tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64832055203435709502024-03-12T20:02:27.695-07:00Creatively WrittenStrawberry Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03395571842364752995noreply@blogger.comBlogger282125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-61795138864357819232024-02-28T23:52:00.000-08:002024-03-01T20:40:08.170-08:00What if?<div><div><div>Life is confusing, especially all that stuff about finding your purpose. I don't know if people really know what that means. A purpose implies that someone has planned something for you and that you're drifting around looking for it. But I don't think that's how it works.</div><div><br /></div><div>We are driven by needs, love, safety, security, and basic biology. For me, there's always been a need to prove myself. That I'm worthy, that I'm worth it, that I am beautiful, loveable, likable, smart enough, good enough, yeah, just basically worth having around.</div><div><br /></div><div>But it's not only been that I've wanted to prove to myself that I was worth it as well, that I could do all the things people said I couldn't and also all the things that I wanted to do. I've always wanted to learn more, do more, be more.</div><div><br /></div><div>In reality, I think I've felt on a very basic level that we are all in a system that doesn't allow us to do what we'd like. We are trapped here and the more we want, the more we have to give to get it.</div><div><br /></div><div>If I could, I'd somehow circumvent it all, pay off all my debt, and be free to do whatever I like with my time. Which would probably look like me reading, writing, creating and just being myself. But I'm trapped, along with most everyone else, and that's how it is.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't think life has a purpose, I think we make life what we want it to be by putting into it what we want to get out of it. If I could, I would create a fantasy land, where we all could live and create and just be happy. Wouldn't that be beautiful? The land of possibilities and creation. Just being with people who feel the same way and want to live the same way?</div></div></div>Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-29589718175351610012024-02-24T17:40:00.000-08:002024-02-28T23:22:02.476-08:00Exploring the WildernessThere is something whispering to my soul<div>it has always driven me</div><div>made me pause</div><div>listen</div><div>and search for the source</div><div>the beating of my heart</div><div>blood coursing through my veins</div><div>it's a wild, untamed thing</div><div>when I stand under magnificent trees</div><div>the wind blowing through the leaves</div><div>I feel it</div><div>grand waterfalls as well</div><div>there's a power in this world</div><div>that moves through us all</div><div>and when I'm near you </div><div>I feel it too</div><div><br /></div><div>Can you feel it? </div><div><br /></div><div>Our breath moves together</div><div>as we clasp each other</div><div>hearts beating</div><div>skin tingling</div><div>bodies aching</div><div>blood coursing</div><div>your scent </div><div>and mine</div><div>together</div><div>the quiet of the room </div><div>interrupted</div><div>it's wild, untamed</div><div>magnificent</div><div>kinetic</div><div>and I pause</div><div>to look at you</div><div>and feel you near</div><div>looking up </div><div>into your eyes</div><div>trusting</div><div>there is power in your kiss</div><div>it has always driven me</div><div>to the edge </div><div>of madness</div><div>every inch of you</div><div>drives me wild</div><div><br /></div>Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-81039859456165005992024-02-24T17:11:00.000-08:002024-02-24T17:11:37.683-08:00Appreciation<p>Beautiful, beautiful world</p><p>Stalwart mountains</p><p>Drawing the eye upwards</p><p>the mountain tops painted</p><p>with hues of grey, green and white in the winter</p><p>the variegated blues of the sky</p><p>changing with the day</p><p>oh beautiful, beautiful world</p><p>the sound of the birds</p><p>the rivers that run</p><p>the insects and wind through the trees</p><p>oh beautiful world</p><p>the scent of a fire, and water and leaves</p><p>oh beautiful, beautiful world</p><p>the emotions we all feel, the good and the bad</p><p>we may cry, and sigh but one day we all die</p><p>and return to this beautiful, beautiful world</p>Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-41978063161218252782024-02-24T16:54:00.000-08:002024-02-24T16:54:16.977-08:00Relationships<p>From my blog 9/27/2013</p><p>I've been thinking about the sacred nature of relationships. </p><p>Developed they are beautiful, it is wonderful to have someone who understands in some small way what makes you tick. </p><p>To make a connection with another soul. </p><p>It becomes a source of compelling strength; mind, body and spirit. </p><p>A space where you know just what to expect from someone. </p><p>As human beings we have the capacity to allow these relationships to be created, but they can be harmed. </p><p>The tenure of the relationship will then change, no longer be the loving bond created. </p><p>As a developing person, always reaching towards a better understanding of life, I can see so many areas where I need to improve. One of those areas is the delicate balance between relationships that needs to be created. </p><p>Nurturing good friendships, weeding out what isn't working. Re-evaluating jealousy, seeing it for what it is, insecurity. </p><p>There is a fine line to maintain when treading within the heart of another and when they are a part of your own heart. </p><p>Once that has happened, change cannot come about quickly, lest you damage those bonds and permanence is the result of a temporary feeling.</p>There is a cycle of birth and rebirth within each soul. Birth and death. <div><br /></div><div>I've been learning about the deep well of intuition in my soul.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes it tells me things that I don't want to know.</div><div><br /></div><div>I try to listen, but facing the truth is hard. </div><div><br /></div><div>Especially when it means the end of something that you love.</div><div><br /></div><div>SG</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-65849904719649674962024-02-19T23:03:00.001-08:002024-02-21T16:42:52.560-08:00AloneAlone again<div>The time's so brief</div><div>With others</div><div>Alone again</div><div>Alone</div><div>Sometimes I'm whole</div><div>All alone</div><div>Sometimes my soul</div><div>Just wants</div><div>Another</div><div>Alone again</div><div>Alone</div><div>But not abused</div><div>Alone again</div><div>Alone</div><div>Longing</div><div>I loved you</div><div>You bright boy</div><div>You filled my heart with joy</div><div>It echos through me</div><div>Empty</div><div>Alone again </div><div>Alone</div>Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-77728565268444042012024-02-19T18:32:00.000-08:002024-02-19T18:32:15.378-08:00 Fables and Fairy Land<p>A bit of my writing from sometime in the distant past</p><br />The details were not important to Millie, she loved being alive and so no matter where she lived, she was a fairy or an undiscovered genuine princess. She lived and breathed the world, the lady bugs delight, friend of the fuzzy caterpillars, sister of the tree's.<br /><br />So naturally when she had finished stretching out on the ugly green carpet, moss covered forest lichen to you and me, she skipped outside to say hello to her sister fairies and to find her own little home to curl up in for a while. She was dismayed to find that there must be ogres running around, because who else would leave so much litter here and there? She vowed to come back with her sister fairy Emily, when the matter of the little dwelling was solved, to clean it up.<br /><br />All around her was forest magic, large bushes of intimidating size shut the way to the enchanted valley and prickly thorn bushes with their bright red berries guarded the path to the calm forest stream. No matter, who cares about bushes and their business anyway.<br /><br />She turned into the arms of the welcoming tree's. She spied it! Her little home! She knew it would be there, young Chinese elm trees, which grow tall with branches extended towards the sky, were intertwined in a little circular gathering.<br /><br />There were lovely places to sit, stumps and fallen trees. Someone had prepared the kitchen, the leaves had been strewn rather nicely on the floor and there were two level tree stumps, just the right height for a forest stove top. Tomorrow she would come with some eggs to cook on the stump burner with the circular element.<br /><br />She felt so happy in her little home, that she hugged the nearest tree with endearing emphasis and knelt on the beautiful brown and white leaves to inspect the ground. She found herself laying on her stomach watching the ants when it suddenly occurred to her that she might not be able to recall the way out again.<br /><br />Sudden terror gripped her young heart as she remembered the princess who was lost in the woods, surrounded by foreign sounds and creatures. Her friends the tree's looked down on her in their tall way and she shivered a little. Feeling the way that you might if you found yourself surrounded by tall strangers who don't understand skipping princesses.<br /><br />She edged herself nearer to the little tree friend she had just hugged, she felt this little tree must be near her own age since she too was so very small. As she stood, afraid to move, she heard the call from her sister Emily. "Millie, where are you?" "Millie, dinner is almost ready. I'm hungry and mum said we can't eat without you!"<br /><br />Suddenly Millie grew angry with her sister, walking in here, bringing the outside world with no respect for tree's and magical pathway's. So she kept silent, her sister grew nearer and nearer. Millie shrunk back into her little home, still silent, until Emily walked past her hiding place and she could hear her walking huffily back towards the house.<br /><br />She dashed out of her hiding place, afraid that she would be left alone again and grabbed Emily's hand, startling her. "Oh Emily, I am so glad you came for me, I was lost." Emily gave her a look and rolled her eye's. "Come on, let's hurry, I am starving!" She tugged Millie along, unmercifully ignoring the forest, and Millie's tripping little feet until they were back to their home again.<br />Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-91135993541710607262024-02-19T18:28:00.000-08:002024-02-20T22:03:42.099-08:00Intimacy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Intimacy is found in the places where time stands still and you are in another world. It is created by a bit of fantasy, a bit of playfulness, curiosity, and fun. It can be found between two people hiding under a blanket, imagining that they are the only two people in the whole world, talking of inconsequential things, and kissing periodically to spark the flames between them. All the cares of the day fade away, and that is the world, the entire world. Gazing up at the stars on the back of a truck bed or blanket as the wind rustles the leaves and crickets chirp. Digging toes deep into the sand while holding hands and looking into the other's eyes. A grin on the face that reaches the eyes as you splash the other in the pool. The heartbeat of your lover as you lay your head against their chest. It is looking at their face with love, caressing the familiar features with your eyes, tracing the curve of their lips with your fingertip. Pressing a kiss against their temple and down to their neck, feeling their pulse beneath your lips. Somehow, you can experience a surge of awareness when you think of their kiss and feel your pulse quicken with the touch of their hand.</div>
Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-32129192439793390232024-02-19T18:05:00.000-08:002024-02-19T18:05:03.724-08:00Earth Poem<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We are burning, each day yearning<br />
For the freedom we were promised<br />
Every day a blur, it is hazy<br />
like a gauzy film of dust<br />
<br />
Helpless we go, reaching beyond<br />
Reason has fled<br />and all we do is toil, for nothing</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
Really we're all dead<br />
<br />
All we have is this moment, we have enough,<br />
Our economy turns on our hopes and dreams<br />
Now so empty as we empty the earth<br />
We don't notice the silent springs<br />
<br />
of all substance and beauty,<br />
We'll all be shells.<br />
<br />Our vision is blurred to what is important<br />
All imitations of things that once fulfilled </div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
We are reaching after, freedom<br />
as the earth burns<br />
Helpless we go, reaching beyond<br />
<br />
Every day is a blur, hazy<br />
like the gauzy film of dust in the wind<br />
<br />
We are all yearning for some undefinable thing,<br />
this goal of freedom, the promise of freedom<br />
yet all we do is toil, most of us toiling <br />
in painful repetition of yesterday<br />
<br />
Somehow we are convinced that we need more,<br />
gadgets, gizmos</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">while the earth burns<br />
We are dead, only walking briefly through a moment<br />
we haven't realized our insatiable need for more<br />
<br />
All we have is this moment, we have enough,<br />
yet our economy turns on our hopes and dreams<br />
a blurred vision of what is important<br />
All imitations of things that once fulfilled </div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
Now so empty as we empty the earth<br />
of all substance and beauty</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
We are all shells.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-12910809655913228342024-02-19T18:00:00.000-08:002024-02-19T18:00:22.407-08:00Ironies<p> Sometimes I am struck by the irony of life</p><p>Be yourself they say</p><p>and so I am</p><p>So much myself that I try to heal the world</p><p>so much myself that my smoldering fire is banked </p><p>to avoid hurting others</p><p>a drive to achieve</p><p>a drive to love</p><p>a force misunderstood</p><p>a force for good</p><p>and silence</p><p>when I should speak</p>Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-28855825332311251452024-02-19T17:58:00.000-08:002024-02-19T17:58:00.555-08:00Wholeness<p> Communication, silence, fraught with emotion both</p><p>whisper to me of the serenity of hope </p><p>whisper to me of life and </p><p>I will live when your arms encircle me, </p><p>when your lips touch my own. </p><p>You belong to me, </p><p>here in my heart, </p><p>you are a part of me. </p><p>When you are in the room </p><p>I can hear your presence </p><p>as the person of hope and freedom </p><p>that is waiting upon my life, </p><p>waiting for me to notice.</p><p>Your soul is broken.</p><p>So is mine.</p>Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-32356517185802327032024-02-17T22:57:00.000-08:002024-02-18T20:10:49.296-08:00Faded Crown<p>I dreamt you into my world</p><p>wrote down what I wanted</p><p>more understanding</p><p>more laughter</p><p>more fire</p><p>The day turned into night</p><p>then day came to be again</p><p>there you were</p><p>glorious</p><p>triumphant over the past</p><p>crowing with anticipation of the future</p><p>Magnificent being</p><p>you were my sun and moon</p><p>a crown of stars shone around your head</p><p>I thought I knew you</p><p>Did I know you?</p><p>Did you know me?</p><p>I knew a part of you</p><p>you wanted to tell me more</p><p>I think</p><p>you tried</p><p>and then the spark died away</p><p>the dream faded</p><p>where did you go?</p>Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-87414185383544400552024-02-17T13:27:00.000-08:002024-02-19T17:52:40.379-08:00I have memories<p> Hey</p><p><br /></p><p>Hi</p><p><br /></p><p>How are you?</p><p><br /></p><p>Well</p><p><br /></p><p>I have memories</p><p>Covellite</p><p>Kisses</p><p>Fire</p><p>Guess I'm a hopeless romantic</p><p>I wasn't supposed to give my heart away, yeah?</p><p>Should have locked it up</p><p>Should have thought things through</p><p>Maybe given things space, and time</p><p><br /></p><p>Yeah</p><p>Pretty hard to do</p><p>When your touch is fire</p><p>your kisses oblivion</p><p>But still</p><p>I have memories</p>Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-18115967619438955812024-02-11T11:48:00.001-08:002024-02-19T17:53:03.971-08:00LoveI love you, I just do<div>You're not obligated to me for this</div><div>No need to change</div><div>Or worry that my feelings will get hurt</div><div>Love includes provisions for that</div><div>I don't feel obligated to you</div><div>To try to control you</div><div>Or change who you are</div><div>That's not love</div><div>I want the best for you</div><div>But I won't force my vision of that</div><div>Onto you</div><div>I won't recind my love</div><div>Because you don't feel the same</div><div>Or what you choose to do</div><div>You are who you are</div><div>And I love you </div><div><br></div>Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-29558096850766458072024-02-09T20:02:00.000-08:002024-02-19T17:53:37.574-08:00Fire<p>We don't always get to know the reason that someone does what they do</p><p>Sometimes you can like someone a great deal, even love them </p><p>to a certain extent</p><p>but hesitate, before going all in</p><p>why do we do this?</p><p>Because, our hearts are tender</p><p>and the full breadth of what it means to commit</p><p>is always sitting in the back of our minds.</p><p>I cannot blame you, for doing the same thing that I've done</p><p>and I don't know why I am talking to you now</p><p>maybe to try to recapture the friendship that we had</p><p>my pride is hurt</p><p>I was abandoned</p><p>yet the way we kissed hello, and goodbye</p><p>well, it felt like the whole world</p><p>so intense</p><p>so real</p><p>it was fire</p><p>it meant something to me</p><p>that doesn't disappear easily</p><p>it's imprinted on my heart</p>Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-60012757893797821072024-02-07T04:04:00.000-08:002024-02-07T04:04:22.558-08:00O Me! O Life!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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O Me! O Life!</h1>
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<span class="c-txt c-txt_attribution" style="border: 0px; color: #494949; display: inline-block; font-family: canada-type-gibson; font-size: 0.875rem; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: 1.4px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-transform: uppercase; vertical-align: baseline;">BY <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/walt-whitman" style="border: 0px; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; transition: color 250ms cubic-bezier(0.215, 0.61, 0.355, 1) 0s; vertical-align: baseline;">WALT WHITMAN</a></span></div>
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Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,</div>
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Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,</div>
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Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)</div>
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Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,</div>
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Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,</div>
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Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,</div>
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The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?</div>
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<em style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> Answer.</em></div>
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That you are here—that life exists and identity,</div>
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That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.</div>
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<a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/51568/o-me-o-life">https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/51568/o-me-o-life</a></div>
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Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-9209870212948904462024-02-06T20:37:00.000-08:002024-02-07T10:02:18.848-08:00The Winding Story of My Heart<p>I want to convey that my heart is an open book, but it's not easy to read.</p><p>It's annotated and underlined.</p><p>There are great diversions and soliloquies.</p><p>I've written notebooks of possibilities; some of them very cozy, and I get quite attached to them.</p><p>Then the possibilities veered off course, and I didn't know how they would work out. So I put those notebooks down, but not without tears.</p><p>If I follow a story down to its hypothetical end and dislike the ending, Sometimes I'll dog-ear the page, hoping to rewrite it. Driving myself mad, because the conclusions never really change.</p><p>Sometimes I'm so wrapped up in the idea of someone that it's hard to let go.</p><p>Even if that idea is painful and complicated, especially if I thought that living that life was worth the complication.</p><p>It's hard to be written off, to become a footnote, an afterthought in someone else's story. No longer the love interest, no longer perused.</p><p>I've had stories end abruptly, stories that I thought were solid.</p><p>I've been confronted by the most confusing accusations of who I was and what I've done.</p><p>Where I couldn't even interject my truth or be believed; the ending of some stories has hurt me so, so deeply.</p><p>I sometimes fall prey to diversions, diversions that keep me confused and controlled, lost and not myself.</p><p>I can love so deeply and hurt deeply as well.</p><p>Yet, I am also able to believe in others and overcome deep pain.</p><p>Because to love is beautiful, to lose is painful, but the possibility always exists of a beautiful, great love story.</p><p>One that I'm still trying to write.</p>Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-13692473368775133092024-02-05T11:42:00.000-08:002024-02-05T11:42:56.641-08:00Anxiety<p> Anxiety</p><p>my heart is pounding</p><p>what do the test results mean?</p><p>the symptoms, they aren't going away</p><p>dizziness is back</p><p>dizziness makes me sound crazy</p><p>spinning around, stumbling out of yoga</p><p>sitting on the ground</p><p>everyone's concerned</p><p>I'm OK I say, look away</p><p>please look away</p><p>faces appear, I hide my own</p><p>what is this? what is this? I don't know</p><p>flare up? new illness? WTF is the NRBC?</p><p>Why hasn't the Dr. called?</p><p>Can't panic, I need to work</p><p>fustercluck help, I'm so tired of this fustercluck</p><p>keep going</p><p>rest</p><p>I'm supposed to begin my exercise routine, I'm supposed to work on muscle mass</p><p>oh god why don't they call me?</p><p>New medications, oh crap, infusions, injections, which should I pick?</p><p>I don't know</p><p>keep going</p>Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-60879072573730966092024-02-02T23:27:00.000-08:002024-02-02T23:27:49.766-08:00Restoration<p>I'm a romantic</p><p>a pragmatist</p><p>a saint </p><p>a sinner</p><p>I was someone else last year</p><p>Yet also, I'm the same</p><p>Not wiser</p><p>Not stronger</p><p>tired of foolishness</p><p>yet often naïve</p><p>tired of therapy and of searching</p><p>I found the one I wanted</p><p>love, is hard to explain</p><p>it just is</p><p>a gem</p><p>a lodestone </p><p>a sentry to the soul</p><p>loyal, true, set in its ways</p><p>broken foolishly</p><p>restored carefully</p><p>beautiful</p>Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-83792712084338173552024-01-30T16:12:00.000-08:002024-01-30T16:12:03.211-08:00Madness <div><br /></div><div>Just came across this picture today and it sparked a memory of when I wrote this little snippet.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjnzoy-IFvuBPA5eogg_qu555WE6lNM59DNNqY4ciBm5qQLnExr3Qa1D3kk6TBfonoTbKs2xZdEqsIRug9-8Pc40-QZJYvsEy4AaqmWbQqnMVNexqlP6jdezxAhOHUz0w9jmi8bNWHH4cP1GJaxI4jiIvzyd9B0qIgl2MbLGIbbw_S9ayqN1dznUDtzCwYo" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="489" data-original-width="370" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjnzoy-IFvuBPA5eogg_qu555WE6lNM59DNNqY4ciBm5qQLnExr3Qa1D3kk6TBfonoTbKs2xZdEqsIRug9-8Pc40-QZJYvsEy4AaqmWbQqnMVNexqlP6jdezxAhOHUz0w9jmi8bNWHH4cP1GJaxI4jiIvzyd9B0qIgl2MbLGIbbw_S9ayqN1dznUDtzCwYo" width="182" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div>6/5/2010</div><div><br /></div>There was no stopping her, no reasoning, the clothes had to be washed and hung, baths taken, all before she could quit for the day.<br />
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Everyone sat, a pallor on their faces, avoiding the eyes of the others.<br />
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Not Hanna, she had scrubbed the floor with a will, beaten the rugs, swept the back porch and was now doing the washing. There was a glint in her unfocused eyes, she blinked, she must focus on the washing.<br />
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They couldn't understand her obsession, no one felt up to anything just then. <br />
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Minutes ticked away in a slow procession, each one holding up the others, until Ginny May ran through, irreverent. They tried to stop her, Minerva and Uncle Wes, but she was too quick to be caught.<br />
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'Charlie, out in the back, was digging up flowers, that mutt! He had to be stopped or she was gonna have to take grief again bout bringing home a stray. Oh lordie how she hated to hear them.'<br />
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Ginny May was a flash of sunshine, the others looked at each other when she had passed. But Hanna, she kept on working, Jim would need his shirt pressed.<br />
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Out the window, she could see Ginny, as she turned each shovel full of dirt. Hanna burned the shirt as she watched each spade full of dirt, filling the hole.Strawberry Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03395571842364752995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-12162542265778332302024-01-25T18:36:00.000-08:002024-02-02T16:11:55.650-08:00Capturing a Feeling<p>Anticipation building, you will be there</p><p>my arms are aching, my lips are tingling</p><p>I hurry past the others, they mean little to me</p><p>You are the one my heart beats for</p><p>Your embrace, your scent</p><p>The fire builds</p><p>We kiss as though there is no tomorrow</p><p>No other time to live</p><p>As we travel I hold your hand, you kiss my fingertips</p><p>I soak in being there, being with you</p><p>Music plays and we sing along</p><p>Smiling we drive towards home</p><p>When we arrive it doesn't take long</p><p>To show you how much you were missed</p><p>Electricity </p><p>Your scent, your taste</p><p>your touch</p><p>the flame rises and falls as we make love</p><p>we sleep</p><p>then again we move together, it's ecstasy</p><p>it's bliss</p><p>You whisper my name</p><p>I whisper yours</p><p>We smile</p><p>There are micro sparks all night</p><p>this was good, so, so good</p><p>What more could we ask?</p>Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-36917525835834550302024-01-23T16:42:00.001-08:002024-02-19T17:54:22.660-08:00My Heart's Refrain<div>“Sometimes, I sit alone under the stars</div><div>and think of the galaxies inside my</div><div>heart, and truly wonder if anyone will</div><div>ever want to make sense of all that</div><div>I am.” </div><div>― Christopher Poindexter</div>Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-60616250750492337852024-01-14T00:29:00.000-08:002024-02-04T17:06:39.114-08:00Thread<p>The flavor of you has changed</p><p>my memories have mellowed, and dulled</p><p>As I walked many miles alone, trying to forget</p><p>I held my heart and gathered you up</p><p>and released you into the wind</p><p>I watched as you changed</p><p>or did you?</p><p>Were you always unknown to me? </p><p>I thought, by our intense conversations,</p><p>that I would know you</p><p>So I am sifting memories through my fingers</p><p>Hoping to find the thread of what we had</p><p>to examine what it was</p><p>I let it go, when you cut me out</p><p>my motivation to mend</p><p>these frayed ends</p><p>is drifting in the wind</p><p><br /></p>Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-80791197606243409572024-01-11T18:43:00.000-08:002024-01-11T18:43:57.806-08:00When You Cannot Feel The PainThis is a piece that <a href="http://smokeringmattering.blogspot.com/">John</a>, from Smoke Rings and Matterings, graciously helped me to expand. I really like the results.<br /><br /><strong>When You Cannot Feel The Pain</strong><br /><br />It was almost ridiculous, how jaded she felt. The stares of others continued to jar her, to shove and poke at her. She tried not to let it bother her, she understood how inadequate words were, how no one would be able to say anything that made sense.<br /> <br />Perhaps what she wished was for someone to care, oh she knew that people cared, but in everyday situations people sometimes forget that extraordinary happenings are going on. They talked of life, about work, and vacations, television programs. Why couldn’t they look at her? <br /><br />Every time she came into this office, she could feel the embarrassment of the nurses, the sudden break in conversation, the pity. She could sense their guilt at not knowing what to say. Yet she kept coming back - with each new pregnancy, a fresh chance, a niggling hope. <br /><br />She refused to let her emotions rise. She could not, would not allow herself to hope.<br /><br />She sat at the nurses' station, alone as usual. Avoided, as usual, though that was how she preferred it. They had let her use the phone to call the hospital: "The hcg levels are rising, but they haven't doubled." <br /><br />She doodled aimlessly during this conversation, to avoid thinking. She had desperately searched for a distraction when she had heard the tone of voice the technician had used. <br /><br />The nearest thing was a pad of paper that they used to write reminders on, some pharmaceutical company had left it, she thought of how ridiculous the medical community seemed to her, how helpless they were to help her. <br /><br />She knew what the technician meant – she had heard it before though he couldn’t have known. It was their way of giving out false hope, of avoiding the truth. She had gotten used to it, they had handed her platitudes ever since she had run up against this nightmare. What a cowardly ploy.<br /><br />There was nothing more for her here, she gathered her things as she felt the pressure rising behind her eyes. She couldn’t cry here, she didn’t know if she could cry anywhere.<br /><br />The world had grown so foreign all of a sudden, nothing made sense any more. So she put her kids in the car and drove herself home again. Again, she felt so empty about it all, it felt like déjà vu driving out of the same parking lot, down the same road. Driving with the same questions, again, how she had come to despise that word. <br /><br />Her kids couldn’t possibly know why she drove with white knuckled precision, why her voice held a note of unshed tears when they asked how long it was going to be until the baby came. “It takes a long time sweeties, be patient.” The words had almost stuck in her throat, she couldn’t say more than that, it was all too much.<br /><br />She wished again that her kids had not been there at the first fateful appointment, the one where she had come up against a reality that she hadn’t known existed. <br /><br />They had seen the first little one on the screen, they couldn’t have known that the heart was not beating. They had no idea what mommy was going through, their little brother or sister was just taking a long time getting here. <br /><br />The blood had drained from her face, when the words coming from the doctors mouth were words of consolation, consolation for what? He hadn’t even explained what was going on and she had been too daft or naive to grasp what was happening before he started telling her that “you’re young, you can have another one.” <br /><br />“Why!! she had thought, why is he saying this?” and then she knew, then she had nodded her head as if she understood, and said things to make the situation less awkward, to ease the others discomfort. He never came right out to give her an explanation, he only told her that she could have a D&C, whatever that was. <br /><br />Then he had given her a number, and she had gone through an experience so foreign and alien to the naïve young girl that she had been. Since then nothing had gone right, the pregnancies had been coming and going and she had grown numb.<br /><br />The cycle started the next day, again - first a little pink, then more. Gradually, the hope was drained out of her. The hope - who was it that said she should not hope? Oh yeah, she thought, that was me. Don't hope, she had told herself. Don't hope, too bad she couldn’t control what her heart felt. <br /><br />It was all too much to take in - too great a loss to process. There had been too many times, it had gotten old to everyone else. They were awkward around her like the doctor and the nurses so she said things to comfort them, to ease the awkwardness and to mask the rawness of her pain. <br /><br />She lay there, weakened by the cramping and the bleeding. Staring blankly at the wall, vaguely recalling that her children were playing in the other room. She lay on the couch at her mothers. It was more comfortable there, it was familiar and held normal every day sounds that she vaguely recalled. <br /><br />She didn’t feel capable of dealing with her kids, they still had needs and she was tired, especially of explanations or the lack of them. At least at her moms there was someone who could watch over the kids. She lay curled around a heating pad, wrapped in a blanket. Locked into a space and time all her own, where no others could venture, intruding upon her fleshy raw emotions.<br /><br />She felt alone, disconnected with the world. She had been abandoned, left to deal with the wreckage of everyone’s failure, of her body’s failure, though she didn’t blame herself. With each piece of evidence that this one would not last, she wished, at least, that she could cry. <br /><br />She could not, not there, but she thought longingly of a place where she could. A place out in the wildness where no explanations were needed - the one place she could cry - and she could hear it calling to her. Her one private place, where no one would glance pityingly at her. <br /><br />She wrapped up a piece of her heart and walked out into the familiar woods. As she walked, her heart cried out to the wild, to the trees and little birds and she recalled the ghost of her former self – innocent, happy, youthful, untouched by disillusionment - as she walked, she started to cry.<br /><br />Deep, deep into the woods, she found a spot. She knelt on the fresh damp earth and buried her hope, her sacred heart. She sobbed until the tears dried on her face, leaving her with the odd, bittersweet relief of having cried at last. <br /><br />Then she went back home, to face them - to face those who didn't understand. She found that she could face them, because she had found her peace.Strawberry Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03395571842364752995noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-72137118123024503682024-01-11T18:42:00.000-08:002024-01-14T00:33:02.041-08:00Dreams<div><span face="Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #546e7a; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: 0.4px;">Aug 18, 2009</span></div><div><br /></div>Speak words so softly, the night has not yet passed, <br /><br />my dream a reality that I have yet to grasp.<br /><br />I walk among the mountain peaks, the mists and the sun rays through the clouds. I walk and the silence speaks, speaks to my heart, drawing the venom out, and I am left with conclusions. <br /><br />The internal battle fought and I am aching, yearning for something, for joy and happiness to flow like milk and honey, to be filled from your presence, not drained. <br /><br />I walk in silence, through the valley of eternal twilight where the crickets chirp all the day long, they search too for something that cannot be found on the grounds parched surface. <br /><br />"You are mine" you growl, desperately you seek to keep me. Yet I cannot be understood with your eyes, I am a creature of light, a creature of words. <br /><br />Happiness and true fidelity will only flow from me as the give and take of life is mediated through shared confidences and understanding. <br /><br />If you want me you must speak sincere words of beauty and life, or else I die, shriveled up from neglect in a corner of your prized possessions. <br /><br />I will lay down my downy dreamers head, to hide from you the tears that are caused by the stinging burn of a fire that takes and does not give. <br /><br />I have stayed and I stay because you are ignorant and innocent, yet fire in love with water cannot be sustained.<br /><br />My well is going dryStrawberry Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03395571842364752995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6483205520343570950.post-77080629415819503722023-12-31T17:03:00.000-08:002024-02-19T17:54:45.156-08:00Memory Box<p> If feels as though I was playing dress up, trying to be a better person, because you were so cool. </p><p>I never thought someone so cool would like me, a hard lot girl with a hard lot life. </p><p>All my life I've been trying to make up for what I lacked, I've worked so hard, I've come so far from the dirt poor state I was in. </p><p>So dirt poor that my furniture was patched together from a discarded torn couch that I sewed up myself and an apple crate for a side table. </p><p>I was always so serious, I gave up games, I gave up hanging out and having fun because I couldn't do that in my hard lot life. </p><p>I thought, I'd gotten past that, I thought that finally I'd found someone kind and good, strong and tall, handsome. I thought, "he really gets me," but I was wrong. </p><p>Or maybe I was kinda right but it didn't matter in the end. I wanted someone to take the edge off of the loneliness, someone I could dream of a future with, but maybe I made you up. My handsome, cool dream. </p><p>I've found happiness again, hiding around the corner of the night, after all the tears. The walks helped, holding my chest and letting tears flow and holding myself because I'm worthy of the love that was taken away. </p><p>I'm beautiful and strong, talented and funny, and maybe you didn't see all that I am but I am so much more than you got to know. </p><p>So much more than you'll ever know now, my memories are stored away, trinkets in a box, up on the shelf.</p>Annie Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04594685096351977588noreply@blogger.com0