Prompt for Hour Twenty One
Write about your mother’s clothes.
You will find it here
Most of us seek for treasures
The thoughts to fulfill all our pleasures
Do we know what it means
When we search for our dreams
Sometimes these roads take us far
Behind our loved ones fall apart
We should know where the happiness lies
It stays where our dear ones smiles..
Feline creature on the balcony
Basking in the sun.
Whiskers on point,
purring, meowing;
little ball of love.
“The Man At No. 11”
- To him, the glass is perpetually half-empty.
- An Atlas of eternal pessimism,
- Constantly searching for affirmation,
- Sensitive to every criticism,
- And wrongly perceived slights.
- A hypochondriac of monumental proportions,
- Seemingly suffering from every phobia,
- And paranoid to the extreme.
- For him, there is no silver lining.
- Only a life of hermetic existence.
Late nights, early epiphanies
Late at night, lying in bed, that’s when the thoughts hit me.
Like being hit by a rocket, the thoughts light me up.
So many thoughts of how I feel, and how others act and how I react to others.
Finding reasons for others and how they treat me.
Making excuses for their actions.
Making excuses for how I react.
And then it hits me.
From out of nowhere, I begin to realize that my presence is valid.
My life has meaning and purpose.
It does not give me the right to act in any manner that negates anyone else’s life, however.
Each night, I get a little bit wiser.
Each night, I gain a little more insight into how I am treated and how I should be treated.
It cannot be a one way street anymore.
It cannot be where I get stepped on and I am not allowed to step up.
Usually, they call the wee hours of the morning, the witching hours, yet I am finding more how to respect myself.
Tell me again, how is this bad for me?
‘Granny Smith’ apples
If the only apples left in the world
were ‘granny smiths’,
I’d never eat another apple again,
you won’t find them in any of my
apple pies,
Green apples?
not I,
thanks to you
and the enforced
‘granny smith’ years;
they were an organic diet pill
in your twisted mind,
to me they are the essence
of my life with you,
unsatisfying,
cold,
bitter.
Euphoria
I invoke the muses to dance with me,
show me the way, seduct my writing and
lure my brain onto an adventure to bring forth
my feelings.
Rawness, openness.
Despair.
A heart aflutter and oh, so sore.
Blissfully connected while at the same time ignorantly
afraid- so very afraid
of nothing and all at once.
The cold and lonely state of Rigor Mortis can not
compete with the state of
extatic bliss; bleeding on the page
with all my might, fully alive and living.
2 o’clock hour 4AM post
The 2o’clock hour was the hardest
I was tired
I had a headache
I wanted to crawl into my bed
My stubbornness said, “NO!”
I napped for 20-30 minutes
what a relief
Just hope when the sun rises in a couple hours
my body knows it’s almost bedtime.