Fictional stories inspired by daily occurrences written when the sun is down and the mood is up.
“I can’t fight for this” I say. “I can’t fight.” Those eight words speak pride to you, they speak of a mind too fierce to go low. Those eight words speak my life, who I am, how I started. They speak of days with tear-stained pillow cases, and muffled screams. They speak of hour long showers, with my tears and the shower, flowing in unity. I can’t fight. Not because I do not have the strength to, but because I just won’t Not because you’re not worth the fight, but because I’m worth the saving If I fight, and you’re gone, what would be next? Another fight to save myself…
I like it when we’re together. Did I say like up there? I love it when we’re together, In Silence. We’d sit side by side, Arms grazing each other with the littlest movement. We’d look everywhere but beside, Creating pictures only our minds can see. In silence, Our breathing collides and creates it rhythm, In silence, We say many words, our mouths won’t speak. After time has gone, You finally look my way, You say “Where has your mind gone?” I shake my head, maintaining the silence. Saying nothing, sometimes says the most – Emily Dickenson
I do this impulse thing all the time Just standing right there, moping One minute normal The next, insane One minute guarded The next, let loose One minute demure The next, wild One minute introverted The next, the circus clown I do this impulse thing where I don’t even know it’s me Just sitting there thinking; If I suddenly got on my chair and started doing the funky chicken, Would they think me mad or join in? If I got up and started giving a pep talk, Would they listen or give me the eye? If I suddenly started crying loudly, Would they run to me or chuckle beneath…