Bullets are sprayed in the air and I’m shot down my smiles now are now replaced with frowns my heart has been shot feels like I’ve been stabbed in the back a massive heart attack has left me feeling like one side of my body can’t sustain as though I’m only half paralyzed with pain because the other half has to maintain that crippling facade that my soldier soul can continue on walking strong all the while my armor is ripped from all the silent tears that drip drop down onto the new badge that replaced the one that use to flicker in the light my new damaged sticker is in plain sight.
I’m the person that you put back on the shelf the contorted version of yourself, the one that no one else sees the person with heavy insecurities the one who can’t be found the one chained and bound to the sound of pure silence…
Didn’t Queen sing “another one bites the dust” and yet, I feel like the one left in the dirt with the blood of my mangled body on my shirt the blood from cuts so deep they won’t seem to heal, body so cold, it can no longer feel still crying even though I’m all cried out trying to find a river to ease this drought all the while you all see me and start to snicker pointing and laughing at my damaged sticker.
“I want to make him mine. For forever and a day or two. I want to be able to wake up in the mornings with my ruffled hair tucked away under his chin. I want to feel that heat generated on my right shoulder from the left hand that held it all night long. I want to be the one who rubs his legs with my thighs every morning. The one receiving kisses on the forehead when he’s about to say ‘Good Morning,’ and the one whispering soft ‘I Love You’s in his ear. I want him to love me. The way he loved all those girls before with that passion that burns so bright, it drives the inner darkness away.”
“I want him to love me so much, that it hurts just a smidge to say goodbye; love me so much in the same way that I love him. From the lashes on his eyes, the stud in his ear, the shape of his lips, and the hairs on his chin. From the build of his chest, the look of his belly button and the length of his legs. I bet you were thinking I was going to say something else. But you see I love him past the usual physical things that people associate with love. And that’s how I want him to love me.”
“I want him to love me no matter what- Spring, Summer, Winter and Fall. Through it all. I want him to not only love me, but to be in love with me. So in love that when he writes the word, his name is in the middle of it. So in love with me, that no matter how I look, no matter how many of his babies I have, I will always remain eternally glowing. And I will be ever-flowing with love for him.”
And so, in trying to keep with documenting my success in finishing a novel by the end of Summer, I am here to inform you that my muse is sickly. Not only is she sickly, but it seems that she’s got laryngitis as I haven’t heard a peep from her in some days. A few times during showers she may muster up some form of plot development, but aside from that, I haven’t added much to what I’ve already got, which is okay because I’ve mustered up something in the 10-11 thousand word range. But, considering that I need to be somewhere around the 80-100 thousand range by September…it is a bit worrisome.
Nonetheless, I shall prevail. I think my sudden blockage may be due to the fact that I need a good book to put me in the frame of mind of the time. With that being said, I’m looking to read a good copy of ‘Jane Eyre,’ preferably on a beach soaking up some sun and much needed relaxation time. I am hopeful that I will procure my copy of the book soon, though I’m not sure if I want to borrow if from the library -which I haven’t been to in MONTHS- or if I should just get the bloody copy from a Barnes and Nobles and hold on to it in hopes that it’ll be one of those books that I read every Spring or something. It can be added to the ‘classics’ section of my personal library which already includes such books as “Mansfield Park,” “Little Women,” “This Side of Paradise,” ” The Jungle,” “A Tale of Two Cities,” “Wuthering Heights,” “Frankenstein,” “The Awakening,” and “The Jungle.” None of which I’ve actually read yet. Jeez-Louise I need to get better with my reading.
Well, that’s all I have for you so far. I will be posting up excerpts of what I have AND I will also be posting up some poetry and short stories as I started in the past. I need to make this blog thing a little more lively, then hopefully people will like me enough to actually want to read more.
As of late, I’ve been working on this novel and find myself getting waves of inspiration and the moments of pure stumped-ness. In those moments I either read in a feeble attempt to research OR think of books I want/need to read to expand my vocabulary and finesse my writing style to sound more of a ‘period piece’ than a contemporary recollection of a past event.
When I’m not doing that, I’m searching for contests to enter and found myself rummaging through my old hand-written pieces for short stories that I can add to my already typed collection. I found this little ditty and decided to share it with you all today:
It was either my first or second day in this class that I noticed him. His face reminded me so much of this guy I once knew and in the beginning, everything I looked at his face, I couldn’t help but revert back to memories I shared with the other guy. Little does this man in my class know, his clone is walking around on campus. His face, his smile, his hair, his damn height – all of it – all of it is freaking reminiscent of this guy I use to know. I made me sad at times. I wasn’t sad that the guys look alike – homeboys are attractive. It’s sad because I had let the guy I’m reminded of go. You know in life sometimes there’s that one person you get attached to and things are going pretty smooth but then out of nowhere something or someone comes along and freaks it up and you’re either too chicken-shit or confused about the situation and instead of trying to mend thing, you let them naturally dissipate? Yeah. He was that guy. The guy I let the forces of nature and my own stupidity take from me. And it’s like every time I hear this guy in my class talk, I hear the other dude’s voice. Granted, he doesn’t sound as street or as Brooklyn as the guy in my class sounds, but I can still hear him. What use to hurt me the most though, would be when I came to class and saw the clone and then go out on campus and see the real thing walking around, holding his girlfriend’s hand. I felt like shit on those days. It was as though he was everywhere. I just couldn’t escape him. But sooner or later, I had to come to terms with my own mistake. And maybe sitting across from the one who looked like the one that got away was the dose of medicine I needed.
My professor commented that my writing was “smooth & expressive.”