vikingbee
It's a dot, an end. And then a beginning, with promise and wonder. That moment after a dot, full of possibilities, fingers hovering.
Delighting in venom, rolling in it, the green burning and it sparkles like glass, shattering me.
It's difficult to flee, screaming, from life. The life that pelts you with demands, office politics, drippy babies and dinners that need to be cooked. every. day.
Inside there are stories. They beat, thrum, sometimes scream. They quiver when close to release, and then burst through my fingers and my soul joyfully, sometimes painfully, empties onto the page.
A source of pride for me with my black thumbs: an unruly giant of a tomato plant snuggled in a cheap plastic planter. Yellow tomatoes dripped from the sprawling branches. I loved to brush my fingers over the leaves and breathe in the green scent.
Back to the wall I can't breathe brain stopped brain sizzling I can't get out where do I go I can't get out
The words tumbled in my mouth, tasting like my own lack of self confidence and my mother's disappointment. Rolling endlessly, my tongue just a limp muscle pushing around inadequate ideas.
It meandered from one end of the garden to the other, through the raspberries and shriveled lettuce leaves. Trucks lay on their side painted with mud.
It was quiet again. Winds swept dust over entrails stewing in the sun.
It was black and vast, a wound in her, consuming her. She smiled and I could almost ignore her eyes, so pained.
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writing since 2013 · 14 entries · 14 days shown up
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lovefingerswindsblackrollingbreathebraingreensometimesdotbluepancakestreehousesladdersclimb