IntrovertedBlossom

IntrovertedBlossom

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Scattered are the blue plumes throughout the yard. Blue bird has an egg, blue bird's wife keeps it warm. Sticks, weeds and dirt thrown together to make a nest. Little crafty bound angels just trekking though life. Sit momma bird, sit. Nest your baby, I'll protect you from harm.

Heating, heating, heating. The red light is still on. Heating, heating, heating. It's still not done. Going away "just for a second" is sprung in the air. Heating, heating, heating. It's now burnt! Get back here!

denim

Sophisticated as he is, he wears jeans every now and then. I've studied them. Dark denim, straight leg, faded indentations on the side. Of course they look good on him, but they stand alone in my mind whenever I'm daydreaming about his allure; almost as if they are a symbol of him. He wanted to buy me a pair, but denim is too stiff for me to wear. Also I'm not comfortable accepting gifts from people. I still live with my parents, it's not working out; I moved back with them to save money for an apartment. In anguish after yet another heated argument with my parents, about the statistics of my life thus far, I study our dining room ceiling. There's cracks in the ceiling; they remind me of my boyfriend's denim jeans. I remember all the ways that he tries to make me laugh, and I suddenly feel joyful. All the pain from the war with my parents has rushed out of me, and gone away. I have to call him. I might just tell him that I love him.

I don't fit the mold. You judge me, and you're lost. There's many components to a person, and assuming won't hint to one. Research and analysis, they teach it in school. Use it as your tool. However life requires opened minds. Closed minds are waste dumps. Stereotypes give off junk.

I knew I was depressed based on my daily routine. "Wake up, make coffee, look busy in front of my family, watch tv, maybe go outside, watch more tv, maybe charge my phone, and sleep." My madness rested on one routine. Day in, day out; until one day it changed. Maybe it was when I started to watch my niece, or when I started doing yoga everyday.

I lay face down into my big, fluffy pillow as I begin to nurse my overcooked brain. A night of endless people with a million questions; all annoying. "So what are you going to do now that...?" "Are you alright?" "Can I get this for you?" "Just leave me alone!" Is what I would've said, if I had a backbone. And don't even get me started on statements like "Oh, you'll bounce back eventually..." My gosh. Just for a second I wish to be around someone that's not talking about my failed engagement, and doesn't want anything from me. Right now, I'm the only one offering that.

flee

Fleeing my boring ordinariness, I set fourth on a quest to live a life that I'm passionate about. Law school wasn't fulfilling. Neither was moving to Oregon. I want to go back to New York, just to visit; just to be in the mix with other tourists.

The only person who'll stay around is the mayor's right, Christina Porter, aide to the mayor. She addresses her best friend, and former co-worker, Anthony; "You don't think the mayor can come back from a scandal as huge as this one? You'll see." Mayor Edgar Johnson was accused of having relations with a prostitute. It's Election night, and he's on the path to get re-elected, but that may not happen as his allegations circle, and wind the Chicago area. The results are being televised, and the poll numbers keep increasing for all the candidates. Anthony keeps calling Christina as Mayor Johnson's numbers are dominated by his competitor. Another hour goes by, but with the attention on the Presidential election, no one knows who's in the lead. Eleven hits, and all results are in. Mayor Edgar Johnson, remains, Mayor Edgar Johnson.

braid

I remember this cinnamon pretzel from when I was younger; it was memorable, and delicious. It was a braided pretzel. It was the only good part of my shitty Arizona childhood. The next place I moved to was New York, where I had my first hot dog from a truck outside, that was magical.

scalp

I'm very nervous; I don't know what to do say. "Uhm, hi, how are you?" I just don't know what to say. My scalp hurts from all the nervous scratching I'm doing. I haven't even walked up to him, and I'm already nervous.

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writing since 2013 · 38 entries · 38 days shown up

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on this day 13 years ago

Denise wrote about stampede
“Pressure stampedes on my psyche, as I recover from a day filled with self-doubt. Am I worthy? Am I good? It's like a culture-shock; yesterday I was good enough for the world, today, I am not sure. Th…”

the words Denise reaches for

bestnowheatingfishschoolmayornightfriendwatchbabyrememberheyfourthboyfriendcarcollege