She laid it all out for him,
Her heart at his feet.
His silence slowly crushing her.
But what else could she do?
She could only be true to herself.
And painful as it is,
You can’t fight silence.
A petal so soft and fragrant
Brushes against her skin
Memories jostle to be picked
A spring day lying on long grass
Pink blossom framed by sky blue
Her head rests on his lap
Fingers trailing through her hair
Lips so soft and inviting
But now the only remnant of the day
Is a scar on her heart.
This week the three prompt words were fragrant, jostle and remnant.
The tempo was in time to her staccato heels
A crescendo sweeping through her body
As guitar riffs blended with her blood
Words bursting in colours
Leaving their taste on her tongue
And she felt the singers loss with every step.
I try to be diligent,
Nurture with my best efforts,
But I still feel an amateur,
After three children.
This week the three words are amateur, diligent and nurture.
The words were still there
But somehow they were wrong
She went in eyes open
But did she really see?
She stepped into the abyss
Not certain he would catch her
Knowing only that he was the first
And last thing on her mind
The one who put a smile on her face
Who made her worry she was not enough
At the end
A look, a word made or broke her world.
And now she lies shattered
A hole where once her heart was
But during the fall
She felt alive.
It’s Mothering Sunday today and my #wildanimals have already been to give me the cards that had made earlier in the week. For one, the wait has been long, asking me each day if it’s Mother’s Day yet. The above is from her, my dandelion girl. This tiny scrap of paper is worth more then anything that could be bought for me. She struggles with her writing, preferring to draw or create something (the cards she made are beautiful), than to write a word that might be spelt wrong. This to me is love.
She will baffle you.
Elegant from the outside
An enigmatic smile
Her personality negates conformity
She is a Wild Thing.
This week the Three Prompt Words were baffle, elegant and negate
The wind swirls round
Lifting my hair
Caressing my neck
Tugging my clothes
Pulling the corners of my mouth up
Like a mischievous wild lover
The dark haired girl
Dances in the rain,
Her wet hair and clothes cling.
Open mouthed to catch the drops.
She doesn’t care.
Every fibre of her being is alive,
Making her skin tingle.
But you meet her in the street,
There is a mask she wears,
To hide her deviance, to hide her weakness.
Minuscule changes she makes,
To conform, to fit in.
But as she grows inside her chrysalis,
She realises that what was important,
Is mostly, really trivial.
And the mask is starting to crack.
This week the prompt words for Three Word Wednesday were deviant, minuscule and trivial.