Strangle

If words of love are on your tongue
then strangle them
strangle them

if you would speak
with desperate sighs and longing eyes
then strangle them
strangle them

Let no looks of love or briny tears
breach the sacred exterior
Let no poetry or honesty
shake the image of stoicism in your lover's eye
Let no trembled lip or betraying tip
show what hurt you hide beneath

if feeling comes and asks for voice
then strangle it
strangle it

When spurning spear pierces
tenderest wounds, let nothing cry out
just strangle it
strangle it

_____

Not sure where that's going, but I wanted to get it out.

Queen of the Unrequited

I
I'm sorry but
I'm sorry, but I don't feel that way

I
I'm sorry but
I'm sorry but I just don't feel that way

And it's okay
And it's okay
and it's okay

Because I am the Queen
the Queen of Unrequited
I
I am the Queen
The Queen of Unrequited
love

I'm sorry but you're just not pretty enough
I'm sorry but you're just not smart enough
I'm sorry but you're just not enough enough

*screams*

Yes, I bleed rejection
I breathe isolation
My being is being alone
I am the Queen of...

Yes, let's just be friends
Yes, never want to be lovers
Yes, I'm okay with that
Yes, I'll always love you

Yes, it hurts inside
Yes, it makes me cry
Yes, something in me dies
But I, I'm still the Queen of lies

The queen of lies
Of bloodshot eyes
of tear-stained pillows
of wondering why
Of the echoes of all the deaths I've died

Because I am the Queen
the Queen of Unrequited
I
I am the Queen
The Queen of Unrequited
love

(There will be more, but that's where this song is starting)

Thriller Pt 2

Thankfully, the meetings passed quickly and easily enough.

Mr. Clemens was, oddly enough, a regular. Always changing little things here and there about his funeral arrangements. Every time he saw a new commercial or was impressed by another service, he'd set up an appointment first thing so he could add it to his list of services. He was happy to cover the costs, and she was happy to help him make his wishes come true, even if she was only increasingly surprised by the growing grandiosity of his final event.

Then came quiet Mrs. Wilson, a gentle soul struggling to cope with the loss of her partner. Something about the old woman made everyone want to hug her. Sharon Nyx had been in the funeral business for several years now, but something about the Wilson case plucked at her heart. Her pride would call it indigestion, but she would never be able to fully convince herself it was all about business.

And Ms. Bartson, her resident eccentric, had come in with a list of demands for her dog's funeral. Typically their business was restricted strictly to humanoids, but Ms. Bartson, all skirt suits and loud hats, was a hard woman to refuse. Besides, it couldn't hurt to keep the funeral home's options open. The garish planning binder and its flashing sequins tempted her to think otherwise, but there was no time and less disposable income available to strike up a debate.

Shedding her blazer, she traded business attire for a grungy lab coat and faded purple scrubs and made her way into the morgue.

Thriller Maybe

She'd run far enough. The night had lacerated her reason and drawn fear from her veins, even as branch and stone scraped against her bared skin to draw blood. The fire in her chest had shifted from a will to live to a desperation to breathe. Everything around her was shadow and nightmare, and she was exhausted. She could no longer run. She could no longer escape. So, she turned to fight. To face the demon that had dragged her into the hell of the night and threatened to consume her. Gasping for the frigid air and dripping blood and mud onto her weary legs, she stood in her wavering attempt at her last defense.

The shape emerged from the gloom of the forest, large and snarling, hungry for her lifeblood. That very same lifeblood chilled inside her and almost left her immobile. One final rush of endorphins loosened her muscles and sent her flying towards her would be destroyer. She launched herself into the night, hoping that, if nothing else, she made this monster pay for the kill. And then...

And then...

Nothing. No pain, no fight, no icy rain to sting her bare skin. Instead, she found herself sweating through her cheap blouse on the shabby little couch in her office. Her body ached. Not from the wounds of battle, but from the reality of old springs and worn cushions. She was neither heroine nor damsel in distress. She was simply awake, with a sore body and a headache worthy of a bar room brawl.

Aching limbs rallied in protest as she eased her way off the couch and into the chair behind her old, deceptively stately desk. It had impressed many a skeptical client, belying the impending collapse of the creaky structure. Goodness, even her knuckles felt obligated to crack and pop as she bent them around the faux-gold handle and struggled to open the ill-fitting drawer.

Appointments. She had a surprisingly full schedule for a small funeral parlor, but she lived in an old town where it seemed everyone was itching to die. Clemens, Wilson and Bartson. 10, 11 and 12 o'clock. She squinted at the clock on the table in the corner and sorely wished it said something other than 9:30 AM. Why would she even agree to such an early appointment in the first place?

My Inner Enthusiast (Lizzie)

So, I'm crazy. You've probably figured that out by now. And some crazy people see therapists. I'm one of those. I see a good one. I've had the whole range of therapists, from ones who were overly involved in my life to those who fell asleep during one of our sessions. I happen to have a particularly good one right now. In our last session, she mentioned that there seemed to be three parts to me.

1) The Depressed Part
2) The Overly Responsible Part
3) The Enthusiastic Part

She said she got glimpses of #3 often enough, but the other two seemed to drown her out. So, I thought I might try writing in her voice. Just to give her a chance to have her say. Here it goes...

_____


Okay, so, let's talk about the world. It seems like everything is pretty bleak. No matter where you fall on the spectrum of world views, someone is telling you the end is nigh. Whether you're afraid of new people and a changing culture, or those who fight that possibility so fiercely, everyone is telling you to be afraid.

But look how beautiful the world is in spite of that! People are constantly told that immigrants and strangers may show up with the intent to destroy your world. Even so, people have welcomed hundreds, thousands, in some cases, millions, into their homeland. People have learned to see others as human, rather than a religious caricature. Sure, people are dying and suffering and hating, but people are also being inspired and moved to combat those things. People have started their own organizations to fight hunger, hate, war, drought, discrimination and everything that seems ready to destroy our lives.

And in the midst of all that is you. You're no magician, of course. You certainly aren't God. But there is still something you can do to make the world just a little bit better than it was before you. And that one thing is something no one else could possibly do. Their gifts may seem similar, their message in tune with yours, but you were created to fill a specific calling, a specific need, and only you were designed for the task.

This is not to say that everything is on your shoulders. God is still God, and the universe will continue with or without your contribution. But it won't be better. It won't be brighter. It won't have that extra sparkle of fairy dust that only you could add to the wonders of the cosmos. It's staggering to think about. That anything you do could change a life, inspire someone, heal someone, teach someone, build something, fix something, make something, discover something. And you were made to do it. You were made to do it.

Maybe you're not where you need to be to do it fully yet, but you are a work in progress. A living masterpiece growing ever closer to true beauty, completion, meaning.

And I want you to get there. Not just for the sake of the world, but for you. You know how you light up when you do that one thing. Teaching, volunteering, listening, writing, whatever. You know how others can feel when you've touched their lives. You know that you have your own skills and talents and abilities. You know this.

Still, there will be complications. Requirements. Hurdles. Degrees, job applications, finances, taxes, rent, mortgages, car notes, budgets, time, energy, etc. I know it too. And, to be honest, it scares me. It terrifies me. It takes me back to the darkness of the dorm room where you spent so many night crying, desperately trying to breathe while hating that you continued to do so. It reminds me of being so drained that nothing seems worthwhile, enjoyable, fulfilling, or interesting. It reminds me of how I have been crushed in the past. It almost makes me want to give up.

But there's got to be more than that. More than that weight, more than your depression, more than we have known before. Maybe, if we push through those hurdles, we can reach something that we never would have believed possible while in the depths of despair. I don't know the details on how to get there. I, too, am afraid that we will not be able to. That we're not strong or smart or functional or worthy enough to get there. But if we do...

Oh, beloved, if we do...

Writer's Digest Prompt - The Dog Ate My Homework

The Prompt: http://www.writersdigest.com/prompts/dog-ate-homework

Sometimes the universe needs a good laugh. I tend to feel like that laugh is always at me. Like when Eric Marsden threw up on me in the middle of my big scene on opening night of the first play in which I had ever taken part. Or when I helped Jamaal, my best friend, plan an elaborate Promposal, thinking the whole time it was for me, only to realize that he was going to ask out Lane Parker instead. Or, when it's time to turn in the most important assignment of the semester, and I have to convince the teacher that my dog really did eat my homework. As if seeing parts of my term paper in confetti form hadn't been traumatic enough, Seafood also did me the honor of vomiting the rest of it on top of my math project. Thanks universe.

I'd never made excuses before, so I thought I had some credibility, but instead this saggy eyed harpy had the audacity to embarrass me in front of the whole class.


_________

Hmm. No. Too much exposition. Try again.

_____

Look, Ms. Hammon, the reason I don't have my homework is because it's in on an oil rig in the South China Sea. I'd printed it last night, and even made it look extra professional by putting it in a paper protector with a nifty yellow spine. It's your favorite color, I know. The problem was that my Mom was also preparing a few reports of her own. So when it came time to leave home, she just dumped all the papers into her briefcase and rushed my brother and I out the door.

I thought I was going to die when I saw it wasn't in my backpack last period! I figured out what must have happened and called my mom to see if she still had it. Of course, she didn't. All those other reports had been submitted to the general portfolio for their international project. Of course, this project just happened to be in conjunction with the government, so all documents are digitized and then destroyed. My mom says they put in on some special flash drive that their agent delivers by hand when he meets with the Chinese government.

______________

No. Too complicated.
__________

I lost my paper in a freak sleep walking accident. I know, it's crazy. I wouldn't have believed it either if I hadn't woken up in a tree in the park with my coverpage shoved into the waist of my pants! It's a long story. Honestly, I'm don't even know everything that happened

_______


These are all dumb. Try again tomorrow.