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
The sight of him sends heat pulsing through my veins. My skin grows warm. Sheer will pushes me forward. What’s worse, my throat dries and heart hammers, I can feel his energy fixating on me. There’s a thousand women in this room; a thousand men too. He’s misdirected. He’s confused. Why would anyone pursue?
Doesn’t he see? People like me … We exist in the shadow. There for your amusement, or bemusement, but never serious inquiry. We slip in the cracks, stay behind a crowd’s back. His aim’s amiss. That must be it.
He must know I’m just a play thing, just the monster free of chains.
Your soul is a percussive instrument, beating and vibrating, keeping time with the wants and needs bouncing through your mind. You’re projecting, sending pulsing signals out into the world with every move you make, vibrations in colored solar flares to tell every soul what you seek, what they can help you find. We constantly meet and crash, impressing on one another the desires of each other. When my soul met yours it beat so perfectly in tune, moving in beat exactly with mine, complementing every move we made. There was no moment, no hesitation, only total realization. You were part of me and I was part of you, there’s never been another way it could be. Your soul is a percussive instrument and it beats in perfect time with mine.
This was posted in Nov 2017, just over a year ago. It’s not perfect but I’ve always liked it. The prompt of the day was percussive (I think).
This was originally posted in Sept 2017. I was working on something else that’s been floating around my head and started thinking about this. The prompt at the time was thorny, the RDP prompt today is brace
What did it feel like?
Dying I mean?
Was it cold?
Kind of like being born again?
Was it light,
Or maybe a bit of both?
Did you know then,
When it happened I mean?
Did you see God?
Heaven and Hell?
Or was it just space and time,
All melding together in one?
The sweet soul gives a wispy smile,
Dying, her voice echoes,
Well, I do remember that well.
Momma told us it would be ok,
It wouldn’t hurt at all.
But it was kinda like falling,
Your stomach flies to your throat
And down to your toes,
Except it’s all at once.
Then you land,
And it’s kinda like landing
In your grandmother’s old roses,
When you fly over the handlebars
For the very first time.
It’s all excitement and adrenaline.
That is until you land,
Then it’s kinda thorny.