the lush lip of
a dewy petal, suede and pale,
bruises are a hazard that blares
sharply in diffuse fragrance,
crushed veins, a slowly drooping head …
shamelessly to be discarded by the eye.
the flower has more in common
with the grave beneath it
than with the feet that trod above.
one keeps running from a given,
the other knows:
there’s nowhere else to go.
Copyright © 2019 Devina Singh
You look at some people, at their outward appearances and you judge them to some length. It think it’s instinctive but I also think it’s important to treat it as a hastily scrawled sticky note. One can’t fully ever know a person, no matter how long you’ve known someone, heck, they don’t even know who they are half of the time. I can attest. I want to kick the habit of insta-judge but that doesn’t mean I’ll make friends with any and all. I believe it’s instinctive, this measuring up, for the purpose of self preservation for at some level whilst meeting for the first time (for however briefly) you try to pick up vibes, peaceable, proceed-with-caution or run-the-frak-away. That said, everyone fights invisible wars. Ugh, what I’m getting at is … how to put it?
This has a meaning. I’m sure it has.
Here I am. Great things are expected of me and such, you know how family can be (if yours is like mine), supportive with bright eyes and two thumbs aggressively up. Here I am, a chronic-insomniac who is slowly gaining ground in the battle of accepting myself, my fat lazy ass self. I subject myself to self-hate sporadically for various reasons. Sometimes I am so mad at me to the point that I am afraid of what I transform into.
This is my bit for last week’s Picture it and Write! photo prompt brought to you by the ladies over at Ermilia Blog. This is a continuation, but from a different view point, of Sweet sweet Isabel, finally got around to it. Cheers.
via Ermilia Blog, click to see more
The wind was whipping her loosely bound hair in a frenzy. The dark blond tendrils framed her pale heart shape face, smudging the path of drying tears. She came here for the seclusion this forgotten little beach offered the adventurous ramblers that happened to stumble upon her solitary beauty. There were only a few people who could remember that this place was blocked off on purpose by prickly foliage. Jacqueline knew why, it was for the best. If her father learned of her excursions here he would be furious. Oh, she was a grown woman of thirty and two but the mere mention of it dug up buried memories of a bloody past wreathed in screams.
The past was the past, so to hell with it. It was the last time she saw her little sister, a slight figure bundled up but only a bobbing fuzzy dot in the distance as they took her away in that tiny blue boat so long ago. Jacqueline was one of the lucky ones, the fortunate ones. Life was hers to hold and command. Even then … Continue reading