Feeling

Entry 2

 

There’s pain from falling in love

and pain when remembering too.

There are times I wish for pain so

I can feel closer to you.

 

Feeling

Entry 1

 

Found friends to love

and a life to drown in.

I’m not scared to feel.

I’m scared of nothing.

Halloween Part 2

I could feel the crisp breeze between my fingers, could smell the heavy dose of chocolate floating in the air and taste the bitter fear in my throat.

“Are you alright my dear?” I remember an old woman asking.

I nodded, wishing the old woman would leave and smiled politely while praying that my sister would find me. Hesitating only a second, she did just that, carrying two orange pumpkins full of candy and leaving me with my eye patch. Not a second later the silence crept along my skin expanding the tight ball of fear between my lungs. I remember the fear. I remember breathing in and out until my sister found my hand. I remember she slid her gloved hand into mine, twining her long fingers with my short ones. I remember I grasped that hand so tightly I never wanted to let go again.

Halloween Part 1

On the cold night of October 31st, I wore an eye patch. I don’t remember how old I was this specific Halloween, but I remember the sensation of wearing an eye patch, only seeing out of one eye. Holding my sister’s hand, we made our way across the neighborhood in search of candy. As a child you have no sense of fear, at least not until it’s right in your face.

I had no fear until the warmth of my sister’s hand disappeared and I was left alone standing between a group of older children. I know now that I shouldn’t have been as afraid as I was. I had gotten separated from my mom, dad and sister before. But if you’ve ever worn an eye patch it dulls one sense and you become aware of the others. I could hear the laughter of children down the street, the skipping of feet and haughty laughs of plastic demons. False demons never seemed more frightening.

My Door

I’d open that door, but I’m scared.

You see, that is no ordinary door. It’s my door.

Gold and silver wrapped around each other like vines, but no thorns.

There are enough on the other side. I hope they don’t nick you.

There’s a lot I hope doesn’t hurt you.

You see, my door may look beautiful and bright, but what it opens to is an

anomalous world.

 

Will that frighten you? You, who thinks they know everything about my door.

Where it came from, How it was made, What it leads to…

But what if you were wrong? What if everything you thought was wrong?

Would you still appreciate the door, my door?

You may be wrong, but there is no need for distance. My intentions were not of

deceit, I promise you. The door, my door is still the same one you looked upon

all those years ago. It’s just changed.

 

I’ve changed and where you thought it led was a dream of your own making.

Now, I wish you to see, but will you promise me something?

Once you open my door, walk all the way through and do not close it.

Promise me.

Promise me, for I fear it may not open again.

There are things that frighten even me about my door.

It’s of my creation and That is what I fear most.

Just Go With The Flow Pt.2

More Thoughts i put into words. read pt.1 here

I got what you need, you don’t need anybody else

I’m good for you cause I got it, everything you ever wanted.

She doesn’t have what you need, what you want

I keep it good for you cause you’re my best

The best I’ve ever tasted

You’re ingrained in me

I can’t forget you

Forget us

Just Go With The Flow

A few thoughts I put into words that don’t really have any form.

Constant motion

We see their lights but death already touched their souls

Pressure builds

Muscles tight

We feel our life flowing to no end–everything ends.

Smarting moments

The tide ebbs and flows

We drift in time with nowhere to go, we’re lost. Please find me.

 

What Color Am I Today?

It’s early in the morning. Well, not that early because its Sunday. I feel like a cream color with a hint of light blue, and brown speckled in between. I’m an airy color, that’s soft and warm but strong. I’m an anchor.

A Life Of Wonder

Below is just a blurb of a possibility.

 

I sat at a table in the crowded coffee shop, wiping the condensation from the iced latte in front of me, when the clock chimed. My head snapped up and a curse flew from my mouth, earning me a glare from the mother of two seated nearby. The clock chimed again, reminding me of the time.

Grabbing my latte and messenger bag, I mouthed a quick sorry and left the coffee shop. I was going to be late.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” I chanted under my breath as I ran or tried to in three-inch heels on slippery tile.

The clock chimed again, letting me know it’s noon while I dodged a group of tourists asking directions to the White House. Even on a Tuesday, I knew to expect crowds at Union Station. The D.C. paper pushers that braved the heat, were waiting in winding lines for their food. Glad to have missed standing in those lines, I wasn’t glad about entering the suffocating May heat to find no driver and no sign. No sign calling for Mrs. Allen was waving through the air. No sign and no driver. Great. This was my last chance. I needed this job. I needed protection the Agency could only provide, from myself and from others. But who was I kidding? I knew I’d ruin this. I always ruin things.