Lately, most of my poems/writings have been posted on lettrs and then transferred here for your enjoyment. 🙂 The following is a Finish the story challenge that the lettrs staff issued a couple days ago.
FINISH THE STORY.
“As she walked through the centre of New York she noticed a man playing his guitar. She walked past him. But when he looked up, their eyes met and she stopped walking. She couldn’t move…”
The clock ticks,
Tick, tick, tick,
The second hands’ movement a constant in the quiet house.
The residents sleep, as I stand watch.
My eyes start to droop as the night ticks on.
School books read, paperwork done,
Just time, before I can go to bed.
Will you be there to greet me at dawn?
Fast asleep in my bed, covers barely covering your lean, naked body.
A sleepy smile on your face, as you pull me in close and nuzzle my neck.
Your soft snore, erasing the ticking of the clock.
Your hot breath on my neck, warms me from the cold January air.
Your embrace, the last thing I notice before drifting off to sleep.
The nights are long,
the days short.
My mind keeps me awake most of the night,
my body sleeps most the day.
No reason to get out of bed.
No desire to get out of my head.
No need to do either.
My day off over, the need to function begins.
I adapt to keep my reality hidden,
and tie my mask into place.
I knew the answer, before I asked,
and hoped for a surprise.
I didn’t know how numb I’d be to the disappointment.
No tears, no anger, no negative self-talk, just numbness masked as acceptance.
For accept, I do not. Continue reading
I dream of a day when I can call you mine.
A day, like the one when we danced in the moonlight and laughed under the stars.
**Was going through some old files, and found this. I think I wrote it in 2009.
All dressed in white.
Veil upon my face.
Hope in my heart.
And tears streaking my face.
My arm upon my fathers.
An aisle to walk down.
A crowed of admires,
And a face with a stoic frown. Continue reading
There is a cold emptiness in knowing that you’re not acting.
That the tears on the screen are real, just funneled to look like a show.
That the emotions you’re “acting” are deep pains bubbling to the surface.
Desire turns into laughter, when the unexpected happens.
When comfort is high and seriousness unimportant.