Among the roses lie the dying flowers, broken into pieces, searching for life. The life has left them and all that is left are the wilted petals. So many layers to this flower but we only choose to see it as dying, we do not wish to pick this flower because it’s not “beautiful”. The flower cries out to be picked, cries out to be pretty too. Cry out flower, someone will hear you someone will replenish your roots with water. Someone will save you, if you are worth saving. Someone will heal you if you produce the scent that they want. Someone will pick you but should you be picked? Cry out until your tears make you grow again. Cry out until you bloom.
“Slightly disrupted from this uncomfortable situation. Why would she do that ? Trust ? What happened to that, I thought I could depend on her and I thought she loved me? Disappointed is how I feel.” That’s all he could think, all he could muster up was a million questions with no answers as he catches his mom in the most uncomfortable situation. ( More coming soon )
Walking across the room, all she can here is the jangling of his keys. She fears that he’s drunk again and he’s looking to start trouble. Luckily, she dropped the kids off earlier that night to stay with their grandmother. She thinks to herself, ” I’m really getting tired of this, but if I’m really tired why don’t I leave.” She blames finances and the kids needing their father in their lives but how can she continue to let this happen to her. Jangle, jangle the sound is getting closer and she doesn’t know what to do. via Daily Prompt: Jangle
What is your definition of success?
Each day I wake up with a new idea, a new dream, and aspiration only to realize that just like leaves on a tree they all blow and wither away. Am I not thinking hard enough or trying hard enough. Or maybe it’s my dreams, maybe they aren’t good enough maybe I’m trying to achieve something that just isn’t for me. Could it be? Could it be that all this time I was just living in the clouds about my abilities and talents. I wonder, I wonder if I’m really mean to do great things or am I just great at mediocrity. For real! Have you ever asked yourself the same questions? What were your answers? I don’t know maybe this liquor has me feeling a way, has caught up in my feelings as I long for hope and a place to stay. Wanting someone to believe in me and to take my words as truth and light to see my ideas and invest in me with time and patience. To understand that I’m just trying to make a living, just trying to find the way or could it be that this is the way. Too many glasses of this cheap chardonnay has me feeling as if I could live for centuries and die in days. Can I? Will it let me? Will I be able to escape this mundane existence I’ve created for myself, locked away in an office everyday typing away about people’s lives that are more exciting than mine. People who actually achieved things and who get paid for it, people who climb mountains and have seen seas. While I sit here hoping to achieve the same, what is hope? What is hope if I can’t bring it to fruition, If I can’t swim the sea, If I can’t–I just cant! I can’t do anything but sip this wine and think of the dream never realized, what type of life is this to live in this office everyday, glancing at people who have no sympathy. They don’t care about the things that bother me. They don’t understand me! What success have I achieved if all I do is interview people about the exciting shit they do?! None. That’s the answer, then I think to myself, ” I really look crazy right now, talking to this glass of wine”. But oh well.