I'm in a hurry, but I got no where to be. My tattered jeans scrape unforgiving cement while by duffle bag bounces on my back. It thumps to the rythm of my solitairy footsteps. I'm alone now, now that we're over. I can talk to nobody about it, because everytime I admit it aloud it gets worse. My keys jangle in my pocket. they go to nothing but make me feel like I actually have somewhere to go. I feel like I have more than the hobo walking next to me. But I bet he is a screw up, just like me. But hey--I have a duffle bag and a ring of keys. Things are looking up.
I've never had much, but I did have her. Her skin was soft and white,compared against mine. People talked...but ain't that why we do the junk we do? So people will talk? And we were serious as two kids could ever be. I pretend now while I'm walkin' that I'm about to go meet her. I imagine that we're about to be reunited after a long days work from me and with her sparkely from hours of household chores. Lookin' like June Cleaver maybe. I imagine that she molds her thin lips to mine...murmers hello.
The mush on the street seeps into my shoes and makes my feet wet. I curse, and hurry, looking for a place to be. She ain't part of me anymore. I hate the crap about "two soulds becoming one" but I think it might have happened to me, cause I'm missing something. Missing her, and jacket, and an old baseball cap.
We talked a lot. We faught a lot. about her parents. They called me a thug. I'd fight that with all my guts back in those days. Right now, I'd have to agree with them. It really ain't that I'm a bad person...well maybe it is that. Maybe we're all bad people.
I was driving home from her parents. Just now I step in some indistinguishable crud on the street. I keep on walking so no one will see. But yeah, I was real mad at her when I shouldn't have been...she couldn't help that they hated me. I was driving too fast for sure...but I saw it coming. I saw the car. She called me a bastard, and idiot, some stuff I won't repeast cause I'm still trying to forget. I realize now she was just griping...being a woman and all. That car was coming fast around that curve. My fingers twitched. I jerked hard. My old baseball cap flew off her head and into the floorboard.
It didn't work. I'm still alive.
-This is creepy and weird..I don't know why I keep writing creepy and weird but it happens a lot these days. Anyway, I just want to say that the whole purppose of this piece is to illustrate what I believe about all people being born with immoral or "bad" tendencies. Anger builds, people explode. These emotions and actions have to be addressed. This is my representation of a situation where it isn't.
A few of the versions that I actually liked from Wednesday's exercise about the weather.
1. Original:
The shadowless day. Hynotized the world into a prolinged slumber, Slows the day and its quest. Like the elderly, everyone moves through the water infused air. Their hair grows while their eyes droop and they splash their rubber soled feet down the path.
2. Scholarly:
The day is lacking of sunlight, causing a devoid of shadows. This transfixes the earth, resulting in a prolonged slumber. The day moves at a slower pace, similar to an elderly person. Movement is delayed as the populace meanders through the water infused air. Strands of hair expand with the added moisture. Downcast eyes, indicators of a sleepless evening, as the people in gollashes traverse along.
3. Romantic
The shadowless dawn. Hypnotizes the world into a restless and lonely slumber. The day moves alarmingly slow...akeen to my hearts beating. My body harmonizes with it's thud as I stroll along the ruthless day. My locks become infused with the ungodly moisture. Dark circles around my eyes cast a shadowy ugliness across my face. My feet squeak with each step. Oh the tragic day.
4. 12 year old
It was gross outside. It was really dark so you couldn't see your shadows. It makes everyone move slowly because the weather makes them really tired. They walk around like old people. The girls hair get poofy and it looks really funny. They walk by in annoying rainboots.
5. Bigfoot
Bigfoot made the weather icky. Bigfoot made the skt cry. Bigfoot not mean to make the sky cry. Now Bigfoot get wet. Bigfoot not like to get wet. Make Bigfoot fur pokey.
A poem I wrote a couple weeks ago--
Cryptic and descrete,
tell me, but don't say it.
Yet, do not hide
your emotions from my eyes.
Tell me, but don't
use your words.
They won't hold the flame,
it's inside glass.
I can see through it.
Write it on a napkin,
read it to me later.
It's better when you can't describe,
your words too weak for the weight.
In class a while back--it's embarrassing.
Loft language. Laced hose laying gently along her lengthy legs. The lady is a lioness on the prowl for a lad with a longing to be loved. Someone to tangle in her lusterous locks that lilies of the vally previosly adorned. No longer is she gallant. Lovely in all respects. Polite, Prim, and lovingly languid. The lengthy evenings led her against their evolving length. Gentlemen with long walking canes left her with a leftover feeling. Longing to be loved legitimate. A man, lacking a wallet with a knowledge of a lady.
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