What if the whole world filled up with water? If God just decided to dump an extra ocean on the world since in the beginning he never actually got to say, “let there be water.” Amid the 8th sea all the fish would gurgle and smile and look at each other and concur, “Yes, this is good.” The whole world would suddenly be waterlogged and sunken, even the cities — the skyscrapers would barely poke out of the surface like the tops of mom’s wine bottles that poke out of their hiding spots. If the whole world filled up with water, used car lots and elementary schools would sit like the pebbles in the bottom of the largest fish tank ever, and parade balloons would float up like seaweed, undulating and dancing with bubbles, reaching up toward the sun to get a lil’ photosynthesis. When it rained, it wouldn’t matter because at the bottom of the new ocean, no one would feel the drops and no one would get caught in the rain and no one would ever have to hold big black umbrellas at funerals. If the whole world filled up with water, the whole surface of the earth would glitter under the sun, like the time mom was passed out on the couch and grandma tried to get rid of me by sending me next door for a cup of sugar and I spilled the whole cup in the dirt and it sparkled. Our backyard looked like it was full of diamonds until it rained four and a half days later. I stole dad’s old umbrella from the closet where mom entombs everything that reminds us of him and I stood in dad’s slippers and watched the whole world get washed away by the rain. The bottoms of my pants got wet, but I still stood out in the rain and thought that if the whole world filled up with water, everyone’s pants would get wet and no one would care.
The road isn't what I was missing. Close. not quite. Something that moves, sure, but not quite a motorcycle. Music does so much to my brain. Perpetually confused. Perpetually lacking in courage. music solves both. Courage. The great ones had the courage to move the way they wanted. Presented the fundamental threads their own way. universal audience. Found the rhythms that reached them and hurled them in every direction. Ultimate courage, facing everyone's response. Intensely personal. Trust. They trusted something. Ultimate courage, ultimate faith: That not only does one person's voice matter but that MINE matters, and that I'm accountable for its dispersal. Horrifying concept. Irrational. But only irrational because of personal effacement and sense of personal weakness, not genuine lack of worth. In which case, self-effacement is irrational. Self-hatred, irrational. Self-destruction, irrational. Self-deprecation, irrational. If worth is unknown, but depends on participation multiplied by an individual's self-concept, then to willingly nullify either variable with zero is an irrational act, and ultimately ineffecient.Participation X Self-concept = Personal well-being, feeling of self-worth and satisfaction(P) X (S) = Value (personal)Participation without self-affection is worthless. Self-concept with validation is groundless. No value without either. Either can be nullified by zero. MUST attempt. MUST believe yourself worthy of the attempt. Must fail.
My Dearest: It has been so long since we've talked; since we've touched; since I've felt the tenderness of your soft lips caressing my own. Your voice was once so euphonious to me. You had always found a way to bring my mind to joy, even during my times of greatest need. I had nothing when you found me. I had not even the clothing on my back, but only a thin gown. My thoughts were then in deep distress; my life was but only a mess. You, my dear; you were the only who could bring a smile to my face, a laughter in my voice, and the love from my heart. You were my everything! You were my everyone... my only one. When I was trash to the rest of the world, you saw something in me. You saw things that I would have never realized on my own. You were my anchor, my crutch; you were the rope that I held on to which pulled my from my gloom, my hole... my grave. Oh how I miss you so, my dear. I miss your tender touch, as when we would kiss your hand would graze my chin, my cheek, the back of my neck. I miss parking the car in an empty lot in the middle of the night just to dance to the song that played in our hearts. I miss holding you closely in my arms, as the night would grow dim you would fall asleep beside me; while i could not sleep because I was so captivated by you. You would wake up and smile just because I had not let you go through the night. I miss gazing into your eyes. I remember telling you on multiple occasions that your eyes were just so beautiful to me, but you would never believe me. Then you would ask with a smile on your face, "How many girls have you used that line on before?" rolling your eyes. I would smile back and tell you that your eyes are the most beautiful eyes I think that I have ever seen in my life. And, darling, that is not a lie. Your eyes are so perfect! They are bright light blue with delicately detailed patterns that make them look like timeless winter crystals. Do you remember? Do you remember how you felt with me? Do you remember the way our kiss would make you feel? Do you remember joyous feeling of being in love? Do you remember the first time we said, "I love you." to each other? Do you remember how I stuck by you no matter how badly things had gotten, within our complicated situation? Do you remember talking to me in the middle of the night and no matter what it was, I was there to help, to listen, to give feedback? I do. I remember all of it. From the night that we met, to the last second I saw you... I remember. And because I remember, I wish I could forget. I wish I could forget how happy I was then so that I can stop mourning how depressed I feel right now. I wish I could forget what it felt like to be loved so that I do not realize my feelings of being unloved; of being trash; of being worthless to the one I once called my lover, my friend, my Aubrey Reed. Signed with all of my love,Me
Free writing to the prompt for March 1, 2012.
Another poem for the March 6, 2012 writing prompt about the meeting of 2 old friends.
personified by widened eyes
shutting slow & liquified;
hindsight an accompaniment to
lighten chest & shorten breath,
a calm perceived by susceptibility
and while surrender evolves into
an orchestrated act
(the motions predisposed,
the words set in stone)
memories of endings always remain
history repeating &
fatalistic reasoning, a suture pulled
drawing fro the curtains to reveal
an organ of mythological proportion
beating in&out& faster now
like a prodigal child shoved onto stage;
widened eyes, shutting not & petrified
he knows the lines, mouthing in
you don't see through my eyes...
Whether you use the XRIVO.com workshop function to revise and get feedback privately or share with the entire community, you’re taking a very necessary, though terrifying step in the creative process. The XRIVO feedback process is modeled off those workshop courses to give you the ability to thoroughly respond to work. Now, through XRIVO, you can get and give line-by-line feedback on any piece. All you have to do is highlight what you’d like to comment on and type away in the “Comment” box. As the author, you can filter what feedback shows up by user to make the comments easier to peruse. All you have to do is run your mouse over the comment to see what they’re commenting on.
But there’s more to getting the most out of sharing your work than just detailed revisions and discerning readers. Sharing your writing can be daunting, yes, but here are some things to keep in mind to help everyone get everything they can out of XRIVO.com. Here’s a simple guide: 4 keys to giving and 4 keys to getting feedback on your written work.
if you've never worn my boot
don't judge the way it looks
it's been from here
to hell and back
and it still holds my foot.
it's tattered, torn, and shredded;
ripped from seam to seam,
but you'll never wear these boots
If you'd known what they have seen.
From broken hearts
to shattered dreams;
To all the times I'd hurt so badly
I'd only want to scream
To things I've said
and all I'd done wrong;
to all the places
I no longer belong.
To all the people that I had hurt;
I'd take back all that dirt!
But we're only given one pair
to last us through this walk ahead.
So wear 'em proud and do 'em right
or these boots will find you dead.
So, if you've never worn my boot
don't judge the way it looks
it's been from here
to hell and back
and it still holds my foot.
This piece is a collaboration between myself and the XRIVO Writing Interns. Each of them were given the same introductory paragraphs and told to creatively interpret them. They could do whatever they wanted, whether it was to completely rewrite the paragraphs or simply continue with the story. Each of them have a different focus when it comes to writing - from poetry to journalism - and they interpreted the initial paragraphs with that skill-set in mind. The result is a rather fun collaboration of the different directions a single story can take when multiple perspectives are brought in.
Pretentious note: I didn't copy and paste—I typed every word.