Verdant – RDP word of the day Music – Dirty Three – Self titled
Luscious. Fertile. Sasha’s garden was everything Mari could never inspire in her own. Her belly too, round with verdant life in a way Mari would never know.
Obsession. Jealousy. Rage in Mari’s veins blossomed as she feigned excitement for Sasha’s burgeoning life. Sasha’s roses brought home awards. Her daffodils sailed into a spotlight all their own. The baby kicked while she laughed on.
Inspired. Alone. Mari took to a rusted axe in order to get the job done.
I forgot to time myself but I intended to aim for 5 minutes to start. This probably took about that long.
She awoke one fine cupcake morning, Blue skies and nary a cloud in sight. Village windows remained shuttered, Terrific beasts tethered to the night. It was a fine day indeed. She had the invitations, Colloquial and drawn in invisible ink. Balloons of her favorite shades, Faded blues and washed out grays, Floated about the room; Specters all their own. Nine thirty and a quarter past second five. She clasped her hands, Breathing anticipation, When only a strangers shadow Fell upon the door. “Am I late?” An echo from empty marble halls. “I do love parties after all.” She tugged at cotton candy curls And a dress of a more bland sort. “Of course, of course. Just lay your grievances down here. After all, isn’t that what pity parties are for?”
Between how overwhelmed I’ve been pretty much all year at this point and a looming sense of becoming stuck in the status quo I’ve honestly felt like shit lately. I feel stuck, unimportant, unmotivated, uninspired and so very much like a total failure. I get to points where I wonder if every decision I’ve ever made has been the wrong one. Since I found myself having a pity party … Here we are
Water reminds me We’re not alone Landlocked and desperate For connection Somewhere beyond The curve of waves Rising to the sky I don’t know how To build a bridge I can only collect every grain of sand Until we can walk across the tide
By some twist in irony this is exactly a year old and somehow it’s relevant again. Cycles, full circle, something. Thanks for partaking in my whine.
Sometimes I wish I could be the mom That my father claims I am. Shitty and repulsive With no other care. I couldn’t be the person In the narrative he keeps, The story he likes to tell about me. The daughter that left her child. The daughter that only comes around for money. The daughter that only cares about the next party. Tonight I’ll try to convince myself All these things I do aren’t just for show. I’ll wish I were beautiful. I’ll wish I were smart. I’ll wish I hadn’t broken your heart. I’ll tell myself everyone’s proud of me. Tonight I’ll sit on my bathroom floor With my broken bottle of whine And cry myself to sleep. So when I wake tomorrow It will all just be a bad dream And my bottle of my whine Will be poised on the counter neatly, Waiting to be filled with Broken expectations and unfulfilled dreams, Bad words and ugly names, Until it overflows and needs to be broken again. Then I’ll sit on my bathroom floor With the weight of this world, Frothing and rushing, Threatening to drown me But never winning out.
I swallowed a seed Completely on accident you see It nestled to the folds of my being Grew within me Ivy limbs sprinted for the Sun I wanted to tell you not to be afraid But my tongue is replaced And bark hardens my veins.
Photo: Cal Redback – to see more of his work click here
Today I wondered What I’d done to survive this long. How have I Kept seeing blue skies? Thoughts kept quiet, Crept steadily forward. You weren’t there But I felt you at my back. Your voice becomes The beat to my degenerative drum. Today, you won.
Once again I’m reposting. This was originally published in … maybe about a year ago in 2018 I think and the WordPress prompt of the day was Black. I couldn’t help myself back then and I can’t help myself today. Tell me about your favorite music?