I have not been writing.
I feel as though all of my words will say one thing
that they will continue to gaze back longingly
at days that have already happened.
All of my life I have focused on
instead of seeking
And so I have not been writing.
I will not give myself permission to look back.
Instead I pass my days as they come
living in them
each as a treasured piece of who I am
and of who I have become.
it appears that writing every day for a month wore me out. i am dry as a desert. wordless.
that’s not entirely true, of course. but it’s been hard for me lately, with my rapidly fluctuating work schedule and other things going on in my personal life to sit down and shut everything else out and just write. for a month and a half, while it’s felt odd to me that i haven’t written, i haven’t felt it important enough to shut out the world and do it. this is coupled by a problem with my laptop’s keyboard … that problem being that my left shift, tab, and caps lock keys don’t work. it’s the shift key that gets me, because it’s how i capitalize. if you’ll notice, nothing in this post is capitalized, because it’s too outside my typing method to properly capitalize things using the right shift key.
with all this said, i miss writing. i’ve recently begun using 750-words again, and am using it to work on a story i started some time back. i’m reworking it, because it’s hard for me to get back into that moment once it’s passed, and i don’t feel i made the right choices for the story anyway. i need to write from a place that i know and understand for now, not something well outside my realm.
with things sort-of settled down here – work is behaving a bit better, and nerd wars well on its way and i don’t need to babysit it quite so much, though i do need to spend some time knitting and spinning – i will have more time for the other things that occupy my mind. those things are writing, and my obod studies, and i hope to be back in the habit of both by july. perhaps not as prolific as i was in april, but i want to write. i need to write. i will write.
I don’t want this hell
but maybe I need it.
I don’t want to sit and think of the might’ve been’s
of the what-if’s
but maybe, just maybe, it will turn this mind-numbing fog
I don’t love feeling alone
but maybe it’s time I learn to be that way
to rely first on myself before I lean on someone else.
I have my words
I have my teddy bear
I have my tears
I have my unshakable faith that the Universe is there
waiting for me to open my tear-filled eyes
and take my first steps
against which puffs of white stand stark
reminders of a past lost to me
a flash of brilliant scarlet darts past
a sudden cry threatens to draw a smile to my lips
shadows slowly lengthen
drawing a curtain over another day
one more day closer to life alone
Looking outside, at Mama Zen’s behest, and turning a sunny spring day into a daunting, scarey thing. Written for today’s Words Count prompt.
I last spoke with Death at Midnight.
There was no moon to light his way
and the dim glow of a single fading streetlamp.
I felt the room grow cold as he walked in
all swagger and confidence
his hood drawn up to shadow his face.
He paused at the end of my bed
and looked at me
and once more he smiled.
You are not yet ready for me.
My words startled him and he cocked his head
peering into the darkness.
What do you mean? asked Death
wringing his hands uneasily.
long enough to let him wonder
how it could be
that I continue to resist him.
Then I smiled, and pointed to the open window
to the starlit sky
framed by the branches of winter-barren trees.
He followed my gaze and frowned
before turning back to question me.
What does the sky have to do with it?
I sat up then
set my feet on the floor
and I walked to stand before him.
I replied, passing by him to stand before the window.
Death visited me again
but I refused to go with him
preferring to live.
And I knew he understood.
there are things that need to be said
things that make the heart sing
words unspoken that yearn for the air
that once breathed into being
become like feathers
leaving in their wake
a sense of freedom and fulfillment
there are things that must be said
hopes and dreams require fuel
without voice they cannot emerge into the light
without the light they cannot be seen
there are things which we fear to speak
words that clutch and claw at our hearts
threatening to tear us open
leave us raw and bleeding
these too must be spoken
must be exposed and examined
for they are impediments to our true selves
to our happiness
set pen to paper, hold a brush in your hand
make music and art and poetry
and give breath to your fears
to your hopes
your dreams and beliefs
your wondering and your pain
allow it to live
and then to be free