Purple ponnies

I live for when I can retreat into my head,  and dance with ponnies there.  I love solitude and silences and great darkness and scattered starry skies.. . I live for when I can fly on my purple wings and dance with purple ponnies.

Am impulsive,  I say what I mean but dont follow through,  because most of the time I wont mean it a few seconds later.  Words are my weapons and my armour I use then randomly,  to build my walls or tear down someone else’s.  Am a random junkie,   am weird,  am a dog lover.  But nothing pleases me more,  than flying on my purple wings and dancing with my purple ponnies.

Am a lazy contradiction,  I belive I can conquer the world but make no effort to,  I am the most insecure confident woman I know.  I dance on clouds in my head but beat my self up for silly mistakes.  I think I deserve the world but be suspicious when he offers it to me.  But I do,  I do ,  I do long,  to fly on purple wings and dance with purple ponnies.

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You

I think you are beneath me.

From your large callused hands to your mismatched shoes, think you are too low, in the hierarchy of things i would like, things i like

I like, dark skin, on white sheets, soft lips scented with whisky, i like tall guys with cute lashes i like goofy ass people who make me laugh, i like sarcasm and yet you,

You with yout mismatched shoes and belt got my attention and now am not really enthralled but more captivated than i have been in a while, you, see me say i have wrapped my principles soo thickly around me am in a cocoon you who thinks am too boujee, too intelligent yet.. Yet i know

You are not the one am looking for, you are just not it

Daily post:deny

Monday

Waking up on a monday after a Saturday of dancing and a sunday of doing nothing but stay alone in my bed my happy thoughts keeping me company the world reduced to nothing but the tick-toc of my clock reminding me that the night draws near and on its tail chasing like a happy demon from the depths of hell the sun with her rays like shards of glass, ripping through my curtains piercing my eyes, forcing me to wake up and face the day, and deal with people and solve problems and smile and laugh and deal with people.. Is the worst torture of all

Truths

There are some elements of lie in every truth, if ever truths are spoken. How do you tell a truth from a lie, actions speak louder but then there is Hollywood. Oh well

Here is a truth. I cant lie when asked a question.

Its like the intonation of the sentence is a trigger to my brain to totally do away with the “they arent supposed to know that ” filter. The end result is i have true pieces of me left stuck in someone’s memory as a not so seriously ment tirade to a not so seriously asked question, then the same person has the gall to say i hold so much of me inside.

If the universe ever decides to map my life my joys my pains my labored struggles in this mass of heaving earth , i hope it places a star on ever smile i caused, a sun on every love i bore, a leaf, for every pain i caused and wind on every truth i told. I hope, though i bare my soul to so many un deserving nitwits with the desperate need to meet, connect to something real, because surely surely there has to be someone deserving of this awesomeness, that i shall not pass on to my next life with al these truths in solitary confinement.

Daily prompt solitary

Symphony

You liked my song you said, the way the notes would curl out of my throat, whisper through you and beg the goosebumps to rise on your skin send whispers down your spine, making you whimper with suppressed need for me, for my touch on your soul and the burn of my love in your heart

You hurt me

So much and that was suprising because the hurt was the first tell tale sign that i had fallen, where i thought my pride was holding my spine up nose up am too cold hearted to feel the warmth you seem to radiate when we are together. I seem addicted to your touch and now that we are are not touching anymore the only symphony i hear in my head is the cracking of my cold heart.

Daily prompt:symphony

instrumental

Tiny fawns poems makes me soo happy

Tiny Fawns

if our life stories
were instruments
and someone pressed their
fingertips or lips to them,
what music would
rise from the ground into
the air? or would it
sit quietly in the corner,
here and there a
barely audible hum
as it longingly stared
out the window, lost
in a melody but
forgetting how it goes?
or would it be
an instrument of which
no one knows how
to play, which is why
at times, in beautiful
moments, we can never
find the words to say?
sound cannot reach our
minds, because it got
caught between the rungs –
climbing from our lungs
to our hearts – or what
if the piece is incomplete
and we are still
trying to find our part?

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Release

I seek to avenge all these tiny cuts in my soul that bleed out my hopes and dreams in short spurts of foaming memory every time i have to think of all i havent achieved or all ‘they’ have achieved and the possibility of living my life drifting from work day to work day making another rich or happy or better or being nothing more than i am a body behind a desk infront of a computer

I want to walk on a silver shore and feel the warm sand between my toes or chase beautiful sunsets with my yatch or seek treasures long lost at sea i mean maybe i could be a pirate and never set foot on land again where all my expectations and everyone else’s is left buried in a shallow grave as my last heritage to my sea born daughters a reason to find their way back home

Daily post:- bury

Queenin’ on my scars

See here,  

Recently i started this journey that scared the heck out of me. 

I am living alone.  In my own house. Paying my own rent. 

And i looove it😀😀😀

Am i still scared yes. Out of my mind.  

But our GOOD GOD just calmed my fear,  there i was standing  at the edge of the cliff my eyes closed,  my knees trembling, palms sweaty,  and He being as hilarious as He is,   just pushed me.  He made it so that it was impossible for me to stand there,  and keep thinking about how far the fall is how sharp the rocks  look at my feet,  how comfortable i was at the edge,  just standing there,  contemplating,  never really planning on jumping. 

I realize now,  how silly i was being,  claiming to love the Father yet scared of being His child,  truly,  in all senses of the word, thinking HE is like human beings who you  cant trust with keeping your cat company for a day,  let alone with your life. 

But am learning everyday. It is like i discover all these good and wonderful things about me that i didnt even know i am or i had .  I am learning patience,  and trust. And best of all Love for me,  my mistakes and my scars. 

Am queenin’ on my scars😊

Kalamatuz v- oh huntress oh predator

She stalks through the foliage, her feet gliding through the damp earth, her breath coming in short silent spurts, her ears cocked to all sounds from the sleeping forest attentive, waiting, impatient.

Her heart beats a crazy rythmn in her chest, an owl hoots a few Paces infront of her, causing her blood to run fast and cold in her veins but she maintains her outward demeanor. No sweat covers her brow, her hand doesnt shake where it holds the spear.

They stalk behind her, their dark fur blending with the leaves and trees, their hateful breaths sending cold shivers down her spine. They are five, she could count them by how their anticipatory sighs swept on her fur, making her shiver.

Almost there, almost there..

She chants

Blue monkey steps through the boundary that separates their lands and Aragans lair, all warmth seeps from her body and she turns in one fluid motion sending her spear through one of the minions who is right behind her stupid enough to think she coukd hear, couldnt feel his hatred at the back of her neck. He lets out a cry as dark blue bood flows out of the hole in his chest and he collapses gurgling, the blood soaking the land, her spear is already out aimed at the next one who leaps at her from the shadows, a war cry on his toungue, she holds the spear with both hands and pushes it through his stomach, lifting him up and throwing him behind her shoulder. She stabs another behind her with the back of her spear, pushing him back a few steps but still they hit harder from all sides, some with clubs most with fists, more with gruesome hand made weapons as is the way of the Araga.

The blows bring her to her knees, she sees blood, she tastes blood, her vision blurs as one drives his fist through the side of her neck.

She laughs.

Drawing all pain into her, all rage, shr pictures her brother silver monkey lying there, his body turned to dust, the earth weeping for him, her world dieing for him. The blows keep coming, and still she laughs a painful keening sound…

Then she explodes.

Paper cuts

I have these little numb sores on my soul that only hurt when i remember, or fixate so much on the hurt that once was, or try to peel back the layers and see underneath the pain trying to find some sort of carthasis on penning my thoughts here or mostly when am scrolling down my timeline and a happy photo of you makes me sad because really? How can you be so ok with not having me there.

I swear to myself that i have forgotten, in all honesty i have forgotten thoughts of you dont haunt my day, shadows of your laugh dont stalk my nights i am totally ok with us not talking, or you not calling or whatever, i am fine really, and not in that way that i say fine yet mean i want to murder every single pain and humiliation you ever caused me, am still stuck here in wondering why i let you warm my heart which beats in frozen paces how could i walk right into what was obviously going nowhere .

How did you leave paper cuts on me and i didnt even see me bleeding

Daily post paper