When it truly counted, Marta knew that Jack was there for her. Well, when it counted for Jack. But that was better than being alone, right? And then there was the sex. She felt lucky, really. Most of the time, at least.
You lay there, staring up into the sky. Not your sky, but a sky none the less. You find yourself aimlessly counting the stars that fill the blanket of dark blue, almost black.
Amnual
the stars
until in frustration
He poured the Milky Way across
a dark quilt in the sky.
except instead of erasing the mistakes,
they were highlighted.
to me, they were beautiful.
like His sighs at night.
I counted the seconds ’til the timer stopped. Ding! The pizza was ready. I finished watching the segment of sportscenter before I paused the tv and got up, stretching. Walking into the kitchen I noticed the unpaid bills on the kitchen table and sighed.
charlie card
Just one minute. I’ve counted how long it takes. It takes exactly one minute. Or so. Actually, I might be wrong. But the last time I counted, the last three times, in fact, it took about a minute. I think.
One of the many, that’s what they told her. Another rung in his ladder; a notch on his belt. He’d been with a sea of them, and she doubted he’d remember her in a week. But she’d never forget, and she was determined never to be just another number again.
nothing counted anymore
the greengrocer counted my vegetables
on the counter
i counted out my money
he counted me as his friend
i was only his customer
nothing counts anymore
like a bite from dracula
it is uncontinued
the silence
between me
and the greengrocer
counting
the vegetables
Joy
He was having a bad time at work. No matter what he did he couldn’t get off to sleep. His mind was working overtime. He tried various remedies and at one stage counted sheep.
It occurs to me that the possibility exists where everything I’ve gone through in my life, could count for nothing. Like at some point in the cosmos, the universe says: “Well I know you’ve had it rough, but here’s some more.” As if the universe were a seven year old girl grown disenchanted with her Barbie and decides to cut the doll’s hair poorly and colour over her face with magic markers. She smells like strawberry now, but not in the way Mattel meant for her to.
I counted the number of times she looked at me from across the room. Nine. Nine times her and I made eye contact. That week we averaged seven looks a day. I may have enabled them because I would stare often hoping she would stare back. It worked. But I never found out if they were healthy looks. Perhaps they were looks of curiosity, wondering why I would stare at her in the middle of physical activities. I told myself that many looks couldn’t be just curiosity. I tried an experiment where I looked at Dana as often as I did Emma. Dana only looked once, and it was because I had the ball needed for the game of basketball.
She would never smile, nor would her look ever linger. It was there as if she were checking on me checking on her. There was no disgust, or detest like some girls have when I would get caught staring in the past. Emma simply just looked back. It felt nice to be looked back at. It made me feel like I was here, not invisible for the first time at this new school. I may be imagining it, or over analyzing it, but she seemed to have a sense of flattery when our eyes would meet. Not in boastful pride way, but in a way that made her feel good inside that she was being looked at. No matter who it was by. The same way her eyes on me would make me feel. Simple, but secure.
T. Aaron
I am counted. Everyone counts. To be counted you must show up. Show up and do the right thing. My thoughts count, my input counts and my life counts. I am counted.
Christy
whilst watching the blue line progress, I counted about 47 other words to write about.
washington irving
You counted everything twice to make sure it wouldn’t leave your clenched fists but it slipped through anyway and its too late to retrieve it now. You think the sum of everything you have will synthesize into something you don’t but dear, that’s not the way it works anymore.
When it truly counted, Marta knew that Jack was there for her. Well, when it counted for Jack. But that was better than being alone, right? And then there was the sex. She felt lucky, really. Most of the time, at least.
You lay there, staring up into the sky. Not your sky, but a sky none the less. You find yourself aimlessly counting the stars that fill the blanket of dark blue, almost black.
the stars
until in frustration
He poured the Milky Way across
a dark quilt in the sky.
except instead of erasing the mistakes,
they were highlighted.
to me, they were beautiful.
like His sighs at night.
I counted the seconds ’til the timer stopped. Ding! The pizza was ready. I finished watching the segment of sportscenter before I paused the tv and got up, stretching. Walking into the kitchen I noticed the unpaid bills on the kitchen table and sighed.
Just one minute. I’ve counted how long it takes. It takes exactly one minute. Or so. Actually, I might be wrong. But the last time I counted, the last three times, in fact, it took about a minute. I think.
One of the many, that’s what they told her. Another rung in his ladder; a notch on his belt. He’d been with a sea of them, and she doubted he’d remember her in a week. But she’d never forget, and she was determined never to be just another number again.
nothing counted anymore
the greengrocer counted my vegetables
on the counter
i counted out my money
he counted me as his friend
i was only his customer
nothing counts anymore
like a bite from dracula
it is uncontinued
the silence
between me
and the greengrocer
counting
the vegetables
He was having a bad time at work. No matter what he did he couldn’t get off to sleep. His mind was working overtime. He tried various remedies and at one stage counted sheep.
It occurs to me that the possibility exists where everything I’ve gone through in my life, could count for nothing. Like at some point in the cosmos, the universe says: “Well I know you’ve had it rough, but here’s some more.” As if the universe were a seven year old girl grown disenchanted with her Barbie and decides to cut the doll’s hair poorly and colour over her face with magic markers. She smells like strawberry now, but not in the way Mattel meant for her to.
I counted among my friends a fire-eater, a dwarf, the World’s Tallest Man, a pinhead and the head of the freak show, Carly Yeomans.
I counted the number of times she looked at me from across the room. Nine. Nine times her and I made eye contact. That week we averaged seven looks a day. I may have enabled them because I would stare often hoping she would stare back. It worked. But I never found out if they were healthy looks. Perhaps they were looks of curiosity, wondering why I would stare at her in the middle of physical activities. I told myself that many looks couldn’t be just curiosity. I tried an experiment where I looked at Dana as often as I did Emma. Dana only looked once, and it was because I had the ball needed for the game of basketball.
She would never smile, nor would her look ever linger. It was there as if she were checking on me checking on her. There was no disgust, or detest like some girls have when I would get caught staring in the past. Emma simply just looked back. It felt nice to be looked back at. It made me feel like I was here, not invisible for the first time at this new school. I may be imagining it, or over analyzing it, but she seemed to have a sense of flattery when our eyes would meet. Not in boastful pride way, but in a way that made her feel good inside that she was being looked at. No matter who it was by. The same way her eyes on me would make me feel. Simple, but secure.
I am counted. Everyone counts. To be counted you must show up. Show up and do the right thing. My thoughts count, my input counts and my life counts. I am counted.
whilst watching the blue line progress, I counted about 47 other words to write about.
You counted everything twice to make sure it wouldn’t leave your clenched fists but it slipped through anyway and its too late to retrieve it now. You think the sum of everything you have will synthesize into something you don’t but dear, that’s not the way it works anymore.
He counted numbers one by one
And was having so much fun
When he finished, he started over
Counting all the fresh new clover