Mia had a blanket made of the articles written about her. Articles questioning her wardrobe, her hair, her parenting and on and on. Some were reviews of her stage performances, both good and bad but many were her villainization.
“Nightmare to work with” said one.
“Absent.” simply said another.
“Son will never speak to her again.” Blared the biggest headline.
The aging pieces, haphazardly stapled together, covered her king sized bed.
Mia hauled the blanket to the back garden, draping it over the fire pit she created. In a rush of orange flame and sudden warmth, she lit one corner and watched it spread.
Have you guys ever literally burned something from the past? This is a ritual I like for the new year. You write down something you wish to release and burn it.
I’ve traveled the world, hiding in every corner. I’m an observer by nature, leaning into the shadows to learn. The further I traveled the more invisible I became. Patterns in existence seemed to close for me.
Just a very short, possibly a beginning, for the word prompts today,
Sometimes, after a good round of doom scrolling, I feel the need to lighten the load. It’s reasonable I think. I typically retreat to the mainstays of internet comedy, memes.
But meme’s can get dark too, a doom scrolling of a different type.
Yesterday a meme of Marie Antoinette’s head came up.
I smiled at first but then it was time for the execution to begin.
Maybe we’ll call this tales from the executioner.
To let your vitriol
Contaminate my IV of life
Where were you
When I couldn’t stand
With your impetuous knocking
On the windows of my mind
In the shadows
It was an impetuous knock on the old wooden door.
It was Margot’s corked shoes tapping.
Tap. Tap. Tap-tap-tap.
It was the shrill cries of children that weren’t mine.
It was the old tile with its yellow triangles inside blue circles
And the slow boiling blood stripping it clean.
Two quick stream of consciousness type things for the RDP prompt of the day.
Also, check out Pint Sized Lit
There’s a man hoarding his words
Cherishing each breath
Snatching it from the air
Dirty fingers shoving between thin lips
As he swallows without tasting
The sour avarice of words unsaid
Check out Pint Sized Lit!
We all want somebody to save.
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,
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
The most interesting thing
About this tale,
Other than every breath
Passed from your lips to mine,
Remains the fading away.
That’s really only the beginning.
RDP Prompt: Homecoming
I write my replies
Preemptive social suicide
Before I speak
My mind wanders
There must be a million
Rolled onto that wall
If I could
Disperse into them all