Like water caresses the streambed rocks, the mention of his crimes in the newspapers caressed his black heart. Carefully he clipped them all out to save in his well filled scrapbook. He got a kick out of knowing his artful displays had left the police in utter tohubohu. He’d left them no clues to follow.
He took pride in his time consuming careful preparations. Ruminating over every angle. Never acting impetus due to desire or need. Just as his master had taught him.
So he was extremely surprised when the continued news reporting and the media nicknaming him the Hieronymus Bosch killer, made him itch to complete a new art piece soon.
There’s a rumor among the critics and saboteurs in my head Petrifying my scarred heart Running icy tendrils down my neck Designed to make the little girl inside all verklempt
Because the paralysing nightshade poison of the rumor has been proven true This girl has never been like the neurotypical you
Ostracization and isolation leaves wounds in our energetic bodies Removing peel by peel of everything you thought true Providing constant suction on the life force Until it’s so low, you start thinking death is a viable option
But don’t jump off that bridge just yet No life’s fate is in stone set Hidden among the neurodiversity are your secret weapons An armory full to keep you safe whatever happens
Some days it makes me furiously angry to be diagnosed this late in life, due to the fact that I’m female and do not fit typically into either diagnosis. Other days I feel immensely sad for the little girl who never understood at all why she couldn’t fit in however much she tried.
Some days it feels like a brand forever excluding me from friendship and love. Other days I realize a lot of my strengths stem from my neurodiversity. My very quick witted mind which others both adore and dislike. My propensity for thinking very deeply about things, which has enabled me to write insightful business reports and papers and allows me to write poetry that touches the hearts of others.
Wrote this to allow myself and others the knowledge that the struggle is real. But that each of us have value and worth. And all of us are deserving to be loved for those we are!
If you yourself are struggling, or know someone who is. Encourage them to get help. To talk to someone. Or drop a line to me either in the comment section or to the mail address you’ll find in the about page.
I’ve been stuck Going neither forward nor back Running in circles Trapped in this inbetween space Waiting for change Lost in this way station place
Stationary, yet running around Collecting stationery, but never writing a line Screaming myself hoarse Unable to harness my creative force Muse hiding, afraid of more abuse Shying away, like a spooked horse, whenever anyone got near
Now a path has opened, vivid and clear My inner Goddess always near
I found out, you see I’m willing to fight doubt and monsters to be free
Inspired by some reawakened inner turmoil and three different prompts. Sammi Cox’s weekend writing prompt. This weekend’s given word is vivid, and the word count is 89 words. Mindlovemisery’s double take, where the homophones horse and stationary are given. And this Wednesday’s scribbling, waystation, at Poets and Storytellers United, which I missed so posting to the Writers’ Pantry instead.
horse – animal hoarse – lack of voice
stationery – pen, paper, envelope etc. stationary – still, unmoving
I’ve been in love with you for a long time And in my mind I know such love, are hard to find I wish I had my love more clearly shown Goodbye, I don’t want to see you go!
I can feel it in my heart How you want to be apart You’re all I ever wanted, yet I wrecked and crushed your heart Cause I know I let you down And I know I betrayed your trust When I should have shown you how much, I love you
I’ll miss the naughty sparkle in your eyes It makes me cry hot tears to know I’ll never see your secret smile I wish I could go back and let you know Goodbye, I don’t want to see you go!
Cause I know I did you wrong I can’t seem to make it right You’ll leave me very lonely I’ll never love someone like you Tell me how to win you back For I haven’t got a clue But let me start by saying, I love you
Goodbye, I don’t want to see you go! Cause I know I did you wrong I can’t seem to make it right You’ll leave me very lonely I’ll never love someone like you Tell me how to win you back For I haven’t got a clue But let me start by saying, I love you
“focus on this song and use it for a short story, a piece of flash fiction, or a poem that you can share”
The song is Lionel Richie’s Hello, It’s Me You’re Looking For from 1983. Lionel Richie was a favorite of my mother so I listened quite a lot to him as a child, and liked both the longing for love songs and the happy “dancing on the ceiling” type songs.
Listening to it as I took a walk this afternoon I got the idea to try to keep the same kind of longing, but flipping the script from an imagined love to one that is over. The inspiration for that comes from someone near who has made a mess out of his marriage and doesn’t know how to take even the first steps to save it.
After a few more repeats I got it into my head to try to keep to the melody and write an alternate lyric. It helps to know the song by heart, meaning I’m able to keep the melody in my mind and write line for line new ones. After very much debate I left the last two lines of the chorus as in the original, because frankly I couldn’t write anything better.
I’ve included a link to an instrumental version for those that like to try and sing the lyrics!
She knew the cave was for acolytes forbidden. It was said it could render a person utterly mad. But if it was truly dangerous, wouldn’t it be better hidden? Her curiosity evaporated any hesitation she might have had.
The stone carvings were massive, reaching beyond the light of her torch. It fluttered, spluttered and gasped in the airless cave. With a quick spell she summoned light from her sorceress brooch. Took a breath from the air-sack that would her life save.
With a frown she studied the carvings, so intricate and complex. Surely they belonged to the ancient astrology. Or they meant nothing, only carved to vex and perplex. Born out of a mad woman’s deranged fantasy.
She sat down to meditate, seeing if she could find any meaning at all. With a burst of insight the meaning to her occurred. The truth nearly obliterated her mind, made her skin crawl. They were incantations meant to summon eldritch horrors from another world.
The cafe began to feel like her only real home. A place that with or without known people made her feel less alone. A place where no one objected if her curious, quirky, whip-smart personality shone. She spent whole days sitting at a table. For the first time feeling she might be able to have friendships and camaraderie. At night she dreamt she’d stumble into a fable.
So what did the story teach? That her agile, perspicacious mind made her prone to the Jante law breach. That her fiery passion would make her for the unconventional way reach. She spent her days in her home away from home. Writing stories with elfs, fairies, unicorns and gnomes. Composing poetry that made her heart and soul the universe roam.