Fmarch86
Monsters come in many forms. Some come out of the closet, while some live under the bed. Some live in the darkness while some live in your head. I've got a little of all of them, running around instead. The worst of them is me, but I am already dead.
The devil made me do it. The devil is after me. The devil is the reason for evil. The devil is evil....
Now I'm not saying the devil isn't real. I'm not saying he isn't to blame but what I am going to say is, I think I should own some of the blame of the things that ail me.
Stop with the hashtag mentions. Please! I didn't know that everything I said needed some sort of subcontext. I wish that people spent less time thinking of catchy phrasing and spent more time on coming up with relevant, insightful and original content. #endthehashtag
Over a century ago,
I would barely be able to get these words on to paper.
I wouldn't be allowed into a school that could teach me about the eloquence of language.
How to bring my thoughts to paper.
How to express the groaning of my heart.
A century ago, I would have been the first generation of free men in my lineage.
I would barely be able to be.
To be black in America
in 1917.
Sisters should help you when your down. Sisters should bring you joy and never frowns. Sisters are like a circle of trust. Sisters help you to live a life of love. Sisters are my bridge to life.
Leaping over large buildings
Tightrope walking between caverns
Loving someone deeply
All for the exhilaration
All for show
All a stunt?
He came into the door, slightly late as usual. Our little starfish we called him. Always out of place but always unique. He knew how to make an entrance. A waft of stale beach air ahead of him, and a trail of sand behind him. We always wondered where his latest journey had taken him.
They dragged me into a cave those wretched birds. Their talons tore into my calf muscle, scraping against my bones. I had no idea they could be this strong. Scientists spent far too long creating these weapons of Babylon.
From the opening of dawn the flock flew over the carcass. The squawking birds picked at the flesh of the small dog. He whimpered as he struggled to pull away, broken hip from the car accident. It was tragic to see. I almost envied those birds and their ability to thrive.
writing since 2017 · 9 entries · 8 days shown up
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