she wears an evil smirk on her solemn face — lips pursed and puckered at the same time. how odd?! I think . . . but she glides across the pathway, feet floating — cloudlike is the journey, and I watch her wade into the waters of my overthinking mind.
should I remind her about the boiling pot on the stove or the apple pie in the oven?
neither of them can hold her attention like I can.
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-BookandPaperback) yet?
I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak aboutthe most recent events with my place of employment as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.
I finally snatched the chance to shoot my shot and shot it with precision and purpose.
being friends first helped us. and although a “yes”, is not the answer . . . the door is n o t closed to further discussion.
the crush crushes, too. and loving me is important to her. losing me she doesn’t want to see.
I now know the gift of being held in high regard by someone who secretly crushed on me, too.
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-BookandPaperback) yet?
I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak aboutthe most recent events with my place of employment as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-BookandPaperback) yet?
I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak aboutthe most recent events with my place of employment as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.
Winter sneaks in, draped in drama, hands on heavy hips, waiting to cover us in dysfunction.
I know I won’t say anything when I see her today, but I’ll want to. And she won’t say anything–I’m the expressive one when it comes to “such a time as this.”
We’re feeding off of cold energy–trying to warm our hearts, both too afraid of being hurt–it’s just around the corner, yet we’re holding on.
The Emotions’ “What Do the Lonely Do at Christmas” comes on and tears stream down my face. How can you listen to this song and not feel something?
The air outside sends a chill to my bones that is indescribable. I am frosty–winterfied by jealous winds and made stoic in the presence of God’s season.
“You have too many periods in that one statement for me to feel comfortable about your reply” she tells me as she reads my response to her asking me not to hate her for picking up another shift that cuts our time in half, and I read and reread the statement, and the only thing I can come up with is, “I don’t know why you’re uncomfortable. I place periods where they belong. It’s grammatically correct.”
My spectrum brain didn’t see the coldness of it–the short-and-to-the-pointness of it, and I have to remind her sometimes it’s best I communicate verbally because word of mouth in written form can be misconstrued.
We agree it’s our emotions taking over . . . we care too much not to care at all, and this season always finds us tugging war with ourselves and the battles are many.
I am fighting for more than peace and strength. I am fighting to be understood by a world that may never understand me but it hurts so much more when she tries and she can’t, either.
Happy Winter Solstice, beautiful people! I’ll be spending this day with someone very near & dear to me. I hope all of you will get the chance to do the same.
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?
like Nas’ “It Ain’t Hard To Tell“, when we spot each other in a room full of our workmates, we fight to get to that hug we’ve been missing–that embrace that saddles us with contentment.
we fight for the purity of touch.
I know you. you know me. we broke down walls to be able to say, “She’s whole without being halved.” we have the drop on one another but we’ll never use it.
I am counting down the days until I see you again. until I get to hear that Flint, Michigan accent with a sprinkle of the Deep South swirling on your tongue.
maybe it’ll be the right time to say, “Yes” to what we’ve had to say “No” to for so long.
or maybe I’m just living through my fantasies again–envisioning you as the key to my heart’s happiness. or maybe, we’re treading lightly because the heavy waves are getting heavier and we need these damn jobs.
we’ve been cautious for years.
and there’s no cat and mouse with us–we’re simply plagued by curiosity and frozen from impending corporate damage.
how long will we be able to hold up our end of the bargain before we have to surrender?
are we willing to battle in the wars of political correctness for the honor of true love?
am I?
*Background music: It Ain’t Hard Tell instrumental, produced by The Large Professor
A Cornered Gurl 
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