Posted in stream of consciousness

Cracks (As Beautiful As Before)

I haven’t done an actual timed stream of consciousness write in a bit. Normally I write for 10 minutes but I’m only going to do this one for 5 because it’s our last day in Lisbon and it’s my mom’s birthday!

Music: Reignwolf – shuffle on Spotify – There isn’t much on Spotify so shuffle is really the only way to listen

Word: Pin from the random word generator

It was dead silent, I couldn’t hear a thing
Probably not even a pin drop,
But I heard the years
As they snapped shut.
They melted away
Exposing old bricks
And scarred exteriors
Covered to weather the storms.
All the shiny paint,
The expensive knick knacks,
Expansive fronts I covered
Every fault and piece of distorted past
Under years of specially crafted
Dulled perfectionism
And you, I hoped,
Would still find the cracks as beautiful
As before.

Posted in Photo

I Gave My Soul to a New Religion … 16 – 21/365

Pictures to catch me up on “picture a day”. I should start calling it picture dump to catch me up. We all know I love music. I’ve been feeling down and having a hard time lately so this weekend I hopped around to a couple of cities to visit my favorite soul surgeons.

Leah Shapiro , drummer for Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

Robert Levon Been, bass (and all the instruments also) of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

Peter Hayes, guitar (and all kinds of other instruments) of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

These guys were the opening band, The Night Beats. Lovely way to open the shows. In Houston the bassist’s mom came up and got on the rail with us. She couldn’t stop gushing about how adorable her son was on stage. That’s support man

I went to two cities, Houston and New Orleans. Other than my pictures of the show in Houston I didn’t really take many others. I just didn’t find as much that captivated me.

New Orleans … that’s going to be it’s own post because it’s one of my favorite US cities (with the exception of the band pictures, BRMC pics above are the New Orleans show).

Candid

Posted in Photo

Numbered Days 4/365

My heart could be filled

But truth be told …

My days are numbered here.

This disease is terminal.

The doctors don’t know what to do.

“Well,” he says as he raps spindly hands

“You can’t stay forever in the land of the damned.”

Indeed Father Time.

It appears I’ve been diagnosed with life.

I can’t stop my feet from wandering

Or my mind from pandering

The sweet effects of a sunset over the sea.

I suddenly, it seems, have things

I need to be

Rather than this old burnt out bag of flesh

And crumbling calcium deposits collected for me.

So tell me dear, tell me love

You know our days are numbered here …

Posted in Word Prompt

Did You See Those Fireworks

Welcome to 2018! That feels weird to write, where has time gone …

WordPress Daily Prompt – Conversation

The afternoon is beginning to slip away when I find myself sitting outside with you while you smoke.

Years of paranoia have taken root. I’ve spent much of our time frequently checking my surroundings, expecting my father, or someone he’s sent, to pop out at any moment and ruin everything.

You’ve been patient. You’ve held my hand while we’ve talked and spent those few precious moments together.

I watch you, next to me, staring out into the parking lot from our perch by some god awful landscaping.

“Why wouldn’t you kiss me?” It’s a simple enough question but I shrug. I want to, with every fiber of my being I do, but there’s a fear that’s deep rooted. If my father found out I was here with you …

“There were just a lot of people in there.” I’m still just a girl who struggles to explain and that seems like the safest answer. You let your cigarette dangle from the side of your mouth. An idea slither’s into my mind. As playful as I can I lean towards you and grab at it.

You were always more straightforward than I. “What are you doing? Stop.” As quickly as the playful game to get a kiss came, it’s gone, now replaced with a sinking feeling I’m all too familiar with.

“I’m sorry.” I whisper. “I just wanted a kiss.” If there’s frustration in your eyes I miss it. Instead you move closer to me.

“Oh yeah? Ok. Well, here, you can take it.” You lean in more, offering to play my silly little girl game. I hesitate only for a second before grabbing the cigarette.

Suddenly your lips are on mine. It steals my breath away, is this what a kiss is supposed to feel like? My heart shudders and the darkness behind my closed eyes erupts in color. You rest your hand gently against my cheek, letting your fingers wrap in my hair. I may be young still but I’m certain this is special.

In that moment every ounce of fear and uncertainty fades. There’s no one but us and I have no worries that we’ll be caught. In that moment I’m certain you’d protect me. It feels right, like this is exactly where I’m supposed to be; in this moment with you.

Somehow I’ve managed to keep ahold of the cigarette and as our lips finally part you slip your hand into mine and take it back.

For a second we stare at each other, electrified.

“Did you see those fireworks?” You ask quietly.


Go see what we have waiting for you at The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch!

Posted in Word Prompt

Tame It

WordPress Daily Prompt – Circle

There’s this thing,
Running circles in my soul.
It’s happy and sad,
It’s light and dark,
It’s beautiful and bad.
It feels like your hands,
And tastes like your tongue.
It slips along my skin,
Seeps through my pores.
It sends shivers up my spine,
A chill through my brain.
It has your name,
In big flashy letters,
And a sabertooth grin.
Won’t you come help me tame it?

Posted in Word Prompt

Night Time Conversations

WordPress Daily Prompt – Mighty

I’ve had writer’s block lately. I’m just not happy with much that I’m writing down. I’ve been relying pretty heavily on previously written stuff to cover the prompts (or skipping them altogether like yesterday). This is a piece I wrote for the creative writing class I took in college.

I have a 7 year old; a small girl with dark hair and honey brown eyes. The complexity of human emotion is encompassed in her wide smile, her small hand balanced on her hip and the other clutching a blanket. She fights back against a world wrought with images of who she should be. She fights against monsters that dance through her head.

“Mama,” she says with a smile as she expands a non-existent belly, “I’m fat.” Poking her outie she stands tall and squishes the small amount of baby fat. She doesn’t understand the way world is already molding a spot for her. In a seven year old mind it’s all fun and games.

I demand to know who told her she was fat. “You are not.” I say, “You are beautiful.” Thin arms surround my neck.

“Aw, you’re beautiful too mama. I love you.” As I corral her into bed.

For the moment she is seven, wearing a pink, frilly night gown and carrying a purple dog. Her paint chipped nails clutch my hand and beg me to stay by her side. She is too young yet to navigate the world of a teenager but there she stands, already pushed to the threshold, already peering inside.

“Mama,” she says as she runs small fingers over her arms, “I’m hairy. Jackson made fun of me today because he said I had hair on my back.” Her small lips pout, her eyes water. “He tries to be the boss of me. I told him he is not.”

I count the freckles flowing across her cheeks, considering my response carefully; only to come up with, “Oh honey, you are right, he is not the boss of you.” She presses herself into my side and wraps my arm around her shoulders. She doesn’t realize that these things are for real, forever; that these are the things she will fight, she will resist, as she gets older.

“Mama,” she whispers on the verge of sleep. “A girl at school said that because my skin is tan and yours isn’t that I’m not part of your family.”

I run my fingers through her dark hair. “That is silly. Of course you are part of my family. I gave birth to you, just because you don’t look exactly like me does not mean you aren’t mine.” A light sigh followed by fluttering eyelashes.

“My teacher said I’m the Indian princess for Thanksgiving.” She rests her head on her Tinkerbell pillow and pulls her green quilt to her chin. I kiss her cheek as her eyes close for the night.

She doesn’t know that I was suspended for defending myself against a boy who constantly harassed me. She doesn’t know the names her grandmother has been called because of her tan skin. She doesn’t realize that the monsters in her mind are tame compared to the world’s interpretation of a pretty girl or a different look.

There’s a world in front of her that’s settled and set in its ways; that will require the bravery of a seven year old who does not care.

There is a day, not too far in the future, where I will have to explain. I will have to comfort her and tell her it will be alright. She will fold her body into her covers and I will rub her back. I will tell her that the world expects certain things from her because she is a girl, because she is pretty, because she does look different, but that she is capable of so much more.