Posted in Word Prompt

Constant Reminders

How strange it is
Moving from life with no photos on the wall
To life littered with drawn out dumpster diving memorials
Over every square inch of sallow hued space
Covering the holes drunkenly skewered
Leaving shards of drywall souls in my hair
Chaotically dancing over my shoulders
Constant reminders,
Next time the mark won’t be missed
Like the fading yellowed flesh wounds
Wrapping around my neck
As I’m held down and told to beg for more
That’s not sex …
It’s not love
In this house of a thousand shattered mirrors
Each fragmenting side of me
Further splintering with every fresh assault
Each small rip of tender fiber that makes my being whole
How many shades can there be today

Notable

Posted in Word Prompt

Quote A Day Two

Today’s quote is one I picked up in high school and have loved since.

Know thyself? If I knew myself I’d run away

Goethe

I’ve always loved this because we often see things implying that knowing yourself is somehow a destination.

As if humans aren’t ever changing creatures with constant experiences that impact and form us throughout our lives.

Self discovery is a journey and it’s largely never ending.

Posted in stream of consciousness

The Rain Is Coming

Sunday! 

A note for the curious: Daylight savings time does not work on biological clocks. 

Prompt: Meander

Music: Nine Inch Nails: Not The Actual Events

Rivers meander through the woods.

I splash through them in ratty old shoes and uncombed hair.

If I can just follow the babbling stream,

Follow to where the siren voices are calling me.

Dirty fingers clutch my ancient stuffed bear,

A toy from generations before.

His stuffing is busting from the frayed seems in his neck

But I love him anyway.

My constant companion.

The water splashes around my ankles,

Stabbing me with sharp, cold droplets.

How long till the rain comes?

The small stream won’t meander through the woods then.

The storms feed it,

Grow it like a monster in your dreams.

Soon it laps at the edges of our safe spaces.

I have to make it to a safe space before it rains.

Once it starts it will never stop.

The rocks along the bank are slick

But I have to stay close.

If I lose the meandering stream

The rain will surely get me too.

My beloved companion, clutched by an arm,

Is losing steam.

His seams …

Are ripping, falling.

We’re leaving a trail of stuffing.

There’s not time for me to consider,

My young mind knows we should be more careful

But I can smell the rain.


Please check out the poetry over and The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch