A Couple’s Questions

Are you okay?
Did sleep well last night?
What would you like for dinner?
The things I
ask my husband to show
him how much I love him.
What are you doing?
Do you need some help?
What movie do you want to watch?
The things he
asks of me to show
how much he loves me, too.
Thank you, love
You’re welcome, sweetheart
I’m glad I have you in my life.
The things we
say to each other, now
and forever, to show our love.

BraveWrite, Week 2

It’s Hump Day, people! The best and worst day of a work week.

I have felt entirely sapped of my energy and I am hoping I can turn it around today. Fingers crossed! I don’t need to sleep in and waste the day away doing nothing which is what yesterday taught me.

My mom came over and helped sand, clean, and put the first coat of Tremclad on our awful metal railings. They look better already after that. However, being productive didn’t quite get me out of this weird mood slump I’ve been in so here’s hoping today’s the day.

Anyways, I hope you are on your way to a wonderful weekend and may my BraveWrites help you out!

 

September 12th

She stared out the car window and watched the rain streak down it. Her mother talked at her, but she didn’t hear the words. Only emptiness.

But she was #encouraged by their want to help and surprised when they confessed their own visits to a psychiatrist. Maybe there was hope.

 

September 13th

She watches as her mother takes another drag. The cigarette’s blue-tinged smoke shimmers in the light and dissipates.

A silent, slow threat.

And she sheds another tear. Greying skin, ragged coughs, the crimson drops that spell the end. She waits for #cancer to claim her mom.

 

September 14th

Video game consoles litter the house, attached to various TVs. She turns on the xbox 360 and plays Assassin’s Creed. Her character scales rough pick, runs across clay tile, and lives.

She envies his freedom though she is the #gamer.

 

September 15th

Her brother pushed her under the water as part of the game. His hand was like steel on her head and she fought to surface. To suck in oxygen once more.

Panic had set in as time slowed. When he finally released her, she was ravenous for air.

Her #umbrage was now rage.

 

September 16th

The #vibration of the nail file on her toes unnerved her and served as a reminder. She was unwelcome here.

She was no pretty girl who wore make-up, fake nails, or got her hail done. She was a tomboy whose hands were filthy and rough.

But she stayed in the salon.

 

September 17th

She stood with her friends and their boyfriends in line, waiting to have her prom ticket checked. It was clutched in a white-knuckled fist as her anxiety took over. Her companions laughed and gasped as they entered the hall.

She suffocated internally on the #pizzazz.

 

September 18th

Her #alacrity had nothing to do with a fear of failure. It had everything to do with her need to prove them wrong. She was tired of the comparisons that ground her spirit into dust. She was tired of fearing whispers and taunting looks. She’d stand strong.

Anxious Honesty

The voice in my head is telling me I’ve wasted two years on a dream that will never come true. I had a book idea and I ran with it. I didn’t fight hard enough for it though.

More and more, my husband seems to get mad that I’m not working on my book. That I’m not bringing in any money. That I’m just ‘lounging’ around the house.

It doesn’t matter that I clean the house top to bottom by myself. I weed the gardens and mow the lawn and whippersnip, by myself. I feed the cats and dogs day and night by myself. I do the laundry, by myself. I make the appointments for both of us. Keep a running list of things. Try to be the voice of reason more often than not. (I will admit he helps on occasion, but not near enough…)

I wish I was bringing in money. I wish I had fought harder for my book. It feels like the only choice is to abandon it entirely. It’s not what I want, but I always put everyone else ahead of me.

But then that leaves me with a blog and a twitter account that serve no real purpose anymore, right?

So, I’ve applied to part-time jobs in the mean time. I’ve started freelance transcribing again for Rev. I’ve created a Ko-Fi account in hopes of some additional help so that I can keep writing.

I want to keep writing, I really do, but this voice tells me there’s no point anymore. If I was really passionate about it, I’d be somewhere other than editing, right?

Anyways, that’s the end, (I think), of my self-pitying post. I had to say it before it ate me alive though I still think it might.

 

https://ko-fi.com/kemwriting is the link to donate to my creative path. I’m sure after a decent cry, I’ll be up to fighting again…

Passion’s Pyre

Music pounded above the chatter

the beat louder than the melody

but she swayed to it.

 

Downing her whiskey in a chug

she rose from the table

and danced to the center of the writhing bodies.

 

Surrounded on all sides

she twirled her lithe form

like a lustful seductress.

 

Sex filled the air as she danced.

Warm, liquid, and kinky.

Begging behind the bars of it’s cage.

 

His electric touch summoned her.

The promise of fulfillment

on his velvet lips.

 

Pulled into a dark room

She tasted the sweet liquer

Of his passion.

 

Wrapped about his waist

he pounded at her chains

and she moaned for freedom.

 

Her nails dug into his shoulders

Desperate to hold on

Drawing a groan from him.

 

Sweat beaded on their foreheads

Its scent beneath the musk of need

And in a cry they succumbed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lust

Slithers through the heart strung veins,
Claiming every mortal fiber.
Alight in its wicked reins,
Its urge turning us to fire.
 
Fingers dance on naked flesh.
Bodies writhe, thrust, and plead.
Digging deep, its calls distressed.
Give in and fulfill its burning need.
 
Fall into the blissful state,
Desire brings it bound prey.
Grind, arch into your mate.
Find ecstasy in the risque.
 
Lust, I’m told, it is a sin,
And only the selfish win.

Lust’s Collapse

Finger tips trace

Lover’s soft skin.

Lips meet

Share more than words.

Need.

Pure want for it

That beguiling touch.

Bask in passionate warmth

Skin to skin.

Bodies move as one

Synchronized.

Climbing higher

Higher.

Sweat forms.

Fevered moans.

Heads tossed back

To greet Ecstasy.

Cries ring out,

Trembling flesh

Atop heavy breaths.

Collapse

In Sweet Climax.