1 in 150

I wonder what

they thought

before the doctors

began to diagnose

autism? Were there

just a bunch of

anti-social,

rainman-type,

idiot savants who no

one knew were

really just simply

autistic, blocked

from so-called

“normal” forms of

communication?

How many child

prodigies were over-

looked, genius

unfulfilled?

Then South

Park resumes, and I

let the idiots

entertain my numbed-by-society

brain.

Today I Saw Chickens Penned-In On The Side Of The Road

 

It’s foggy tonight.

 

sometimes i think

it’s the coming rain,

or sorrow,

or pain,

or simply my brain,

the years of smoking too much

or drowning my fear

in gallons of beer,

tumblers of whisky

on the rocks.

 

other times i think

it’s just my life,

the listless minds surrounding

me, my craving need

for something

anything

more than this

inconsequential existence.

 

or perhaps it’s only

the full moon rising,

the pink-blue sunset,

the bitter wind, as i walk down

the street, away from

you and you and you.

 

And I give the world the proverbial finger.

tired

tired

of misery
of anger
of lying
to you
to myself

tired

of walking
on eggshells
of trying
to be something
you perceive

tired

of dreaming
of the real me
my dreams
my love
my sanity

tired

of treading water
reaching out with
soothing caresses dragging
me down
into oblivion sweet
majestic
lovely
haunting

and so I sink
sleep
dream
of escape

winged beauty

 

 

i see beauty

in wings of moths

steely greying brown

smears of wavering

fluttering

chaos

these plain jane

butterflies dying

vying

for light

i flick the

switch on the lamp

and watch it bounce back and forth

inside this shade

only then do I realize

this winged beauty is

my soul

tonight

life sets

like sunsets

chasing dreams

light

my love

my nights

where life

can be

more ordinary

complacently

wired

wandering

lost

dreaming

lies like grass

crunching

under my feet

delete

all the lies

contradicting

what I’m feeling

tonight

broken

 

I spend my time

swimming inside my head

thinking

drinking

away this sadness

 

Loathe this perfect

life I will never have

and I spy

inside

a longing to

wish upon stars

 

Dream

to keep these

memories  from

seeping into my

oblivion

I seek

solace

peace

quiet

 

and wait patiently

soundlessly

hoping for tomorrow

summer sets

As I sit quietly in the corner,

 reading  words so full of hope,

love, loss, and new beginnings,

 a soft pinkish-orange twinge of light

 radiates through the window.

The sun sets yet again in the West,

and I grasp at promises of light,

impending dark,

but no matter now the insignificance of

fate, time, darkness and dreams.

This, only this

is the moment I have waited for.

Just this glimpse of beauty,

fading quickly into the horizon.

As the night looms closer

and still closer,

creeping into twilight.

Then finally, the sweet bliss of night.

glimpse

caught between

screen and glass

truth and lies

denial of self

banging on my window pane

remorse breathes steam

in dreams

as I draw designs

making marks

slicing into soul

condensing

into

droplets

of

pain

that drip

   drip

      drip

blinking down

and in that brief moment

before they disperse into air

disappear

I see

perfectly

visions of the future

I have not yet attained

 

Writing is…like air. (crossover post)

Lest you think you’re hallucinating, yes. You are.

Just kidding. Maybe.

I posted this on my Sobriety of the Soul blog yesterday, but the more I think obsess about it, the more I think I should have actually posted it on this site, being that this is my creative blog.

So, just in case, I’m reposting, as most of my writer friends pay more attention to this blog.

Plus, I forgot to tag people.

No pressure…..

Worst case scenario, you’ve already read it? Okay then. Scroll down to see if I tagged you…

The last few days, I’ve been witnessing a bunch of writerly type friends posting on their blogs, explaining their passion for writing: how they do it, what motivates, what inspires them, etc.

Christina Vincent

Carrie Clevenger

Wookiesgirl

and many more…

For every post, five more are tagged with only the prompt “Writing is…”.

For me, writing is like air. If I’m not breathing, I might as well be dead.

I used to think that my talent was some sort of abstract emotion, barely within grasp, sometimes lost completely.

I was wrong.

Determination.

Dedication.

Diligence.

As a writer, if you can always remember those 3Ds, you’ll make it. <———lol stupid pun

Just set a schedule for yourself, plunk down in front of the keyboard, or if you’re really old-school, grab the nearest writing utensil and a cocktail napkin and GO!

Spontaneity is great. Don’t get me wrong…

But firm dedication is the backbone to our harrowed flesh.

Even if I spew out three words from my overly exhausted, brain-dead mind, those are three more words than I had before.

It works for me.

Go with your mood, but always write.

And for chrissakes, remember to breathe!

And without further ado…TAG! YOU’RE IT!

Sharon Gerlach

NL Gervasio

Kristen Gehrke

Stacey Wallace Benefiel

Pia Veleno

No pressure, ladies! 😉 Do whatever you want.

Next up, The Joys of Reading. A.K.A. My OCD/ADD reading habits.

beind these eyes

I long to breathe you in

a moment

a pause

in the universe

where our time is

not so rushed,

this starving,

breathless desire.

 

I long for brief

respite from repetitive

madness

mind wandering

waiting patiently

for my never-ending

all-knowing

eyes of fire.

 

I long for hours

uninterrupted

an envelope

of quiet

lips, tongues

trailing down

into this void

safe

becoming

one with you.