way of buying a support group, and after all this, I think we were made for each other."
He talked on and on about what his first moments would be the decisions he needed to make and all along 1153 kept silent. Silently and blindly he followed. I can't say if he was merely in deep thought or if he was just following. I think though, it was the latter since no thoughts on his future lay on his mind. His plan had been made months years before getting out was so long overdue maybe it lost all the glamor.
"You know tonight you and I make history; it's like "Escaped from Alcatraz or something. " Al said laughing
Though he was notable for his silence he could no longer go on in doubt,
"What was that back there", 1153 asked.
Al smiled "What do you mean big guy, I was getting us out."
"Who were those people?"
"Growing a conscious?' Al asked smiling.
1153 gave him a look and he stopped with the games.
"Those people they-they kinda work for me, and we-we've been praying together," he said smiling referring to his visits to the chapel.
"I know you probably just thought that I-I was a worker, a little guy with a lot of dirt on people, but you know the thing is I kind have a slice of a, well say empire. I'm an important man. What can say? There was no way my boys were gonna leave me to rot." he said smiling.
"I will say the saying 'prison is an education', is true though I've never been the best with my fist it was scary there," he added.
1153 smiled he really had hit the jackpot.
The conversation died down a bit. "you need a break big guy we've got the time?" he asked looking back at his "partner", and taking off his shoes since he'd already decided the answer to the question. They stood and Al reached in his pockets,
"Want some almonds?" he said holding out his hand. His partner shook his head
Al proceeded to throw back a handful of stale almonds.
"Leave that out the memoir buddy,′ he said laughing.
"Something is kinda gay about throwing back almonds after jailbreaking but, I need the energy, I was never much of a fitness buff. Not like you are are the pushups and pull-ups in the morning you're dedicated," he said licking the residual almonds from his teeth.
"I did do track in high school though, I guess that never leaves," he said winking again referring to the long run they'd just completed.
He tied the shoes back up and clapped,
"Alrighty ready to go? we're just over the hill that's us," he said smiling at the building that was brightly lit. It had been a long walk but as Al had mentioned freedom, true freedom was just beyond the hills. He made enough conversation for both of them the whole of the journey there had been no silence.
Maybe that's why 1153 couldn't grasp the fact that he was free at least not just yet.
They knelt down to escaped the cameras when they reached their destination. It was a rest stop which was strange. They were missed from the cameras and they got into the bathroom.
"I know, what you're thinking, this is the plan?" Al said. He locked the bathroom,
"But you go in that stall and be out in 10," he said smiling, "The people who work for me they'll take care of you."
The stall had a backpack in it and 1153 rummaged through it,
"Keep the jumpsuit on," Al yelled over the stall.
He went through the clothes and found them interesting, to say the least. Somehow he managed to fit into the skinny jeans over the prison jumpsuit.
"Gosh these are tight, was this the style?" he wondered as he shimmed into the jeans. He tucked his hair in the bandana. It was straggly and yet the idea of cutting it felt more akin to cutting off a limb.
He was early and when he left the stall he saw who he presumed to be Al.
I say presumed because the boyish-looking criminal was gone. His hair had been erased and all that was left was the naked baby like round head. He had a sleeve of tattoos on his arm and neck and earrings adorned his ears.
"I guess I got carried away,′ he said looking down at his arm. The tattoos were pasted on, "They-they went on so easy, I guess I got carried away," he repeated.
His final touch was sliding his glasses to the floor and with one smash of the foot, the glasses shattered. It would have seemed rather hardcore if it didn't proceed to fumble about the backpack looking for his contacts.
1153 looked on wondering just how long he would fumble and then finally he begged
"Come on man help me? we're on a tight schedule," he said whining. There was that baby voice reignited. He remembered himself, found the contacts, and they fled. 1153 looked around shouldn't there have been a getaway car waiting? Al stood patiently with his backpack and skateboard in hand. He had combined a sort of criminal look with a Californian skateboard dude. In other words, he looked akin to an old guy trying to be cool.
1153 renowned for his quiet gave Al a look that questioned his judgment and abilities.
"Ah! don't worry man where gonna be fine," he said confidently smirking. Apparently his confidence waivered because sirens surrounded them and the police marked cars soon surrounded the rest area. Again breaking his traditional silence 1153 looked at Al and asked
"what've you done?" that was the second time he had asked that today.
Al hadn't quite prepared his partner for what to expect but as the policemen approached he simply said through greeted teeth,
The policemen's suspicions were aroused the tattoos, etc, gave them some reason to be so. With guns cocked the were already prepared for battle.
"Where you boys headed, this nice evening?" the cop asked with a thick accent and tone that made the question feel more like an accusation more than anything else. Al looked from his friend to officer and put his hands up,
"Wow! officer have we done anything wrong?" he asked. His partner looked at him surprised the voice that came out was unfamiliar, the voice he used was different, it was Californian.
"Let's just have me stick to asking the questions alright, so boys were you headed?" he said repeating his question. Al took a deep breath this moment was everything projecting confidence as he spoke he answered, "back home hopefully."
"What'd you mean,"
"Well me and my buddy here were supposed to have a gig in Phoniex tonight, I mean we flew all the way from L.A and when we got here we got an uber with this chick. I mean she was hot and kind of sweet looking so I admit I trusted her."
The officer looked at him annoyed,
"Well to make a long story short she dropped us here and took our money man, totally crazy," he said nodding along with his story.
"Does this buddy of yours here speak?" he asked rudely looking him up and down. He almost spoke but before he could, Al again jumped in.
"Oh! Carl here is sort of hard of hearing so he doesn't talk much, but he sure can drum out a beat," he said smiling then seeming to remember his state became remorseful again.
"But I guess not tonight,"
"You got anything to back your story son," he said already excited that they probably weren't prepared and he was all prepared to make an arrest but to his surprise, they were prepared.
"CARL TICKET," he yelled loudly.
Al patted his breast pocket, they both opened there wallets and showed licenses and boarding passes, from L.A to Phoenix. Al had confidence while his partner was more nervous.
"We like to frame them so one day when, Dead Trap Alien, is really big we keep ourselves humble and remember where we came from at home we had this wall dedicated I mean most places we go we just drive so flying really meant something special for us tonight?"
The policemen handed them their stuff back.
"So why all these precautions?" Al asked putting everything back in its place. The policemen looked down disappointedly.
"We lost two convicts tonight so we are a bit on edge, you know," he said almost apologetically something about Al had charmed him. Despite the harsh look, maybe he reminded him of himself years ago or maybe it was the fact that hadn't met too many fast-talking city goers that seemed genius.
"Ah, man! scary and were just out here all exposed I mean anything could have happened" he said nervously.
"Is it confidential, I mean what they did?" he finished
"Ones a murderer and the others' has got ties to gang violence, drugs, and is an all-round con man," Al had to stop himself from smiling, he was proud of himself in this moment.
"Gosh! I mean we're from California and that's never happened before even there! Well I'm grateful you guys found us first you never know you could have really just saved our lives," he said humbly and mockingly.
The policemen went his way to regroup with the other cops,
"Great still stranded," 1153 said quietly. Al smiled again the thrill of it all felt like getting high. Theme music cued in his mind to pump him up, as he approached the officers again.
"Excuse me, officer, I was wondering is there any bus station around here," he shook his head no and looked at him sympathetically. Al dramatical kicked the ground,
"You know, what it's ok it's better that way if there had been knowing we were so close to getting home with no money I don't think we could bear it," he said returning to his partner concealing a conniving smile. The policemen looked on emphatically,
"Hey Joe, come here," he said to one of the eager young cops who stood just wanting something to do. Al, now back with his partner patiently watched the scene play out
"Wait for it," he sang in sing-song. The lights flashed and the young cop called Joe honked.
"Heard you boys need a ride Phonenix it's just 20 miles out." Al looked from his friend the officer and repeatedly cried,
"Were blessed, man you guys are real public servants, real heroes," he exclaimed throwing his backpack around his neck,
"I call shotgun," he joked as he jumped in the back. 1153 was star-struck here they were getting into a cop car, and not for the reason he might have thought, it'd been a remarkable turn of events. If they ever found out that they had aided and abetted fugitives how humiliating it would have been he smirked to himself.
"You know you hear stuff about cops but it's never the good stuff," Al began the officer agreed
"I know were not all bad,"
"I mean you guys deserve an award or something two convicts on the run and you still you find it in your heart to help us," he said hitting his less than an excited partner. Joe laughed dumbly and went on to explain how it was a cop's duty and he rambled on and on about how he was a public servant and all that entailed. 1153 wasn't excited though his partner was thrilled he enjoyed the calculated risk.
They soon exited they were in the big city of Phoenix. The lights were blinding it was overwhelming. The officer drove to Dunkin doughnuts, "I know its cliche but it'll make for a good story right?" he said releasing them and jumping out. He ran in a got a dozen doughnuts, and put the pink box in their hands.
"You boys know where you're going from here?" he asked back snugly in the car
"Well contact our band boys and they'll get us home," Al said which wasn't altogether a lie. The officer smiled and yelled "NICE TO MEET YOU!," to 1153. Both he and Al shook there heads at the fact that "carl", couldn't hear him.
He pulled away, once out of sight Al practically jumped for joy. He laughed and again threw his fist mockingly in the air. They had been successful.
"Was that the plan all along?"
Al smiled "Not exactly. Okay maybe- yes. Did I improvise a little? Yes, but did it work out? Yes," he said opening the pink box. They each took a warm doughnut into there hands and savored it. It was sweet and 1153 couldn't remember a time when he had eaten something so desirable.
Funny they'd began this journey wondering what meal would christian them free? What would forever be "that" meal? Somehow it turned out to be a box of pink doughnuts bought by a policeman. It would forever signify freedom. They met with Al's friends, and as they rode in a car surround by guys who didn't at all look like they would be Al's friends. But then again, you can't judge a book by its cover. 1153 found all of this interesting. Here he was finally free. He hadn't had a moment to think about all that had happened. He hadn't had a chance to evaluate his feelings. Take in the sights of freedom yet. It all admittedly felt surreal. Their destination was still far off they had quite a drive. But at this point, anything and everything felt possible.
Two lives two different stories one secret that ties them together. Some secrets stay covered for years and maybe that's because they should stay unearthed. For once unearthed it can't be buried again. Byrdie is a young widow who lives a recluse lifestyle. On the outside, her life is plain simple, and sad. But a one dark night and unlikely meeting change her whole perspective of life.
Owen has been imprisoned for nearly ten years but a chance meeting with a stranger with ties to the past changes everything.
What do these two starkly different people have in common and will it draw them together or pull them apart?
Target audience: 20-40 The young adult crowd probably...
Age/personality/writing style: I think that my personality reflects my writing style. My friends would probably say that I’m a quirky introvert. I have spent my life learning different languages, and at this point, I know six. I feel like knowing different languages really gives me experience that most nineteen-year-olds haven't had the opportunity to have. When I spent time learning those languages, I really dove into the cultures of the people that spoke them. It taught me so much about people and I think that those people have really become apart of me. They have really inspired my writing because I feel like I can write about so many different types of people and their experiences. I am a high school graduate. I made a very conscious choice not to go to college. I've known what I've wanted to do with my life since I was a kid. I didn't want to go to college and confuse myself, I wanted to stay focused on my goals in life. One of which, is to become a successful writer. I feel like it was the right decision for me because I have a job that can support me while I try to expand my writing. Besides, I feel like creativity can't be taught, it can be enhanced, but not taught.
Hobbies: As I mentioned before, I love learning languages, writing, listening to music, singing, spending time with my dogs and family, running, etc.
Platform: Prose has really helped me with my writing the website has opened me up to writing about different things. Also getting to know other authors has helped because I feel like I'm supported.
I also use Wattpad, I mostly use that platform to promote my book. It's also been pretty helpful as I've gotten a lot of reads on my book. If you look there you can see my book with its cover and read more from it.
Why it's a good fit: I feel like it's a good fit especially now because it's a book that has a lot of hope in it through the chaos. Right now living under a pandemic, I think people need something to take their minds off of everything. That's what this book does while still reminding people that no matter how hard a situation is there's always hope to be found, you just have to search a little.
Hometown: Being from North Carolina is a special treat. I live in the mountains so I feel like I am surrounded by inspiration. It also doesn’t hurt that Nicholas Sparks, is also from North Carolina. That gives hope that one day like him, I too will get the chance to really share my writing on a broader spectrum.
I'm your angel when it rains your devil when the sun shines bright.
And if heaven could pick a place where angels and demons survive in union maybe we could be one.
some say the thoughts are deep philosophical but I feel like they are more akin to being like the impressions of a child. A child of innocence wondering simple questions like, "why is the sky blue,"
And I think the reasons that I love you is because you and only you know that feeling.
when I fall from heaven hoping that maybe you might catch me with your eyes closed because; while I long for the warmth of your arms, I don't want you to see me like this.
I don't want you to see me falling. Even though I bow in worship to you and kiss the tips of your toes, I wish it was possible for me to have such an adoration for you in secrecy. the world can be so temperamental so judgemental.
And so I wonder can I love you and the other? Or if I did under discovery would you tie rocks to my feet so I fall to the ground and no longer realize me as an angel. Open my eyes and help me see that it won't always be this way. Wipe away the stains from my cheeks and cleanse me from my sins. Help me understand that there is space in between where demons and angels can be.
I think that you know what the feeling is.
i think you know how I try to escape myself even though you won't help me.
I think you like seeing me like this because you don't know how to see me otherwise. You can't fathom me in a different light. In a happy light. And so you hold my hand even though I'm down on my knees. You kiss my lips even though, I dangle from a cliff. You brush my hair even though parts of me burn in a fiery abyss.
Yes, i think you know just what the feeling is.
and through it, you'll love me though I'll cut you like a razor. and through it all, you'll love me even if that means you must burn with me. you'll love me even if it means you must fall with me.
Because that love is as radiant as a cloud. it's as burning as embers.
Yes, for in love is there ever any safety in it?
can we ever know if it's the one?
can we ever save ourselves from falling? from burning? from the stabbings?
And if we can then would we do all again?
I knew the sickness was a lot to bear.
I knew it was eating away at him. I could see his cheeks sinking in, and his hair; well fading like little white dandelions that we blew as kids.
I could see his eyes were weak and sometimes it seemed like it was too hard for him to open them.
I could tell that some days when he attempted to swing his legs out of the bed it was too hard to even comprehend.
I knew his arms were weary from the pricks and that his blood ran dry from all the tests.
I knew that it was hard on his lungs to breathe and that sometimes at night when we weren’t looking he begged for death.
I could see in his face he was embarrassed.
Every time he looked in the mirror the man he was more and more, was no more.
He could no longer take his shirt off he had to be helped and when he faltered in his steps he had to be carried.
He was nothing but skin and bones.
He looked around the world now knowing that its end was coming towards him and he couldn’t stop it, he cried.
He didn’t want it to end but he couldn’t stop it.
He had come to terms with fate.
And now on the hospital bed with the hymns of the morphine chanting, I could sense his pain.
Now with the scars of surgery imprinted on his brain, I could feel his thoughts.
the ones that cried for all of this to be over.
And yet, in spite of everything, I encourage, press, and hope that the fight continues.
I pray that it’s not today that you go.
I might could bare losing you tomorrow but, not today not just yet.
I hold onto your fingers.
there cold and limp.
I try to rub them till there warm but the cold lingers.
and then I realize that in spite of my wants and needs the fight has been lost.
should I be glad?
should I be sad?
I ask you what you think as the alarms cry a different tune now.
then I come to realize, come to understand, no matter how I beg, no matter how I cry you’re cold; your stone dead.
And just like those dandelions, we blew as kids I breathe you out and watch as your ashes scatter into the wind, going...going... and finally in totality your gone.
as promised her parents came the next morning. they always seemed to know how inconvinance her the best. she checked on her patient he was still asleep soundly. but his pulse strong, and the sweating had stopped; for the most part. if she were a doctor she would have said that he was "out of the woods,"
she glanced around the house making sure no evidence of him was about the room. even though the house was cleaned she gave it a "once over",
she made sure she herself was clean, she clipped her nails, and scrubbed the blood from out of her hair. her clothes she had soaked and presently she threw them into the washer. she was learning these "crimal ways," quickly. there was no room for error. at least not in her mind. she picked her phone up from off the floor. It's screen was shattered. but through it's broken screen she read the texts that read, "we'll be there by 11,"
and so by eleven her patients door was tightly closed and she sat downstairs waiting for a knock, though finally able to sit she had to stop herself from dozing. with their usual pucntuality at 11 the doorbell rang.
"well, in a better state today i hope," her father said condesendingly.
"would you like anything...water..tea?" she asked promptly changing the subject.
"no we've had our breakfast," her mother said setting her purse on her lap and sitting, almost like she would sit in a doctors office their was no comfort here, clearly.
"well byrdye i think you know why we felt we couldn't put this visit off any longer."
she nodded, "the real estate agent called," she said meekly.
"what were you thinking, i mean you know what it could mean for you; for james if this house sold," he said still calm.
she nodded in response she knew exactly what it would mean. "i've been doing alot of thinking about that. and i think that i was so ready to move on just to please everybody else, that i was so eager to get together with James. but i've been thinking on it for a while and i-i don't love him."
her father's head fell, and her mother encouragingly squeezed his leg.
"everybody gets pre-wedding jitters," she added.
"i've had those, this isn't that, i don't love james, i never have, i loved the idea of pleasing you guys but the more i think about it it's not fair to James to throw his life away to someone who can only see themselves loving his as a brother." she said twisting the ring off her finger.
"and the idea of pleasing us? what about it being fair to us?' he father asked with his voice rising.
she almost laughed that it was all that they gained from the conversation the importance of them their repuation. the former jugdes failed daughter, is all they could think of.
"that what it's alway been about,"
"and not two weeks ago didn't i stand at that grave yard and say that we've moved on. that we saw that Ian would have wanted this? and did you not stand in agreement?' he questioned his voice at full tone now.
"but nothing bea. we've tried we've supported you, but i don't know what more you want it's been seven years of your emotional tirades. it was cute when you were a kid and cried over a puppy for months but this is pure ludicrius." he yelled throwing his hands up.
"frankly i don't know how Ian put up with this for so long,"
the yelling had awakened owen who despite his pain was on a mission and hence he stood at his door listening.
"what's so bad about this family? it's like you always want to disgrace us. Marrying Ian was the first he was nothing but what did we do? we raised him up got him into politics, and then what did you do? when he started coming up you'd embarras him by staying home, with after you "fell in the garden," what is it about us you hate so much?" he asked in a tone that seemed to say that looking at her disgusted him.
she had nothing to say, "i'm sorry i'm dissappointment, i've never meant to make it seem that way," she said rubbing her hands together.
"you know what beatrice, i'm done with this, all of it. just don't call before you finally jump because we've stood out and caught you too many times," he said standing. her mother followed, she gave her a sympathic look and sent her father to the car before her. finally alone just the two of them she shook her head. "bea, you've got to understand where he's coming from, he loves you he really does but he's right we've tried to help you stand,"
beatrice held back tears as she tightly put the ring into her mothers hands, "please tell James i'm sorry," she said gently.
her mother was the empitomy of perfect she didn't show emotion that was beneath her. and hence with a sort of professionalism she dropped the ring into her purse.
"i hope you'll reconsider,"
he watched as she shut the door and watched them pull away, she combed her hand through her hair and sat on the chair. her head fell in her knees he quietly closed the door, something felt so intrusive watching her while she cried.
she repeated her fathers words in her mind, maybe she always was too emotional. but had they know that all those times she missed her husbands events was because a black eye stained her face, or a broken arm, or brusied ribs. she wondered would they have seen him differently? probably not she should have been grateful for him no matter what he did to her. she should have been greatful that someone had found her loveable. and with that another vase slammed to the ground.
she had quite forgotten about her patient, upstairs or she would have mustered up some self control. Owen lay in bed pretending to be alsleep and wondering how to proceed in his mind he had envisioned a woman who was powerful, a woman who had moved on not a woman still reeling from the death of her husband an event that he'd told himself in his mind that she was the cause of
thoughts inside my head (revisited)
(this was written last year in may for a challenge thoughts inside your head that go unsaid,) the first version should probably be read first....it’s called “ugh me”.
I overthink things, here I am right now overthinking things.
The phone is ringing just pick it up. Flip my hair, fix my eyeliner lick my lips. Turn that frown upside down. Cheeks rise above as my lips curve into that of a smile. One would think that time would have changed me. That with time I’m less subconscious less of an overthinker. "Less, Less Less less less."...answer the phone, rather the computer. Zoom I didn’t think we’d be here. Does my face look thin? The camera I know puts on ten pounds. I gained ten. What does that make? Twenty?
Suck in maybe they won’t notice.
I don’t want to talk right now. I’m here out of obligation. And see I still don’t get noticed. one by one everyone hails out greeting “Hi mona how are kids? Hi bob how’s the dog? Hi Christy what’ve you been cooking?”
I don’t have kids, but i do I have a dog, I cook. Why don’t they ask me?
Crap! 10 mins, until the meeting, I shouldn’t have come early. What will they think if i turn my camera off? Or leave and come back?
I look skinny from the top, if I get up they’ll see my bottom half, that’s not an option. If I turn the camera off they’ll think I’m rude. I sit here, look interested, smile. People talk to if you smile, you look inviting right? No. Now I just look dumb.
Finally, I get a “hi! it’s so good to see you,”
"oh, your talking to me?"
Of course, I don’t let that out and something more pleasant comes to mind. Something more that sounds like “it’s good to see you too. how have you been?”
I shouldn’t have asked the second question because the truth is despite the sweet smile and the killer cat eye that I managed today, I don’t actually care. And then there we are locked in a dull conversation about your chickens and other aspects of your southern life. It's actually is funny because I’m Southern. Yet you’re southern and mine, well they’re different.
“I hate zoom conversations,” i think to myself as you Babbel. There like thousands of other conversations and we're supposed to be so engulfed in this conversation about your chickens that I can’t hear the others one.
that makes perfect sense, in no world; ever.
“blah blah blah,” I sing in my head, of course that wouldn’t be polite to do, outwardly. Nice tune, it’s got a good beat. I wonder if other people think I sing as well as I think I do. Maybe I’m biased to my own voice, I’ve had it so long that maybe I can’t tell when I don’t hit the right note,”
A question is asked I wasn’t paying attention, I say something clever somehow I managed the thoughts in mind, our a conversation, and twenty others.
I scream in my mind, even though I nod and smile and act concerned. I’m looking at you but not really. My eyes just fall in that direction because frankly, I don’t want to be rude. I mean, I want to be rude but it would only make the situation worst because I’d have to apologize.
“I think I want to try a thicker cat-eye something more profound deeper, yeah something like Amy Winehouse,” I think as you now hold up your chickens to the screen. It’s by far the longest ten minutes that I’ve ever lived through.
“I hate and love zoom because, well I could come to the screen in my underwear and no one would be the wiser. I don’t have to leave which is great because I hate leaving the house, and I hate zoom because these conversations I can’t ever run away from.
The meetings’ started thank god no more perilous conversation about nothingness. All I have do know is listen and chirp in when I feel like.
It’s a year later I wrote a post like this one year ago not exactly it was May 23. Today is May 15. The thing is I thought I would change. I thought the thoughts in mind would be less harsh more pointed, more focused. And yet here we are one year later and nothing has changed. My thoughts are still scattered and I’ll say scattered but truly their like marbles on glass. My feelings for the humankind and others are indifferent. Our conversations are still pointless. They speak to me out of pity, because they should. A genius interest in me has nothing to do with our conversations. I guess the only difference is that one year ago I was ten pounds lighter. Which frankly I’m working on now. So let's meet again next year, and see. Maybe I’ll be at my goal weight, I’ll be sweet and my thoughts will be more aline with the rest of humankind. I doubt it but we can see and maybe my cat eye then will be perfectly flawless and ill achieve the best Amy Winehouse look ever.
Fairytales and Mason Jars
He was her best-kept secret. The one she kept sealed tight in a mason jar. The one she hid beneath the floors in the cellar. The one she ran to. That mason jar she held tight to, never did she let it drop. Never did she let her fingers release its grip from their tips. He was her best-kept secret the one everyone else wished to know. The one who she shared inside jokes with, the one who she kept by her side the one who saw the rain even when the sun shone. The one who saw her tears even through the smiles. And even when he went away she held onto that mason jar. Like he was sealed in that jar. Like if opened she would release him let go of him. when she felt lonely she held close that mason jar. she could see the love he’d left behind in it. It glistened, it glimmered, it danced in memory of them. what they together, used to be. she would sit in the cellar with the mason jar, remnants of that love what was left of it still there. And then one day it dropped. The glimmering glitter, scattered. the scent of the days she loved best, released. she tried to recapture them, catch the glitter that flew but it was to no use. she was afraid that without it, she would forget his comfort and warmth. she would forget how he understood her. And so day after day, she sought to recapture the scattered glitter that flew. Endless was the journey, pointless was the journey of remembrance. Silly were the travels of the lone lover. Finally, resolved to end her journey to stop the search she ended her journey and found her way home. and years later when the memories seemed to have faded she looked up and saw the glitter fall. There was a glimmer about her a scent of him around her and a memory of them that she wore around her like a coat. Dazed she looked about her and no one else seemed to see what she saw. He surrounded her, released from the confines of the mason jar, his memory penetrated the world around her. she had traveled so far to find him, and yet if she just opened her eyes, she might have noticed he was there all along. there was no erasing that stain of glitter that surrounded her. there was no wiping away the glimmer that seemed to dance around her. and there was no way to run from the scent that she wore like a coat. He may not have been there but there his essence remained. How her perspective on life was different. she was understood. she was loved, and though separated by distance they were together. No longer was she lost. No longer was she enslaved to trying to remember, he was here to stay and the memories that floated around like they were on repeat were no longer in danger of being forgotten.
Fairytales and Mason Jars
he was her best-kept secret. the one she kept sealed tight in a mason jar. the one she hid beneath the floors in the cellar. The one she ran to. that mason jar she held tight to never did she let it drop. never did she let her fingers release its grip from their tips. He was her best-kept secret the one everyone else wished to know. the one who she shared inside jokes with, the one who she kept by her side the one who saw the rain even when the sun shone. the one who saw her tears even through the smiles. And even when he went away she held onto that mason jar. Like he was sealed in that jar. Like if opened she would release him let go of him. when she felt lonely she held close that mason jar. she could see the love he'd left behind in it. It glistened it glimmered it danced in memory of them. what they together, used to be. she would sit in the cellar with the mason jar, remnants of that love what was left of it still there. And then one day it dropped. the glitter the glimmering, scattered. the scent of the days she loved best released. she tried to recapture them catch the glitter that flew but it was to no use. she was afraid that without it, she would forget his comfort and warmth. she would forget how he understood her. And so day after day she sought to recapture the scattered glitter that flew. Endless was the journey, pointless was the journey of remembrance. Silly were the travels of the lone lover. Finally, resolve to end her journey to stop the search she ended her journey and found her way home. and years later when the memories seemed to have faded she looked up and saw the glitter fall. There was a glimmer about her a scent of his around her and a memory of them that she wore around her like a coat. Dazed she looked about her and no one else seemed to see what she saw. He surrounded her, released from the confines of the mason jar, his memory penetrated the world around her. she had traveled so far to find him, and yet if she just opened his eyes she might have noticed he was there all along. there was no erasing that stain of glitter that surrounded her. there was no wiping away the glimmer that seemed to dance around her. and there was no way to run from the scent that she wore like a coat. He may not have been there but there his essence remained. How her perspective on life was different. she was understood. she was loved, and though separated by distance they were together. No longer was she lost. No longer was she enslaved to trying to remember, he was here to stay and the memories that floated around like they were on repeat were no longer in danger of being forgotten.
Is this how I lose it?
Everything at once?
Carried to space by a dolphin balloon?
Whatever magical thinking you need to hang around your neck, right?
Maybe we'll end up the ones eating chocolate chip pancakes next to a charity swimming pool
The next time I see you will probably be in some quote, unquote, "Upscale tropical funeral"
I dreamed that's what Nina Simone said to her lover-
this one is probably pretty hard, i don't really listen to popular music so i'm excited to see if anyone else can guess these lyrics!
I wish i could describe him with a mustache, a beard. i wish i could say that he had a gentle smile and strong hands. and a deep voice that could make me say or do anything. Sadly, I’m not that type of girl, I guess. Maybe i was to literal and took the term puppy love for what it was defined as.
my first love was at the ripe age of seven. maybe I was a deep child. I’ll never really know my family thought I was indifferent at times. but I think that they thought labeling me would inhibit my growth. my first love was found in a craigslist ad. For that at least i’m glad that it wasn’t a boy. My first love was found in the back of an old beat up pick up truck. Again I'm glad it wasn't a real boy. As I reached my small hands out the old man said warningly, “that one’s a yeller.”
I didn’t listen his eyes warmed me, his eyes told me that he would be my friend that for a while the world would be less lonely. That for a small moment in time things would be okay. Life is delicate for a child. Things are literal. Things that people think are small in the eyes of a child are often times much grander much more explosive. For others, they saw him as merely a dog. An old saggy hound. Somewhat of an annoyance. For me, i saw him as my friend, for the little girl that walked to the pick-up truck he meant more than a creature that couldn’t talk. He meant a friend for times when the world seemed lonely. when girls were cruel and unwelcoming. he meant that things were going to be okay. He meant when my mind ran away with me and my thoughts scattered like broken glass, like beads on the floor, that one day they’d be put back together and the broken seams would be healed. He was my first friend, one of my own, one that i didn’t have to wonder if he merely put up with me because of familial ties. My friend was taken away from me. i still remember that day, for a child it felt like the world was caving in. it felt like the light at the end of the tunnel was too far to reach, to grasp. Little did i know that in pain beautiful things are born, for that’s when I found poetry. without his long droopy ears to listen I found that though not as attentive the paper listened. it sucked the ink up and my words sunk into it. At least it felt like that anyhow. i guess he was my first lesson in heartbreak. He prepared me for life. He taught me that just because you love something/someone it doesn’t mean they stay. Things and people fade away, your love might not, but love isn’t some type of super- holding glue that keeps us together. it’s just a layer in-between. He taught me how i would love just like that man who warned me in the truck, once my heart was entangled, there was no backing out. The heeding would be just noise that hits the air, never that penetrates. he taught me that hope isn’t always unrealistic, broken hearts heal. And broken hearts learn to love again. And hurt is only temporary but soon the pain numbs, soon the pills make the pain wholly go away, and that as time goes on pain is a distant memory. A sort of soft spot that you only feel when it’s pressed. Looking back I never thought that the little beagle with droopy ears might have prepared for more adult heartbreaks. but the little dog named Bailey taught me about life. And i never knew the misspelled scribbled poetry that I wrote in his honor and in my grief, would have been the spark to finding my passion. Frankly i never knew i would heal, and look back at the heartbreak and laugh. It seems so silly to me now. And yet a great part of me still feels like that little girl hugging her beagle, goodbye.