i don’t have any ideas worth writing about my life is a melodrama but i can’t find the word to really put it together my mother hates when i write about her i don’t have time enough now to write a blog every night what plot? i am a character don’t know if i have…
Tag: Writing
chasing sleep like it stole something
my evening plans include eating a massive bowl of chili while sitting in front of the television watching ridiculously mind numbing sitcoms with no discernible plot while sipping a larger than life cup of un-spiked herbal tea i will not send read or answer a single email text or facebook message the phone is dead…
crossroad, a blues?
there are all these words floating around in my head hard words / soft words words i don’t want to dance with or chitchat about words that fill me with angst and dread words that block and stifling are reminiscent of rifles sprouting off in parking lots near city skyways where babies are arranged in sandboxes…
teenagers…i think i learn more than i teach
i work with a young woman who has quite literally been chasing the ‘love of her life’ for months. it’s heartbreaking watching her leap over fences and crawl through valleys for stolen moments and misguided intentions. the object of her affection has been illusive and flighty. in some cases stringing her alone while in others…
a 21 day deadline to…next
i am 21 days shy of my 98 day goal. sitting here writing i’m not sure how i feel about that, these evening works have brought a structure to my day that i frankly lacked before. its allowed me to have conversations before impossible. to excise and share works previously housed in my head. i’ve…
I just want to testify (press play then read)
sometimes you just won’t understand why life is the way it is i began this journey to reignite in me something i believed long gone…my muse. i thought in the midst of so many disappearing acts over the course of the last decade i had grown numb or deaf to the creative force that once…
i am an artist because my mother never told me to shut up
my mother never told me to shut up. i’m sure she wanted to and probably still does. on. a. daily. basis. but the truth is she never did tell me to shut up. not only did she not tell me to shut up when i talked she listened. and i knew she was listening because…
destiny unknown
humility triggers internal swells. starlight cracks and flickers in the night. chains grittle and spray. blood and bones paint the way. gravity claims the tawdry refrain. planted starboard she relishes the sight. –prompt borrowed from sundaywhirl.wordpress.com
untitled i
its in the birth of an ending and the death of a beginning a slap issued a cry that’s stifled these are the things we cannot undo the things that leave us undone a hand that never enfolds an i that doesn’t conclude with sorry it is a love that was never truly found or…
a writer comes of age
…it means you are a slave to the words bursting forth from your mind… 7 years old / what do you want to be when you grow up, he asked me. a writer, i answered. 8 years old / i sit for hours my legs cross eagle and numb, pencil in hand diligently scribbling on…
fearfree living 