Tuesday, April 12, 2011
George and Katie are not the ones dancing. Katie doesn’t get to sweep her red dress across the sand and George doesn’t get to hold her on the edge of waves lit by the glowing horizon. Katie doesn’t get to take off her shoes and George must leave on his black hat. The wind makes fun of Katie’s apron and lifts it up for anyone to see. George keeps the umbrella held above the heads of people he wants to be. People he must’ve been like in one lifetime and now it’s their turn to be wealthy, beautiful, and catered on. To have your heads shielded my two umbrellas when rain hasn’t even begun to fall. George stand on the ready for a voice that says “I need you here,” “please do that,” “oh could you be a dear…” George isn’t singing and Katie isn’t dancing. The wind, waves, and shells rumbling across sand are singing and the couple whose blind past their horizon is spinning, gliding, waltzing along. Does this scene deserve a pity remark? Perhaps, someone will mistake this picture for something lovely and timeless? A picture where George is singing, Katie is dancing, and swaying until her skirt skips up? George and Katie are not the ones dancing.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Before you read I would just like to thank the friend that made me so upset in the first place. All is forgiven and there are no hard feelings but it was just amazing how after she left my throbbing heard trembled down these words to write. So I guess I dedicate this to the friend that I love more than a lot of things and the friend that can tick me off more than a lot of things. I love you and I love you stubborn soul.
If she could’ve only seem me. The anger that rattles my teeth shaking my lips vibrating my words. My throat parched for understanding for the right words to say to hear. The eyes are throbbing deep in the socket where water crashes against the dam crying crying dying to get out. The sad thing worse thing is that I don’t want to hear your footsteps back inside coming back from wherever you’ve been behind that slammed door. The nosey cat lays dead on what is wrong with you? What I did? And how long will you be gone? My only question is do you want your shirts rolled or folded in your big idle suitcase that’s been waiting all along.