Shifting from foot to foot, a dull aching in your heels.
You've been standing for minutes, hours, days... Though you really haven't been.
You've just arrived. Yet you're so impatient.
Patience is the key they always say.
But this is too good to be patient for.
You've been waiting for years to meet him.
The one you spend all night talking to,
The one you told all your secrets to,
The one who understands you more than you understand yourself.
And yet you're nervous.
What if you don't meet the bar?
What if you're not what he's been looking for?
What if this is the end?
Yet it's not.
Because you know that those thoughts are just small doubts.
Small doubts that have no meaning, because you've known this man for years.
You'd know through the way he talked, typed, worded his sentences if he was no longer interested.
Now your feet rely ache because you have been standing there for an hour.
The plane was delayed but you can see the gate from where you stand.
There's no sign in your hands to welcome him. He knows every detail of you.
He could pick you out of a crowd faster than you could find Waldo.
You think you see him but a crowd of scurrying people flit to and fro.
Annoyance.
And yet a smile springs across your face as you're embraced from behind.
He was always a sneaky one. You know by the feel that this is the one you've been waiting for.
Turning you greet him with all the assurance and love you can give him.
Because you've waited long enough.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Stolen Lines
For several weeks now, I have been painting pictures of watermelons. Over and over again. Green to black to white to pink to freckles of tiny black dots across the soft pink surface.
It's looks nothing like a watermelon now. Just a circus of colorful splotches, smeared across the canvas. Maybe I should start over? Like I've done so many times before. Or Maybe I'll keep this one. I do enjoy the stretch lines of the melon. Though those could be mistaken for ripples in a pond.
Maybe I should make it a pond? Who would know the difference but I?
No. I can't be half hearted through this all.
A Watermelon. How hard can it be you ask? Well I have been at it for weeks now. Maybe it's not me. Maybe it's the way I'm approuching it that's wrong...
Should I lay on my side and paint it upside down?
I could throw paint on it. But I don't feel like cleaning that up...
"John come look at this. I think I'm done," My holler sang through out the old home, just as his heavy foot steps bellowed back at me. Waltzing in from some distant part of the house, my gangly man scratched his bushy chin and stared at the splotches on the canvas.
"It's a nice watermelon. I like how you drew it split open and spilling out. Lovely work darling," Tilting my head at my husband and looking at him as if he had lost his mind. It looked like crap. Maybe he was lying to me.
"Poppycock. Trying yanking my other leg," I scoffed. He chuckled lightly and patted my head before planting a soft kiss on my forehead.
"You, my dear, are deranged," That I might be. But this watermelon is the bane of my existance.
"I'm throwing it out," I started.
"Why? I was going to hang it above the fireplace..." He groaned.
"Why bother? It's rubbish!" At this point I threw my hands in the air. Having given up.
"Why not? I find it lovely," Stubborn man. I'll let him do as he pleases. But I'm throwing it in the river as soon as he's not looking.
It's looks nothing like a watermelon now. Just a circus of colorful splotches, smeared across the canvas. Maybe I should start over? Like I've done so many times before. Or Maybe I'll keep this one. I do enjoy the stretch lines of the melon. Though those could be mistaken for ripples in a pond.
Maybe I should make it a pond? Who would know the difference but I?
No. I can't be half hearted through this all.
A Watermelon. How hard can it be you ask? Well I have been at it for weeks now. Maybe it's not me. Maybe it's the way I'm approuching it that's wrong...
Should I lay on my side and paint it upside down?
I could throw paint on it. But I don't feel like cleaning that up...
"John come look at this. I think I'm done," My holler sang through out the old home, just as his heavy foot steps bellowed back at me. Waltzing in from some distant part of the house, my gangly man scratched his bushy chin and stared at the splotches on the canvas.
"It's a nice watermelon. I like how you drew it split open and spilling out. Lovely work darling," Tilting my head at my husband and looking at him as if he had lost his mind. It looked like crap. Maybe he was lying to me.
"Poppycock. Trying yanking my other leg," I scoffed. He chuckled lightly and patted my head before planting a soft kiss on my forehead.
"You, my dear, are deranged," That I might be. But this watermelon is the bane of my existance.
"I'm throwing it out," I started.
"Why? I was going to hang it above the fireplace..." He groaned.
"Why bother? It's rubbish!" At this point I threw my hands in the air. Having given up.
"Why not? I find it lovely," Stubborn man. I'll let him do as he pleases. But I'm throwing it in the river as soon as he's not looking.
Ugly, Hideous, Horrid Prompt#52
She laughs brightly and flicks her hair over her shoulder.
She hold her head high, looking down on everyone below her.
She sits on her perch and watches with Envy as girls, nowhere near as beautiful as she is, are picked by the dashing young men around them.
She watches and studies.
She can mimic those whores to a T.
So she does.
She lures in a handful of men. Young, strapping and nothing but full of moral intentions.
She feels so brilliant, she has what every other girl wishes.
But slowly one by one the men realize her faults.
She's an empty shell.
Too self asorbed she doesn't notice the men slowly slipping away.
Until she is alone. Comepletly and utterly alone.
A scowl dances across her face.
She stands and lashes out to all who can hear.
The monster she sealed up inside has finaly leaked out.
A grotesque thing, that only cares for herself, that never extends a hand of help or loose change for the needy.
As beautiful her shell was. Her Insides were nothing more than a black burning liquid of acid and formaldehyde.
She hold her head high, looking down on everyone below her.
She sits on her perch and watches with Envy as girls, nowhere near as beautiful as she is, are picked by the dashing young men around them.
She watches and studies.
She can mimic those whores to a T.
So she does.
She lures in a handful of men. Young, strapping and nothing but full of moral intentions.
She feels so brilliant, she has what every other girl wishes.
But slowly one by one the men realize her faults.
She's an empty shell.
Too self asorbed she doesn't notice the men slowly slipping away.
Until she is alone. Comepletly and utterly alone.
A scowl dances across her face.
She stands and lashes out to all who can hear.
The monster she sealed up inside has finaly leaked out.
A grotesque thing, that only cares for herself, that never extends a hand of help or loose change for the needy.
As beautiful her shell was. Her Insides were nothing more than a black burning liquid of acid and formaldehyde.
March 14th entry
Others brings me great joy.
Seeing nothing I do can to help frustrates me to no end.
Disaster creates in me deep sadness.
I am grateful for the love of others.
Knowing I can help grants me peace.
Insects scares me beyond belief.
I find acceptance from My will to push forward.
Rudeness surprises me.
I am utterly disgusted by Intolerance.
Anxiety is created in my life by social expectantions.
I am ashamed that I don't keep close contanct with my friends.
I have never felt more grief than when I thought I lost my best friend.
More than anything I hope for a chance to help others.
I worry too much about what people think of me.
I still fell guilty when I don't think I lived up to someone else expectations.
Sometimes, I envy one's ability to relax.
My Art makes me very proud.
I am most offended when people act ignorant.
I feel most happy when I think of my friends.
Seeing nothing I do can to help frustrates me to no end.
Disaster creates in me deep sadness.
I am grateful for the love of others.
Knowing I can help grants me peace.
Insects scares me beyond belief.
I find acceptance from My will to push forward.
Rudeness surprises me.
I am utterly disgusted by Intolerance.
Anxiety is created in my life by social expectantions.
I am ashamed that I don't keep close contanct with my friends.
I have never felt more grief than when I thought I lost my best friend.
More than anything I hope for a chance to help others.
I worry too much about what people think of me.
I still fell guilty when I don't think I lived up to someone else expectations.
Sometimes, I envy one's ability to relax.
My Art makes me very proud.
I am most offended when people act ignorant.
I feel most happy when I think of my friends.
3# Poetry Prompt - A Letter You'll Never See
I've seen you.
I've met you.
I've held your hand,
And laughed with you.
You're a continuos reoccurrence in my life.
A constant thought.
A Lovely thought. Brash and unattainable.
A crippling realization. Unattainable.
You laugh and smile at me with blinding radiance.
And while I cover my eyes,
Those few seconds of darkness leave me barren.
Wanting nothing more than to let myself be blinded by you.
But this is all but a dream.
A Wish.
Something I ask for every time I see 11:11
But for now I'll pretend.
I'll pretend to be happy just being by your side.
I'll pretend to smile along with you,
Hoping my farce doesn't slump it's way through.
For now I'm fine with pretending.
Even though I know you will never be mine.
I've met you.
I've held your hand,
And laughed with you.
You're a continuos reoccurrence in my life.
A constant thought.
A Lovely thought. Brash and unattainable.
A crippling realization. Unattainable.
You laugh and smile at me with blinding radiance.
And while I cover my eyes,
Those few seconds of darkness leave me barren.
Wanting nothing more than to let myself be blinded by you.
But this is all but a dream.
A Wish.
Something I ask for every time I see 11:11
But for now I'll pretend.
I'll pretend to be happy just being by your side.
I'll pretend to smile along with you,
Hoping my farce doesn't slump it's way through.
For now I'm fine with pretending.
Even though I know you will never be mine.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Opinion Prompt #13 - Time, Time, Time. It's Slipping away
Time. It's a shame to waste it. Something you could be using to better yourself. Not just make money. Money doesn't make the world go round. The Time and choices with others is what makes your world go round. Money will buy you nice things and keep your roof over your head but you don't need to be working all the time if it's just to gain more and more money. Families die when money is the divider. You hurt the ones closest to you when you let yourself be consumed by money. The time you spend with others is more valuable then any amount of money. Because money will only buy you friends until you run out.
What Words and Actions Can't Display
Something that I want my words and actions to display is something warm and kind. Verses my hard and scally shell. I want people to be warmed by my appearance not cringe away into a dark corner. I want them to know I wouldn't even hurt a fly. Though I do find insects frightful. I want them to know I'll always be here to listen and to talk to. A Reminder that you're not as alone as you may think. Because being alone is scary. And No one should go through that.
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