If we were to meet again

I’d yell and beat my breast

Who the hell do you think you are?

You’re nobody, just like me –so stop

You’re not any better than I am

so don’t sing it to the rooftop.

If we were to meet again

I’d flash my face in yours and scream

It’s lonely at the top of a pile of nobodies

croaking that you’re somebody unique

beating your own drum, rat-a-tat-tat

for the invisible audience that you seek.

head held heavy in

dirty, dirty, dirty hands, while

tears push up against my eyes and

threaten to overflow--cannot

unhear your voice in my ears,

the whiny question of "she"

"didn't want to come?" and i ache at

feeling the tremor in my spine and the

cracks that shatter through my bones at

the thought of disappointing, of

hurting you, even if you laugh it off later

and call me dumb for believing you--i

tried to say the words of "i don't want to"

"see you," even in the privacy of my own

room, but i couldn't, i couldn't, i couldn't make

the words come from my lips; couldn't stop the

racing of my heart for hours afterward.

and only half of this is true, as

i didn't even see you today. only really

re-enacting previous scenarios and pretending

that maybe i am stronger this time.

i do not think

so.

and my eyes close, soft against the pale and freckled

skin i have, tears so absent from my ducts that

i think maybe my emotions have finally dried

up, finally dried up, finally dried up

and i ask--i ask!--will i ever feel again? as

though there is some shrivel of a reality in which i

will never feel and never think again. and yet there is nothing like

this, no shrivel of reality and no hope, none, none, none

whatsoever, as i understand that i will

feel again, and achingly so, in the morning hours soon to come. and

i will also think, and will do so, so very, very, very much. it

will make us both sick, just how

much i think and just how

much i feel, so let's just

pretend i don't and that i won't and that i am

not here, that maybe i--

i want to hold the words you said to me today,

want to hold them close and want to bury them

in the place where they say my heart is.

i want to bury them and maybe, maybe, maybe

the seeds will grown into beautiful things that

we are both so very proud of.

i want to bury the words you have said to me, bury them deep into

my chest.

i want to be someone you are proud of and i

want to be someone you think

about when the day comes to

and end.

i miss kindergarten and i miss fourth grade and i miss

eighth grade and i miss all

of this time i have missed, before,

thinking on what to say to all the

people i thought i might meet and

to all the people i wished i didn't

know, anymore. i miss the idea that i might

one day just be able to stop

thinking and just start--

i want to start over,

so very badly,

except that it is only on

days where i wish to run away

from you. and also on days

where i want to run away

with you.

and let's pretend i am not here. let us pretend

so many things, such as all the things i did not

say to you (although, i really did) and all the things i

did say to you (that i really did not) and just that i did not

speak, not at all, and that i am not here and i will not be here and let's

just sleep off all these mistakes i have made

with the both of our hearts. let us sleep these mistakes off and

maybe, when you wake up, i will have been nothing

but a dream, nothing but a

distant memory that will

tease at the edge of your vision when

you turn twenty-three and when you have your

second kid and when you are taking naps at forty-seven and

when you retire and then i will be gone, from even a

subconscious place, and you will die, not even a thought on your mind

of me and all the time we have spent together.

let's sleep off the memories and the

mistakes and then i will be

gone and you will soon

forget me and then

it will be a-okay

because i wasn't ever all

that good for you, now was i,

and there was always someone better

for you to be around, so let's just sleep off

the memories and the mistakes and then i shall be

gone & off & away & nothing but a distant memory &

then you will die and not remember even knowing who i am

(and maybe that is what you deserve, what i deserve, what we both need)

and i want you to ask me

to stay, not, perhaps, because

you need me, but maybe because,

in the words of my selfish thoughts,

you want me around. maybe you want

me around, you know? maybe i want you

to want me around, because i, so very desperately,

want you around. but i refuse to be around you

if it is not what you want, too. and, either

way, it doesn't even matter, because i will

never tell you that i want you to want

me around. i will never tell you, i just

won't, i won't tell you and i won't

have it. i will not tell you.

and i kind of wish you were

here, maybe--closer, perhaps?--but

cannot fathom anything that you would

think and don't want to think of you thinking

badly about what is happening and who i am, as

you continue to say otherwise--that i am okay--and

i do not want to disappoint you. but maybe i do. maybe

i think that if i disappoint you now and that if you leave now

it won't hurt so bad. maybe. i doubt it. i tend to hurt, all the same,

all the time, no matter when someone leaves and no matter how

they go about it. it seems to always hurt.

and i miss you.

terribly so.

and i love you.

most horrifically so.

Bad kind of butterflies

Burning the pit of my stomach

Bad kind of butterflies

Blood all over my hands

Bad kind of butterflies

Burying what I have got to hide

Bad kind of butterflies

Backbone crushing with the load

Bad kind of butterflies

Because I killed myself for you

Inspiration- Alec Benjamin’s song I killed someone for you, Camila Cabello’s song Bad kind of butterflies

Jasmine Higgins prompts

If we were having coffee

three gulps ahead

of daybreak

slashed in broad strokes

across

our field of vision,

we would be engulfed

by the heckling

of another dawn.

If we were having coffee

We’d hear the moon

moaning into

its oblivion,

interlocked into

the distant past

of another lost day

in our empty

canvas of life.

yesterday, we went with Sophia to the mall. children's day falls this year on tuesday, but the sctivities for kids are in the weekend.

they had this children's flee market. kids and their parents sell their old stuff. its educational for the kids, and i never miss a chance to buy tons of toys for my girl.

this time the star of the show was a song book. it has songs that it plays and words and pictures.

we took the thing home and my baby got very excited, dancing with the songs.

until we got to song no.16.

song no. 16 is a lively tune about chicks tweeting for their mommy to feed them.

my baby heard that and she started crying!!!

at first i did not understand, what was the matter. but then i noticed that though the chicks are chirping sway, mommy never actually comes. i guess that item is not the focus. but my baby was so SYMPATHETIC to these hungry chicks the she got upset.

i hurridly changed the song to another one. but she insisted we deal with the unattended chick situation, pushing no.16 again and again.

i explained that birds are like that , and mommy is not neglectful. in fact , just the day before we were in the park and saw the birds picking at crumbs, and carying the morsals up the trees.

after we calmed things down, i tried another song. onestly, the songs on the book were mostly alien to me.

except for 'London bridge' , which is what i got..

sophia started crying again.

and why?

well, the bridge is FALLING DOWN!!!

I love to write because it takes my mind to a place of stories, miracles, mystery, enchantment, misery, joy, hatred, fascination, question, education, and intrigue.

My mind contols the output, and no one else.

Your story is built on what you see and what you believe. While you write, you're releasing an anger or an emotion that has trembled inside your mind with every waking moment. To surface it to a pen, puts you in control of it's appearance. The way you write your emotions on paper give you the option of keeping it personal or drawing in another mind to capture the output as you saw it. You reading this far symbolizes the effort I used to intrigue the output. I love to write.

Writing is purely an art of instruction.

Zunte blinked and stared at the creature before her. It growled and held it’s tail up— signaling that it was on full alert.

She felt beads of sweat start to glide across her face and neck. This beast was the fastest and strongest one’s of the jungle.

There was no way that she would be able to outrun it. But hey- if she waited and stood around— it would pounce on her and bite off her head!

She waited for the right moment to strike. Clutching her spear in one hand, she leaned a bit closer to the ground and stared back at the beast of the jungle.

The creature drew it’s mouth back in a snarl and leaped into the air. As soon as the beast was airborne, Zunte raised her spear aiming it toward the beast’s chest.

Soon after that the beast fell on top of her. Zunte’s heart was beating so fast that she thought it would burst!

She felt her hands and body begin to tremble. The sound of twigs snapping nearby startled her.

Was that another creature of the jungle? Was it a pack ready to come take care of her because she had killed one of the pack’s kind?

Zunte took another sigh of relief. She recognized this creature. ‘‘Hey~ would you help get this thing off me?’’

‘‘Sure thing. Wow- how did you end up killing this beast?’’

Zunte rose to her feet and shuddered. ‘‘The gods must have been watching over me and given me strength. Where you following me, Jiden?’’ She asked with a slight grin.

Jiden shook his head gently and then cleared his throat. ‘’Of course not. I was simply out and about. It’s the bird mating season. I enjoy getting to watch the males perform for the female birds. That’s all. But then I heard the beast’s roar and came rushing to see who was in trouble.

‘‘Well...your father did also instruct me to keep an eye on you. He always worries when you wander off alone in the jungle.’’

Zunte scoffed. ‘‘Hmph. I don’t need a bodyguard to be by my side 24/7, Jiden.’’

He placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled, ‘‘He means well, okay. Besides, shouldn’t you be on your way back to the village for the meeting? Your father won’t be pleased having his daughter, one who is next in line for the throne, late for the meeting with the Chief and mages.’’

Zunte gasped. ‘‘Ah! I forgot it was today. O, the mages will surely be delighted to see me late for another meeting. This time they might end up requesting that I have my mind examined by the village medical unit.’’

Jiden laughed as he watched Zunte run as if she was being chased by a bee. The second that she was out of sight, he waved his hand over the dead body of the beast of the jungle.

It changed form from a wild cat to a dark, thick fog. Jiden took a deep breath and inhaled it. His body felt a rush of power. He placed a hand over his throat and writhed in pain.

The fog was drawing nearer to his heart. He shut his eyes and slowly blinked. Some sunlight broke through the dense forest leaves and landed near Jiden’s face. He opened his eyes and moved his hand into the sunlight, thinking about Zunte. She was his sunshine.

He coughed for a while. Then collapsed on the ground after trying to get back up. The sound of wings flapping in the breeze was the last thing he heard before he lost consciousness.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=3pvSGwHgvhU

#JIDEN (C)

29.05.2021 sat’rday