Shadow

Two syllables, too many meanings—alone. Some want alone, others hate alone,  but always Alone lingers through the years, having such a scent that it personifies into that person we learn to love or fear. To me Alone is that person lurking in your shadow, that person who you try to stay two steps ahead, the person who always catches you. 

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Writing prompts!

Hello everyone!

I’m going to start posting writing prompts every few days, and possibly every day in the future depending on how this goes. Please let me know if you use my prompt! I would love to see your work :) The prompt will also be posted in the submissions section (which I will create in a few moments and replace this with the link to) for those who would like to post something on my page (provided I approve of it), but I think that it would be much better for people to post it on theirs (because that’s how I feel about my own work). Just make sure I see it by posting a simple answer to the question on this post :)

My main purpose in doing this is to gain a better understanding of the way people think about specific things. I can’t exactly write about anything new if I can’t think in different ways! I will not in any way use your work. This is simply research for future characters and their thinking patterns.

Today’s prompt:
Alone.
It’s remarkable how many meanings a single word can have in the English language. The words we choose to use are generally determined by whatever mood happens to be inhabiting us at the moment. Eventually words themselves seem to have designated moods; yet each is different to every individual. What does the word “alone” mean to you?

The Portrait Of A Writer As Recluse

manuscriptsandbourbon:

In your mountain your blood designs the flow of greens.
In your wooden chair you dream of shadows and sheens.

Sometimes you wish you were one of the oldest trees that reside in the forest of life. Weatherbeaten, timeworn, formidable, and wise. You would know secrets most of us live for but die before discovering. You would know the stirrings that stream the glade. You would know the music of storms.

Sometimes you wish you were a citadel that slices the sky in ironland. August, dominant, cruel and deathless. You would know the power most of us desire but kill our souls for having. You would know the suffering that thrives in the dirt. You would know the opera of screams.

Sometimes you wish you were a stone that remains steady in the country of grass. Anesthetized, ageless, solid and indifferent. You would know the numbness most of us feel but never understand. You would know the voices of midnight. You would know the war in stillness.

In your cigar clouds you form columns from the rain.
In your solitude you create torches from pain.

How you wish you were brave enough to steal other people’s dirty laundry and learn well enough to wear them in the street. How you wish you were leading a ship to the darkness of the mad and steer long enough to emerge as a fleet. How you wish your tongue was slick enough to taste the dryness of bones and lap up the marrow without being discreet.

In your patchwork you form an image from the din.
In your silence you harness noises from within.

graciouswords:

I 

With all I am 
And all I’ll ever be
Shall seek out the

Beauty behind the eyes
Of everything you see.
Resting, only when the
Nights radiant glow 

Traces stars across
Our melded souls and

Leaves sweet surrender
On our skin; where the 
Vastness of 
Eternity is lost in shared breath

Yesterday comes and goes but
Ours are the tomorrows
United, loving, unconditional.

Ambition Grows

Have you ever been told your dreams are too big
For your little insignificant soul?
Or that perhaps you should settle for less
Than the absolute best in the entire world?
Have your glittering hopes been shattered
By those folks whose opinions don’t even matter?
When all you asked for was a fragment of faith,
Did they turn their eyes the other way,
Refusing to foresee your imminent glory?
As much as we want to believe
It doesn’t matter what people say or think,
The sad truth is that it does, and that’s a fact.
Without the encouragement of others, confidence lacks,
And dreams get caught in a storm of self-doubt,
Eventually perishing in the rain of negativity pouring down
Ceaselessly, through floating grey oppression.
Yet, ask yourself ths question:
Do my dreams really need the wings of artificiality,
Is fake confidence necessary to lift off and fly,
Or are dreams seeds, needing merely to grow slowly
Before they reach their true potential glory?
Only ambition comes from within independently,
And like honey bees gather around the sweetest blossoms,
Confidence and success will simply follow naturally.

Anonymous asked: I love your "My Life" section.. Well done doll.

Well thank you :) 

Ink

Ink runs deeper than paper;
Like tears dripping onto cotton,
Shared words soak into the weaved fibers
And drizzle down from the other side,
Reaching out across the world to tiny fingers,
Unable yet to read or understand
Why they continue to suffer,
Yet latching on to the nearest hand,
For guidance and comfort,
Seeking refuge in pages of uniform letters;
Words and words of consistency.
Ink, which flows directly
From the blood in my veins,
Down my pen and onto the page,
Revealing a heart grown from the deep
Resonating silence of love and protection,
Where all secrets have a safe keep,
And love is far more than precious:
It is the very essence of that which made us.
Ink, as it flows from God’s creation,
And into my imagination then across all nations,
Has the powerful ability to show all who cannot see,
That God has already set them free. 

I rolled over in another attempt to catch that tricky sleep which so restlessly seemed to love avoiding me, and observed his serenely sleeping form. He lay on his back, with his left arm stretched above his head, which faced in my direction as he’d fallen asleep whispering in my ear, and the other resting gently on his taught toro; he was sprawled out in the image of a hibernating bear. Flashes of muffled growls earlier in the evening flashed across my memory, and I blushed despite the darkness. I considered myself the luckiest woman to ever walk this earth as I gazed at his angelic face. This man was the impossible eclectic collection of my innermost desires; he was everything I’d ever imagined I’d want in my companion, and yet he seemed so unreal. How could it be possible that my quirky combination of the the ideal traits for a perfect man were actually here, presently, located all at once in this sleeping masterpiece? It seemed rather ironically impossible that after everything I’d gone through, after being near him for so long, after all the embarrassing talks between mere friends, that he could possibly be the one. And yet, the obvious inevitability struck me dumbly as I watched his chest rise and fall in the moonlight cascading through the blinds; of course he was the one, he was always the one.

Daughter of Eve

Expand my mind,
Enter inside and,
Express your desires. 
Slide your hands,
Down my sides to emphasize,
Your passion’s increasing size.
Slip your tongue between my lips,
With a nibble and a kiss,
Releasing a sigh of anticipation,
Or hesitation for relief,
Because build-up is bliss,
With fantasies of surmounting animosity.
We cannot be killed with curiosity,
But when patience thins,
And temptation wins,
We are as close as can be,
To those carnal sins.
So remember to keep your mind,
While you’re so deep inside of mine,
Because my lust cannot be trusted;
I am a daughter of Eve, who combusted
With the burning embarrassment,
Of giving her foolish consent,
To a silver-tongued serpent.
Your love isn’t bent or twisted,
But sometimes my judgement is.

 

Beasties and Monsters

I’ve been stalked before, hunted and feasted upon by a beast of the ugliest nature. I “asked” for it I supposed, but only about as much as you’d invite a burglar into your home and offer up all your diamonds. I’ve been stalked by smaller beasties of ankle biting sizes too; those irritating little puppies that follow and then obsess over you after a while, jumping and biting at your feet, tripping you up along the way. Those are much easier to get rid of; they get distracted by others easily, falling in love all over again. 
But when the monsters are invisible creatures of the unknown, when you have no idea which way they could possibly come from or what they would do to you, that’s the worst kind. It could sneak up on you in your sleep and suffocate your life like it smothers joy with its shadow of guilt. Or approach in broad daylight with an ultimatum: you or the long road opposite of heaven. This is the worst kind of monster, the most dangerous you see. Because this monster would do anything to preserve me, to stuff and keep my corpse of wasted beauty for its personal tranquillity and peace of mind. But I don’t belong in a puppet menagerie. 
There’s really nothing to do when this monster appears, but hide under the covers until the arrival of that which the monster fears the most: the sun could rise, or a knight could come to claim his prize. Whichever comes first will do.
However if neither appear, and I’m left all alone… fairytales are outdated anyway, who said the damsel in distress couldn’t save the day?

Animalistic

Stalk me like a predator pursuing its prey,
Hunting hungrily, yet patiently,
Keeping me at bay, awaiting an attack.
Spring through the air and land on my back,
Like a jaguar, always coiled and tense.
Roll me over and first devour my neck,
Savoring every touch of tongue to skin,
Biting slowly, free of carnal sin;
A carnivore’s lust is animalistic,
Instinctive and seductively sadistic.
Slide your lips slowly down my torso,
Taking note of every heartbeat and breath;
Measure your effect’s lingering depth,
Nibbling for a moment or two before biting
Hard. Make me gasp and attempt fighting,
Then take me by surprise,
And slip your tongue between my thighs.
Feel the blood surge through your veins,
As you come back up and call out my name  
Wildly, breathing heavily
While you finally enter into me,
Your prey, conquered while hunting.

Mrs. and Mr. Right

As we lie here, I wrap myself up in your mind,
Like a blanket of fleece in the winter,
Entwined in your thoughts and glittering dreams, 
Or not-so-far-fetched fantasies,
Until they all become abysmal realities,
The ceiling dissolves to the stars and moonlight,
As we both realize that this feels completely right,
And suddenly we can reach those distant galaxies,
Where the we’ll sit on the front porch reminiscing,
Of when we nervously avoided kissing,
Timidly wishing for future,
When we would become Mrs. and Mr.

 

Tragedy strikes at those unexpected moments,
When the walls are down and it will hurt the most.
Death, destruction, war and corruption are common,
Acceptable, in daily societal norms and expectations.
Calloused hearts and blind eyes are the problem
When politicians won’t see what’s wrong with their nation.
Freedom was fought for by our forefathers at war
And kept again by brothers in arms who let go of their souls
Selflessly sacrificing their lives to maintain world control
While students sit chained to desks, working day jobs
Or waiting praying for inspiration to come along,
And professors preach to vacant minds;
Students’ worries lie in subjects of a different kind.
Grades slip as finances fall; we just can’t do it all,
But tuition is rising and the classes are full next fall.
Thousands of futures fade and disappear one by one.
Who will run this nation when all the old men are done?
Fat cats in big suits sit behind desks signing orders
While the class lines blur, until there are no more borders,
And democracy extinguishes the future’s light.
Will this nation recover in its fiscal fight?  

I’m thinking I’ll do a lot more word art…