it matters not when life begins or ends; it is the in between the crooked path, the highs, the lows as most lives go, pendulums swing and we obsess in the extremes but that’s not where the rubber hits the road, i’m told, steady as she goes, the wise have said, don’t lose your head, don’t sweat the insignificant, but who’s to say what matters most at end of day if truth be told, if truth exists the rights, the wrongs the reasons why we fight and fret and lean toward right or left, it is the middle, we forget, where time is present, neither here nor there, where god, if god exists, is love, is everywhere, where grace flows freely, despite who, what, why, or where you’ve been, can we just close our eyes, pretend it matters not the second life begins or ends, it is, as it has always been, the in between
you barely notice him there
shadowed face, darkened, looming
in the mirror, whispering tales of
masked heroes, of brilliant valor
old as wheels and of damsels not
distressed, save for the sting
of fearful, pursed lips flapping,
judgment over fabricated scandals,
pants not dresses worn, oh there
are tomes stacked high as heels
spitting lies of petulant patriarchs, women have their place, they bark,
captured on celluloid, idolized but
muted objects on a shelf, no self for
selflessness, ignored, she feels the sun
at her back, his shadow growing longer, looming in the mirror
barely noticed there, barely worth
noticing, from plastic eyes she stares
the boogie man’s not lurking in
our bedroom closets, glowing red,
with dust bunnies, candy wrappers,
socks underneath our beds,
he doesn’t only strike at night despite
the tales you’ve read,
he certainly can’t read your mind
but there’s still cause for dread,
because you see it’s what you can’t
see holding you in fear,
it’s the unknown, that’s threatening
all that you hold dear
scary words like what if, I can’t
blaring between your ears
unconsciously you know him well
he’s right there in the mirror
~kat
For MindLoveMiserysMenagerie’s Sunday Writing Prompt: For this prompt I’d like you to focus on creating a portrait of the Boogie Man or some other supernatural being in a very concrete and descriptive way. What does this creature look like? Why does it do what it does? Is it evil or simply misunderstood?
she is like a penny, face up, begging to be lifted from the asphalt, treasure promised if I dare give her a moment’s thought, a hint of blush dusts her cheeks, eyes, dark, translucent blue, cerulean really, that pierce my soul, first glance, drawing me deeper… she likes shadowy places, nooks, crannies, pre-dawn and gloaming, alcoves and hollows, her scent is musk, with undertones of moss, earth and ink waiting for the quill’s long, lingering dip, pale skin like velvet, cool to the touch, covered in baby fine hair that glistens in the light, her hair, fiery red, long, wavy, cascading softly past her shoulders… she is not the life of the party, but her words, softly spoken, draw select clusters of seekers, like me, who have grown to appreciate her wisdom and honesty…fools vex her…she has been known to slay them with a single line, but mostly she ignores them, pearls and swine, you know, for those of us who are privileged to call her friend, to see the world through her eyes is like peeking through a forbidden keyhole, Valhalla waiting on the other side
So it is easier for you to find all the parts/chapters of my ongoing fiction series, I created a new page that lists all the links. You can check it out HERE!
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