Tuesday, July 5, 2011

6/10

A room.

A chair.

Sheet music strewn across the floor.

Several music books stacked against the wall.

An open window, moonlight.

A fallen wooden music stand.

He’s crouching on the floor, behind the door.

Blonde hair matted, face covered with his hands.

His bare feet against the unforgiving, cold, wooden floor.

5/10

Last month she told me that she had spent the day embracing the porcelain throne.

Last week she told me that she was worried, she had skipped.

Last night she told me that she didn’t have a choice, that her parents would disown her.

Tonight I held her in my arms because she couldn’t, wouldn’t hold herself.

POV

4/10

From the back of the truck it looked like he was having fun. He was laughing so hard he couldn’t even breathe! His eyes were swimming in tears as he held his sides, shaking with laughter. From the back of the truck it looked like they were just tickling him, their hands all around him. They themselves were laughing. One of them even tried to help him up, but all the others just started tickling again. From the back of the truck it looked like his shirt was drenched in Koolaid. Hadn’t one of the boys been drinking it early on? I can’t remember but I watched as it stained the concrete red. From the back of the truck it looked like he had fallen asleep, curled up on the street. It’s nice that everyone left him alone, poor kid must be exhausted.

3/10

Look.

Look closely.

Look steadily.

Look with your heart.

Look with you mind.

Stop looking.

Start seeing.

My adventure

2/10

It was all she could do not to sigh audibly as the tree shuddered in anticipation. He couldn’t know that she was there, looking at what he had accomplished. The rings sparkled in the sunlight as they danced with the summer breeze, letting her see the engravings quite clearly. The one nearest to her read ‘Madagascar’ and she wondered what it was that he had accomplished there. Maybe he had rid a village of a man eating monster like he did a few months ago in Morocco. That’s one of the newer rings, hung close to the bottom branch. Or maybe he had rescued a little boy from the deadly coils of an anaconda like in Brazil. That was a very old adventure, told by the ring 100 feet directly over her head.

She glanced backwards quickly and with no sign of her brother pulled a tarnished ring from the folds of her skirt. She touched the engraving lightly, allowing her fingers to follow the grooved lines. Tiptoeing, she placed her ring on the lowest branch and pushed it slightly, making it sway like the others.

Monday, July 4, 2011

color

1/10 that I hand-wrote in June and am now posting

She painted my skin the color of Hope
dragging richness and beauty throughout every pore
her fingernails sparkled with rainbows of dew
that left a mark shining through every hue.

She painted my skin the color of Need
and drew faint blue lines that continued to plead
she lowered my head and expected my words
to tremble and shudder and flow like a bird's.