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Archive for the ‘Please be kind to my creative writings’ Category

Love is sometimes like a firecracker in the night.
It’s starts on the ground where it’s lit
and then rockets up into the sky.
It blooms into a bright flower,
but just as you feel you can reach out and take hold,
it disappears.

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He wanted me to say that I only come for him, so I told him. We were in the middle of fucking and he was holding back because he wanted to hear me say it before he came.

Of course you’re the only one.

They all were the “only one”. Even when they knew the truth, knew that every word out of my mouth was a lie. Still, they wanted me to say it.

No, I don’t feel this way when he fucks me.

The truth is, my dears, is that I would have said anything they wanted me to.

Whore.

I don’t make any apologies for using that word. I enjoy that word. I came to love that word. It freed me in a way. When you know what you are and learn to embrace it…well it becomes a friend, doesn’t it?

Whore.

That’s what I was.  Quite literally.

We fool ourselves into believing that we are the first and only people who take our lovers closer to god, to that higher plane. In relationships, any kind of relationship, we lie to ourselves.

No, he’s never loved anyone as much as he loves me.

No, he hasn’t ever felt this way before.

No, sex with me is special because it’s with me.

No, he’s never been happier.

The part in the story where you pop that little bubble and accept the other person’s truths is the true test of love. To know that you are not the first to give that other person ecstasy, whether it be emotional-sexual-spiritual-intellectual, isn’t for the faint-hearted or fickle or weak. You must quiet the ego. That’s when you grow up. That’s when you’re ready for it.

You have to stop kidding yourself and believing in things idealistic and utopic. Nobody is innocent. We’re talking adults here. We’re talking human nature. We’re talking reality. We all have lies and secrets and lives and dragons we’ve kept in a box buried under the roses in the garden that we nurture in secret for fear of crushing your image of us.

What if I dug up the box one day and gave it to you?

Husbands and wives and lovers don’t play the game for long and reality isn’t much fun for those can’t face themselves. Everyone gets the box eventually.

Is that why they come to me?  I have no garden for them to dig up.  No dragons needing slaying. Not for them. To them, I am one-dimensional.  A hired lover.

For one hour I will tell him what he wants to hear. In the rhythm of our sex, I’ll lie to him to make him feel like a god.

You alone give me this kind of pleasure and are the light in my darkness and are the only one who can save me.

Yes, he’s all that to me. And so is he. And him and him and him…

Original published by Debbie on 6/27/07 .

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I had a pretty boring weekend. Went to my mother’s house to see my pregger sister. She’s starting to show and she looks adorable. We gave her all of the clothes we bought for her last Tuesday and she loved them. I can’t wait to see her in some of the outfits.

I had a coffee date this morning. We’ll call the guy P. I met him last week and even though I did say to you all that I was currently dating myself, I figured that it wouldn’t hurt to date around and see what’s out there. I haven’t really been “in action” in over a year and it’s time. You all haven’t experienced ‘Dating Debbie’ yet, but you’ve read some of my stories. Well, I’m ready to go now.

So, let me focus. I met P at a local diner and I had a good time. It was really low-key kind of a date. He said he had a good time too. I’m not sure what’s going to happen or if we’ll go on another date, but I’ll keep you all posted.

Had a scene with Stella Marie this evening. The downstairs neighbors cat was up at my door (he always comes up) and this was the first time my girl has seen him. I heard some low meowing that I’ve never heard before. I went out to the porch to calm Stella down and right when she heard my voice, she went for the other cat. Luckily, there’s a screen door there. But shit, I had no idea my little kitty had it in her. I tried to grab her, but she freaked out and now I have puncture wounds and scratches all over my right hand. I can’t be mad at her though. She was really scared and protecting her house. I did get her to relax and she’s been next to ever since the incident. Poor little baby.

I really don’t have much else to write tonight. I’ll leave you all with two more poems that I wrote years ago.

We are all flowers waiting to be picked…
who’s pissing on us, who’s stepping on us,
who’s picking us now?
Growing up to be beautiful treasures
sprouting with springtime joy.
Come across the field, pick me,
I’m the most perfect one.
Looking out at the other girls
a tear from my petal falls.
A bunch of lilies were trampled upon,
their life forced into the dirt.
We are all flowers waiting to be picked…
who’s pissing on us, who’s stepping on us,
who’s picking us now?
In the May drought I smiled to the sun,
but my smile got caught in the wind.
He wants another.
I am a flower waiting to be picked…
who’s pissing on me, who’s stepping on me,
who’s picking me now?
Please pick me before my spinster leaves wither away
they are falling down all over the river
drowning in the water he pours on me.
We are all flowers waiting to be picked…

and

Tears roll down my face.
The things you find,
the things you stumble upon
in the roses.
Behind the trailers
he was there.
There’s blood everywhere.
The thorns were found.
The things you stumble upon.
Running along the honeysuckle path
and picket fences.
Smells of sunshine.
Smells like summertime.
Tripping over the wind
there’s a smile on a dandelion.
There’s a child on a swing.
Little boys with little trucks
running over the dollies.
The little girls with their water pistols
trying to solve a crime.
Bandaides on boo-boo’s.
The things you stumble upon.
The things you fall on.
He was there
and there’s blood on my dress,
in the roses.
In the sun
lawnmowers are mowing
along with the birds chirping.
The bees are making themselves a home.
Little Molly has fallen down.
The things you stumble upon
in the roses.

Thanks for reading. I know these poems aren’t that great, but it’s fun to share them with you all.

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Part 2: I Found A Book On How To Be Invisible

Eye of Braille
Hem of anorak
Stem of wallflower
Hair of doormat

Upstairs in the attic, I was cleaning grandma’s junk. We called it junk because my mother didn’t hold anything old or antique in high regard. She liked new and clean. I, on the other hand, loved the tarnished silver and moldy books, dusty pillows and moth damaged clothing. I put on my grandma’s Sunday-best hat and rummaged through some more chests. And that’s where I found it.

How to be Invisible was written on the inside of the journal. Intrigued, I turned the pages and it was filled with recipes for becoming invisible. I laughed at the silliness and shut the book. I continued to go through the treasure chest and found feathers, crystals, some hair wrapped in a ribbon, and some dried flower petals. I thought this curious. At that instant a warm breeze blew over me, like a breath. The air suddenly smelled sweet. I heard someone whispering, “Trust the book.”

I looked around the attic and figured that I had inhaled way too much dust. Once I got out of the attic and walked into the kitchen I felt better. That was some strange stuff, I thought to myself. I got a glass of water and an apple and walked outside onto the porch. I looked up and saw myself swinging on the porch swing. Smiling. Or smirking. Or grimacing. I couldn’t tell. But it was me. Except I didn’t look solid. My body looked like a floating piece of diaphanous cloth. I stopped and opened my mouth to say something but I disappeared.

Rubbing my head, I went back into the house to lie down. Moments like this will wear you out, you know? I took off my dusty clothes and laid down in my tank top and panties. I put a pillow over my head and tried to relax. Several minutes went by and I felt myself falling deep into that floaty state.

“You take a pinch of keyhole…And fold yourself up…You cut along the dotted lines…And think inside out…You jump around three times…You jump into the mirror…And you’re invisible” whispered the wind.

I sat up and looked around. There was no one. I was freezing. I was scared. I was losing my mind. Then I saw her again. She, or I, or it, was in the doorway and she put her finger to her mouth to hush me. She nodded her head in the direction of the attic and disappeared. Or dissolved. Shaking I went to the door, walked down the hall, and up the stairs to the attic. I felt hypnotized. My fear intensified as I approached the chest. The feathers, crystals, hair, and dried flower petals were arranged in a circle with the journal in the middle opened to a page with directions on how to become invisible. Since I didn’t believe in this silly stuff (or that’s what I was telling myself), but was getting more curious by the second because of the ghostly apparition of myself and the fact that these objects seemed to arrange themselves I decided to give this invisibility charm a try.

I took a deep breath. I sat in the middle of the circle and said the words, “Take a pinch of keyhole, and fold yourself up, you cut along the dotted line, you think inside out, and you’re invisible.” I closed my eyes waiting for something awful to happen, but there was nothing. Peeking out from my hair, everything seemed normal. I shrugged my shoulders and got up. I heard my mother calling for me. Did I want some lunch?

Forgetting my state of undress, I went into the kitchen and found my mother and sister making sandwiches. I opened my mouth to say something when my mother, looking right at me, yelled my name again. Perplexed, I told her I was right there and she didn’t look up. I walked over to my sister and tapped her shoulder. She turned and looked around and then went back to making her sandwich, saying to my mother, “That was weird. I just felt something on my shoulder. Where is she?”

I felt the cold wash all over me. Was I really invisible? I yelled that I was right here. Nothing. I yelled some more. Nothing. I opened my mouth to yell again and I hear a terrible crash and see a little angry looking gnome coming at me from the pantry.

“Shut your mouth child. What are you yelling for?” He crossed him arms and tapped his foot, waiting for an answer.

“What?!? What are you? Am I really invisible? Can you see me? Am I really invisible?” Just then I saw the ghostly version of myself sitting at the kitchen table laughing a rather demonic laugh. It chilled me. I heard the gnome say, “Yes child. You’re invisible. It’s okay. We’ll take care of you.” I looked from my ghost to the gnome and he looked into my eyes and said, “Don’t look too long at the doppelgaenger child. She’s not you and she’s not on your side. Come with me.” I looked at my ghost again and then at my mother and sister. I felt myself shake. I turned my gaze back to the gnome and croaked, “I’m scared.”

He smiled and whispered, “Don’t be frightened child. You’re with the fae now.”

And then I gracefully passed out.

To be continued…

*Lyrics from Kate Bush How to be Invisible off of the album Aerial © Noble and Brite. Story inspired by the song How to be Invisible.

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Part 1: Prelude

Shadowlands in another world
buried in the…
where we can’t see.
Dancing in a ring reserved
only…
for the enchanted ones.
She stepped there just
once.
Shining colors flew around
and she grew scared.
Ashamed of her silk panties,
all lace and bows.
Knowing if the wolves saw
she’d lose herself.
So, she sings for…
one moment is all you heard.
For she only danced there
in that fae ring
once
and now it’s over.
All at once.
This is where the faeries live.
Only to dance and sing
for the…
envious of their wings
and their
dust.

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I found a book of poems that I had written years ago when I was going throught my storage closet today. I forgot about some of these. I think I’ll let them trickle out slowly over the next couple of weeks.

The following poem was written a couple of years ago. Enjoy!

Untitled

I don’t know what it is about you
that opens so violently.
I only know that it startles me
with its brightness and beauty
like the full moon calling
from behind angry dark clouds.
There is a pureness
in the grace of your hands
that silences me so suddenly
I’m aware of nothing
but drowsy comfort
that weighs me down
and soothes me to sleep.
When I’m lost in the nothingness
and drabness of being without you,
my only hope is that
whatever closes in me
will open with all of the brightness
and beauty that I see
when I look into your eyes.

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