It’s time I remembered that I’m worth more than whatever sixpence affection you have to offer.
She has scars birthed from cruelty, but they’re made beautiful by how proudly she wears them.
Premature wrinkles over furrowed brows are a testament of my old regrets, and even older grievances. They’re the echoes of a time when the world was flipped on its side and all the roads stretched out before me led only to awful choices. Some of the turns I made were light and swift, done without much thought, while the rest brought rivers of tears down my cheeks, salty stings that are only good for softening the harshness of the rest of the world.
Regardless, each decision still lingers like unshakable sand in the back of my head, making time pass strangely when I’m alone and caught in the shadow of my own darkness.
“Where Did It All Go Wrong?”
by: Noel Gallagher
Bare your soul,
Raise your head,
Watch how easily
this cage crumbles.
Wanton zealot, piquer of kings, jester of insanity, cast thy hex—madness, I will never succumb.
It’s beautiful, truly it is, it’s everything I could have wanted in a wedding—outdoors, the wind in my hair and the sun lighting my skin, and yet, I find myself hollow, yearning for something I don’t quite know… can you help me, love?
I want you to speak to me of a time when our laughter bellowed across distances, when we weren’t afraid of getting our new shoes dirty in the blades of grass, when we were just kids hanging around the local 711 with no money and a pack of stale fries between us, and the clerk would eye us disapprovingly as we lingered a little too long in the alcohol section; remind me of a time when I could sit on that swing without fear of getting my clothes stained and you’d just… push.
“Dear, we’re older, we’re wiser, we can legally drink, we have jobs and money and expensive shoes—‘Yes, I know that, but I want to remember, so please just’—I don’t understand why I need to remind you, my dear… why can’t that time be now?”
Check the link above for the prompt image.
Oh my, look, dear—no, not there, the other way—yes, that one, oh, what do you mean you can’t see it… look, it’s clear as day, that white little thing, that albino pretending to blend in with the crowd, pretending like the others don’t notice how different she is, why she’s obviously meant for so much more; just imagine the kind of tourists such a beautiful creature would bring if she were kept in a zoo or some wildlife preserve or… something of the sort!
What do you mean you still can’t see it—it’s because you’re not looking properly, there, under the setting sun—look, she’s so beautiful, such perfect white…oh my, oh, wherever did she wander off to, you must’ve scared her, love; you really shouldn’t drag your feet.
And for the billionth time, yes, I’ve taken my medication, I’m quite timely with those things, you kno—oh, what do you mean I haven’t taken it, how dare you even suggest such a ludicrous thing, why, I’ll bet my morning coffee that you’re just jealous you didn’t get to see that wonderfully colored deer… yes, love, I know we’re in the city, I can see the skyline quite clearly you know—I’m not delusional.
A city of life and splendor, of wonders and riches—filled with people blurring past, all too lost in the moment, slaves working for a better future; or so they tell themselves.
And here I sit, bereft, as I look at the echoes of my past in the form of chipped paint, old cars, and black gumdrop stains, with the realization that soon, even these will be gone from me.
Life’s too fast, my legs can’t keep up anymore, so here I’ll stop, here I’ll rest… observing, waiting, hoping for someone to cross that eight-step street and reminisce with me of a time when jukeboxes still sang and telephones could spin—please… I could use a friend, one that understands, one that remembers.
When I see yarn, two things come to mind: cats and knitted garments. I leaned toward the former. Cats are majestic. I decided on a haiku, so I could limit my words—or syllables in this case. I’m trying a bunch of word limiting prompts to help me improve my writing.
One more ball left here,
Clean it up! Don’t grump about,
We’ve guests, dearest cat.
Second time trying this out. Hope to start doing this every week from now on.
Look at them—those concrete squares filled with different people, young and old, experienced and not—they move about their lives, unaware, and perhaps even uncaring for the rest that linger beside them.
Worlds are created in those apartments, they’re brought up, ever so slowly; some are turned into something that could be called home, while others are mere cases for the rolling stones within—and me… well, here I stand, I stare, and I look up at the starless sky drowned out by electronic lights, I listen to the silence drowned out by incoherent noise, and I bask in it all; no one notices me here, nor do I want to be seen.
This is my world, and here, I don’t much care about them either.