Creative Writing, Moi, Poetry, The Fine Line

When the Change Comes

I reach up and out into the darkness, the nothingness and I pull it toward me.

I am laid out on my back and then it’s 9’oclock in the morning.

The nothingness, I grip tight in the palm of my fists,

I kiss it, my fists; I make a wish. A wish I will share with the rest of the world

Because I pull it onto my face and it becomes my glow. 

I will not try to hide it, not try to subdue. 

Nothingness it may be, but it is newfound life to me. 

And although they may say it’s another craze, another episode,

I will take my nothingness, my newfound life, my glow 

And to all of the world I will let it showshowshow.

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Momentary

These Seconds

Together let’s make the past and the future unimportant. Let’s feel the presence of this present time and bask in the moment, letting life stand still for us, as we revel in all the blessings and the omens.

We are opening our eyes right now for now. We are travelling through time never chaining our minds to what was and are not squeezing our hopes into what might be. Because everything was and anything will be. But this is now and it is the only thing we have. Rejoice with me. This, this is what we can be certain of, this only and nothing else.

Occupying these seconds trying to piece together your memory and my memory and all their memories of what was is only forlorn. No moment of the past can be truly reborn, not in any existence. It can be questioned and abashed, that such a story in your mind never really played out. Every word uttered and every gesture made can not ever grace the space of now. Not really. You need nothing now that you have already used, it played it’s part in your kismet and it wants nothing but to be left alone in the time it was.

Occupying these seconds with dream upon worry, and hope upon fear, wondering where you might be in the next moment. You tell yourself your life is building up to something great. You say one day you will be content with all your nows because you will get to where you are meant to be. When in reality, God willing, you will get to that moment and you will find you are still you; life is still life.

You still think backwards and you still hope and worry forwards, irregardless of all that you have built up. You, again – 25 years later, tell yourself that your life is building up to something great. You say one day you will be content with all your nows because you will get to where you are meant to be. When in reality, God willing, you will get to that moment and you will find you are still you. You still think backwards and hope and worry forwards, irregardless of all that you have built up.You, again – 55 years later, tell yourself that your life is building up to something great. You say one day you will be content with all your nows because you will get to where you are meant to be.

This narrative continues on and on stringing itself through your life as long as it might. And then suddenly, usually without any warning and no space for thought or reflection it all stops.

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Creative Writing

Truth?

There was a storm last night. I was sat with my back to the heater, and I pulled my sleeping bag up over my shoulders. A cold summers night, it only makes sense because I am in London. I wasn’t afraid of the thunder or the lightning nor did I despise the heavy rain. I’d been raised to believe that I should be grateful for the disastrous times, because it would make me appreciate the good. I appreciated the disaster; cherished it even because with it came joys and a great hope.

This storm though, it was different.  It brought something else out from within me. A grim bleakness I wasn’t aware of it but it had been there my whole life long.  I got to thinking, there is a storm going on all around me.

I came to London, because it was the mother of all wealth or so I was told. I found that it was also the most expensive city to live in. I gave up everything to be here. I lost everything when I got here. And for me there is nothing everywhere. But I can’t frown because I was brought up to believe in the silver lining.

I’ve been indoctrinated, because this is bad and this is inhumane and this is not the bright side. There is no bright side. I got to questioning, everything I was raised to believe. Because if they had been wrong about this, they had been wrong about everything. It was up to me to find the truth for my self. Their truth was no longer working for me.

Like, I said there was a storm last night this morning as the sun rises, I rise too. I yell to them thay they were wrong, I scoop up all of my nothingness and I get on the road.

Hello to the rest of my life. My life.

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Creative Writing, Flash Fiction

Love – take it back

She pleaded with it, sought it for all that she believed it was. Love, she called it as she pleaded it would once again take back the spotlight. Don’t fade into the background, be profound again.

She’d not had much luck staying focused and she was easily numbed. But she didn’t believe it was luck that freed her to feel everything. She believed it was a law, a force an energy. Love, she called it.

She said it was what made her. It was the thing that made her her and she knew that she wouldn’t be able to go on in life without it. So she sought right down into the depths.

The thing is, she didn’t realise that with every breath she had exactly what she was looking for, but because she set her gaze beyond this she lost it.

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Creative Writing, Momentary, The Fine Line

A Moment

For a second, just one, I was not concerned remotely about his thoughts. In that moment I was no longer wandering, wondering in my minds unfaithfulness. It was my own thoughts I had to battle with. My thoughts that had been indefinitely lost and indefinitely entwined with his, or the possibility of his.

I never knew, because the very words I once was so intimately involved with had failed me. I had no trust in them and they were messing with my heart.

For hours I would sit still, and ever wander through every possibility. In unconsciousness the day would unfold before me, my mind always asleep to my reality. I was an insomniac also, ever wondering. Pondering.

Then I would wake to my reality. When I would rise I would find that I was down. Way down. And I would have to set about climbing. Although, when I would rise and find that I was down I was disinterested in climbing. So I would sit and ponder, once more. At some point in the midst of that I would succumb to doing it all over again. Never knowing really and never intentionally.

That’s when he began to fade. No longer did his thoughts protrude into my mind. Neither did thoughts of his body against mine. If they did, I did not notice. I must mention, however, that this is when the pain of it all became my passion. The moment I was no longer entwined inside his mind I was alone in my own.

I was down but I was free. I breathed deeply and made a habit of it. My heart slowed a burned with heat. It was fabulous. It was fabulous.

And now, although the darkness of this depth surrounds me, I can breath into my mind whatever it is I wish to. And for a moment, just one, that is exactly what I will do.

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