If your compassion does not include yourself, it is incomplete.” – Buddha
Confess your imperfections, write them on a wall for all the world to see. Use big, bold strokes, in brutal black paint, where it cannot be ignored. Admit to every flaw, every shortcoming. Reveal your darkest lies and faults.
Yet… leave it unsigned.
Watch as the world passes by, watch as they read your words and see your images. Listen as they speculate about who is the author of these admissions, listen as they speak the names of those they believe are guilty.
Yet… you are not among the accused.
No one recognizes you. Only you see these perceived failings.
One foible of working from home is the great temptation to stay in pajamas all day, sans bra and makeup. It can make for awkward encounters if you feel compelled to open your front door.
He blushed a shade of pink that reminded me of a newly washed baby, a color that I wished I could duplicate on my pale, aging cheeks.
I admired his faith and dedication, but was amused that he suddenly had somewhere else to be when I offered to share my beliefs with him. Seems his door-to-door calling didn’t extend to reciprocating conversion chitchat.
The Trifecta challenge this week is: Color [noun \ˈkə-lər\] 3: complexion tint
The 100 Word Challenge is to tell a story in only 100 words. This week’s theme is ‘Calling’
I turned down that dark road,
Abandoning who I was
For who you wanted me to be.
Contorted and transformed,
I have become unrecognizable in the mirror
Held up to my down-turned, shame-filled face
Careful where I tread,
I twisted an ankle trying
Not to break the eggshells I walked on.
My stomach knotted with every malformed word I uttered.
Lies and disgrace, like heavy stones in my mouth,
Choked out my cries for help.
Hunchbacked from being
So long under your thumb,
My mishapened spirit may never stand tall and free again.
Your weight has broken me.
Submitted to WordPress Weekly Writing Challenge. This week the theme was to “…write a poem about anything you choose, and in any style you choose. The catch: play around with the formatting in your verse.”
The 100 Word Challenge is to tell a story in only 100 words. This week’s theme is ‘Contorted’
Grey, lackluster skies are thick with regret. Rain and tears both threatening, my emotions and the weather mirroring equal measure of melancholy.
The energy I expend withdrawing from the emptiness of my room is Herculean. Cocooned in my isolation, I’m comforted by the predictable trivialities of what my life has become. Living in the world terrifies me.
My journey takes me far away from these fears, far from the pervasive and oppressive anxiety. The sun on my upturned face is a warm, loving caress on my skin. The gentle breeze, a mother’s kiss.
One step, one day at a time.
The 100 Word Challenge is to tell a story in only 100 words. This week’s theme is ‘Lackluster’
*Photo venue: Fort Pickens, Gulfshores National Seashore, Pensacola, FL
Frat boys linger late at the bar, throwing out baitless pick-up lines at all the pretty girls misbehavin’ for the lovin’ and attention. Gobsmacked by their lack of success, blaming rejection on the game and not their feeble hunting techniques.
All popped collars, and gelled hair, believing they’re irresistable and not just ridiculous. Puffed out chests, and puffed out egos, clipped wings that can’t soar off balconies, falling short of the concrete ponds.
Twenty-one shots in the dark hit the spot until the morning their whole weekend is lost. A souvenir from their first time away from home.
The 100 Word Challenge is to tell a story in only 100 words. This week’s theme is ‘Misbehavin’
*Spring Break has brought hundreds, if not thousands, of college co-eds to our beaches. Every year there are reports of some drunken reveler being injured falling from a resort balcony trying to jump into the hotel pool. I haven’t read about any balcony divers yet this year, but there were more than 200 arrests for underage drinking in the first two weeks of the season.
I wrote your vengeful words on a torn scrap of paper, folding it into four corners to hold in the strictures, then tucked it into an old, musty book. The one that sits on a high shelf, never read, just gathering dust and losing its memories.
Plaguing my weary mind, I muted their chittering demands for release. Hidden away, ignored but not forgotten, so the black germs of your contagion wouldn’t continue to infect my spirit.
I should have burnt your words, destroying each one forever. Still I hoard them, keeping them within reach, to someday return them back to you.
The Trifecta challenge this week is: Infect [transitive verb \in-ˈfekt\] 3a: contaminate, corrupt
*Photo venue: The stacks at Niceville Library, Niceville, FL
Whispering secrets as gentle as a zephyr
Shaking leaves of the weeping willow echo
Each word, each emotion in equal measure
Reading old letters, faded and yellow
Our love affair dead, bleeding out through his pen
His lies, my offering, wing o’er the meadow
Paper drifts on the breeze, origami wren
Folded and creased, sharp angles and dire edges
Razor-honed phrases, punish and cut me again
Sweet nothings we shared, solemn holy pledges
I lost faith in us, the could-bes and what-ifs
Promises hollow, half-truths your messages
These tattered scraps, torn from my heart, lasting gifts
This week’s Studio30 Plus theme is “weeping willow,” and/or “inspiring personality.”