Posted in stream of consciousness

Frequency

I try to bring myself up
Heighten the frequency at which I scream
But what comes around goes
You can’t hear me

I am … so many things and emotions and faces right now. I’m … unsettled, pushed out of any comfort zone I thought I had (as everyone has been throughout this year). I can’t believe it’s October 1st. Was I even born in January? I don’t know anymore.

Posted in stream of consciousness

Full but Empty

I have a goal of doing a stream of consciousness write everyday to get myself back to the habit and writing every day.

I thought about writing

Comparing dressers

Full but empty

With shirts ripped and stained

And jeans frayed

But life got in the way

So I stuffed my feelings

To the back of the drawer

Just another shirt

Paint stained and bloodied

To be forgotten

But easily retrieved

In the depths of a dresser

Stuffed with regrets

But empty

Just like me

Also, music:

Posted in stream of consciousness

Crumbs

I’m a little bit messy
In life and in love
Memories splatter
Over walls and stale cloths
Across my shirt
Down my chin
A touch here and there
Fragrant reminders
Of a life I missed
Stick to my lips
Crumbs, ravaged
Forgotten details I pick up
Again and again

Posted in Word Prompt

Imperfect Clay

We are,
They say,
Made of clay.
Astral mud
And dusty stars,
Or
Heavy red
Riverbank soul
Farmed from the heart
Of what we
Truly are.
Molded into
What we wish
To be.
An image of god
Or golden calf,
Imperfect clay
Are we.

Posted in Word Prompt

I Was

This is an actual stream of conciousness type write. With inspiration also drawn from the photo for Fandango’s flash fiction challenge.
Music: All Them Witches – Lost and Found EP (can be found here on youtube if interested)

Victoria_Borodinova at Pixabay

When I was a kid I liked to imagine my life somewhere exotic, in times and places far away.

I was Esmeralda, dancing in the hot breeze. I was Ariel, venturing beyond the realm of known. I was a power ranger, saving the world one swipe and swoosh at a time. 

I was anything and everything: a paper bag carrying Superman’s groceries; a walking stick leading a great adventure. 

I was taught, and well it seems, that I was only an accessory. 

I was a compliment and a burden. 

I was helpless when all I wanted was to be a hero. 

I was worthless, a string of fake pearls snatched from Ms. Scarlett’s neck. 

I was scattered, a faded news piece, irrelevant before my ink dried. 

But all I dreamed was of being a hero, of saving the world one crisis at a time. 

And maybe on the weekends I could still be Esmeralda, dancing under the moon.