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
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
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.
make me more patient Lord, let me take it a day at a time,
make me stronger, let not the wicked ways of men sway me,
let your arms surround me and your peace engulf me.
let not my anger consume or pride lead me,
make me a woman after your own heart
make me grateful lord, let me not desire anothers portion,
anothers health, or wealth or life,
teach me to be the best version of me, the best person you want me to be
word prints for daily prompt portion
There is this valley in the middle of a forest right before you get to the ocean, its called kalmatuz. The place is ancient, the rivers running in it cool and clear, the trees and foliage a deep green. A green so deep you see black and rivers so clear the sky is reflected in them.
The valley is woken every day by a symphony of twitters from birds of all shapes and colors,and baby pumas run around the trees playing with each others tails. The sun’s rays filtered through the leaves creating a feeling of descending halleluhya. Butterflies flutter from petal to petal spreading love and color and a mood of tranquility. &;The world here is silent as if someone put the TV on mute.
The silver monkey stares from its perch on the branch, one long arm wrapped around the branch on top of his head the other one hanging low, with its tail. It stares straight ahead seemingly at nothing at first, until the leaves part in rapid succesion and he ducks swinging on the branch he was seated on and dropping to a lower branch, the long brown spear with a glinting head he missed connects with the next tree with a loud thump. He screeches in anger or challenge and swings from branch to branch running from spears that seems to come out of nowhere and in all directions, he takes one on his thigh and he yanks breaks it midair, keeping the head in his skin to reduce the bleeding. The forest turns into a cacophony of noise large birds flying out of their roosts as the silver monkey grabs on the branches, he moves with purpose with a strength and fragility borne of practice, the next spear hits him right on his back and comes through the front propeling him through the last tree and he remains suspended in air for a few moments, blood pouring down his back and a keenining gurgling scream dying on his lips and he falls down to the clearing,..
What is there between us, do you know? Between stranger and friend, the ones we have met, the one we haven’t yet, and those we long to, or those we have met and yet have no clue, are our collective histories, written in the stars, or forgotten, each day, with the setting sun what does life amount to, if all there was before life was silence, and all there is after is silence, what about in between though?
Is everything, all our hopes, and dreams and victories, do they amount to nothing, but one experience fitted into a billion micro seconds, if we could regret life, would we regret death also, or the happy moments we forget, if we could slow down the sun, will life appear more vivid? Or will we trudge on more oblivious, more lost??