stories engraved on the palms of her hands...
fingers grip pencils
tell stories
stories of
lifting
others up
tearing
others down
her scarred hands tell stories
of where she has been
and what she may do
they pattern her skin
painting pictures
and writing words
that show
what she buries within
if you look hard enough.
each scar holds a memory
each line of grime a reminder
each broken nail a fragment
of lives lived
and lives being lived.
imperfect hands
tell beautiful stories
of imperfect people,
beautiful people.
beautiful people
who’ve made mistakes
beautiful people
who’ve made messes
beautiful people
who’ve been brave enough
to get a little dirty
and get back up again
to brush off the dust.
beautiful people
who’ve been hurt before
beautiful people
who’s scars hint pain
beautiful people
who can look at their scarred
dirty
imperfect hands
and say
“hey, look how far we’ve come.”
Complete Nonsense
Thinking, a process of the brain failing to work.
Writing, a way to try to jumpstart the thinking brain.
Idea, something that comes from thinking and usally gets written.
Lost, the idea that you didnt write down when you thought of it.
Anger, what you feel when you lost the idea that you didn't write down when you thought it.
Struggle, what you do in anger at looking for the lost idea that you didnt write down when you thought of it.
Quit, what you do when you have struggled in anger at the lost idea that you didnt write down when you thought of it.
Complain, what you do after you quit struggleing in anger at the lost idea that you didnt write down when you thought of it.
Memory, what you complain about after quiting to struggle in anger at the lost idea that you didnt write down when you thought of it.
Waste of time, what this is becasue my memory failed so im now complaing about quitting to struggle in anger at the lost idea that should have written down when i thought of it.
The Dangerous Wood of Imaginations
I sit at the edge, staring out the window to where my mind wanders. I shrug, closing my eyes to inhale.
I appear in vast forest of thoughts like an unsuspecting princess in a dangerous wood of imaginations. Which fruits shall I taste? Some berries must be poison, I'm sure. There are beasts that roam here. Some are nice, some are not. Some are tameable, but some I cannot control.
Like his voice in my head. I just can't seem to shake it. Not like I try, but if I DID try, I'm sure I wouldn't be able to.
Like the ambulance I hear speed by. Praying the situation isn't as bad as it seems, I imagine the paramedics and the victims.
It's a sad world sometimes, though I always make an effort to see the glass half-full. But, in the end, what exactly is it half-full of? Maybe the glass is better off being half-empty. Depends.
My eyelids arise and my mind is set free... or maybe it's confined once again to monotonous reality. Maybe true freedom materializes when my mind is lost within my eyelids, in the midst of the dangerous wood of imaginations.
Ten Minute Writeout
It’s a time for warm embraces and smiling faces, a time for toasts and reconciliations. It’s a time for renewing old friendships and making new ones, a time for good laughter and sweet kisses.
It’s a time of a golden autumn, a time for peace and happiness and plenty of it. Winter will come in a short time, accompanied by a season of greetings and warmhearted feelings.
Trying to work on some poetry writing, but not too well at it.