Posted in flash fiction, stream of consciousness

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.

Posted in stream of consciousness

Sometimes He’s a Man

There’s a wolf in my closet.

Sometimes he’s a man.

He watches me through a crack in the door.

I can feel his eyes

Surveying my naked body.

He licks his lips,

Waits for me to leave,

Then he slips out,

Crouched low like hanging smoke

And molests my things.

I hear crashes in the bathroom

And run to find the culprit

But he sinks back into the shadows

And watches me.

I catch him out of the corner of my eye

Shifting in shards of light.

Sometimes he hides beneath my bed

And waits till I’m asleep. 

Then he slides his fingers,

Light as a breeze,

Along my spine.

I worry one day he’ll rip it out.

If I haven’t been quiet enough.

My friends think I’m crazy,

But they won’t spend the night.

This is part 1 which has morphed into part 2 (more flash fiction, less poem). Photo is from the WordPress library.

Posted in stream of consciousness

Topsy Turvy

People are a little weird.
That’s the mantra of this town.
Specters and night crawlers
With thigh high make up
In star bowler company
Smoke infinitely long rings of mood dust.
Then there was me
And you
Collapsing across peeling laminate counter tops
And day old sandwiches
With the the bread always toasted.
How one falls
In this topsy turvy place,
From barstools to backseats.
Or bedsheets.
Up?
I suppose it only makes sense.
This has never been the city of dreams
But we liked to pretend.
And why not?
There always has been,
There always will be,
More ways to fall in love.