Thoughtful Words

Again my heart is full of words.

Writing is words beyond our mind.
Words dig into the depths of our soul.
People write about present, past, and future.
Memories that are buried down not dug up.
Buried deep into dust; struggling to come out.
Memories often lead to realizations. 
Realizations lead us to decisions that can change us.
Decisions can be good and bad.
They can be mind, soul, boggling; better for your life.
Writing lifts weight from off shoulders.
De-stresses, decompresses; gives us hope.
One word can halt everything.

Forevermore.

The Grocer's Constant Request

There was a grocer gazing at someone
Not sure of what type of person was by the peaches
He went up to a man with a pear
Asking around
Finally getting the gut
"What are you doing"
You see, this man was picking up a peach
And dropping it
Into children's hands
But this grocer wasn't sure what type of man was by the peaches
So he kept asking
And the man kept giving to children's hands
The grocer never stopped asking

Control Deprivation

Back there.

Back in a hole of a room.

I had control, all of it.

There was nothing I couldn’t do.

Now when I try to exert myself, I’m pushed back.

There isn’t much I can decide for myself.

Not much worth trying to get to go my way.

I’m just alone inside in the end.

Without control, at least some, I feel dead inside.

Luminous feelings only come out on paper.

I try to branch out, but I’m cut back by people.

It’s weird knowing I have so much externally than internally.

Internally I feel like a dehydrated cactus.

Dying without the water it holds inside.

Unprotected without my outer thorns.

Love also seems to be a problem.

I can’t quite grab it, but I can’t let go of what I have.

I’m the one who never betrays.

The one who just happens to carry mail.

And all others sorrows, joys, pains, decit, lie’s.

All my mistrust of myself stems from not a drop of control.

I have none, been given none.

At a hospital I know what I’d do.

I’d curl up, and not speak.

Zoning would be top priority, a nice form of control.

But here I am, still choosing the opposite life.

Stay praying for this control deprivation to stop.

Still on my knees begging God.

But he still won’t give it to me.

So home alone I’ll go.

Back to a home called my heart.

Short Story #3 (Fearful)

Laura Nate had been running for what seemed like forever. At last her exhaustion consumed her, and she flung open the first door she could find. Her panicked mood immediately ceased to exist. Quickly, Laura shut the door, and locked it behind her. Calmed down, she took a seat on the purple chair across the room from her. The sunlight pouring through almost seemed to make the chair mold to Laura. Looking around she saw all the basic things needed for a happy teenagers so called home. A TV, bed, dresser, iPod, cell phone, and an overstuffed backpack were all included. But there was just something about the room that seemed to tease her senses. When Laura moved onto the room’s bed, the middle was the softest part, making Laura curl up into a ball. This in turn made Laura feel depressed. Then, when she sat back in the chair, the sun made her smile. Laura had never experienced such intense mood changes, or mood swings for that matter. She was almost able to forget the horrific event that had brought her here. All of a sudden Laura heard the sound of a drill. Laura realized that the drilling was being directed at the door. Next thing she knew the door was flung open and Laura saw the knob of the door had been drilled through. “Hi, Laura”, her enemy that she had been running from said snidely. With a defiant look on her face Laura sarcastically said, “Hello again Jack. What are you doing here? Trying to catch another punch to that pathetic face of yours?” Jack replied with, “No Laura. I’m here to take from you what you want to take from me. Life. Freedom. Dreams. Wishes. Purity. Everything that is wholesome to a person. I hate your life on this earth. There is nothing I want more than see your face go pale Laura. In my eyes, there is absolutely no reason for me to keep you alive. No reason whatsoever. I believe that by me closing this door and killing you there will peace for everyone around you. I’m just sorry it’s taken me so long to carry out my devious plot. So Laura, don’t watch out, just let me take the life that you want to take from me, from you. Just lay on the bed, and I promise that it won’t hurt, unless you want it to hurt.” “You can crawl right into that hole you drilled, through that doorknob, if you think I’m going to let you kill me without a fight”, Laura replied. Jack’s malicious smile glazed over into a death defying gaze of anger as he slipped a knife out from his boot. Charging towards Laura she knew she needed to make a fast move. She flung herself over the bed so that she was directly across from him. “I told you. I’m not going to not fight for my life”, Laura said. Jack decided to copy Laura’s move. Luckily she had a feeling that he would exert his copy cat personality so she dodged into the door, and banged it shut. Again they were directly across from each other except Jack had moved to a place so that there was nothing between them. Laura began to feel like this fight was turning into a dodge ball game which she absolutely hated. Jack then did something unexpected. He reached into his jacket, and pulled out a 44 caliber pistol. Fear immediately raced across Laura’s eyes, and insides. She told herself that this was no time to be a scared woman but that she needed to keep playing the game of dodge ball in order to win her life. She slid over against the dresser which had a big mirror sitting on top. The first bullet was fired, right into the mirror. The sound of the shattered ice hurt her ears, and she felt a sudden pain in her shoulder. At first glance Laura saw a single shard of the hard glass and red beginning to color her white shirt. She told herself not to panic, to just pull it out and keep running out of the bullet’s way. “Just give up the fight Laura”, Jack whispered. “No”, she shot back. His response was also shot back, literally. She jumped over the bed again because he had started to come near once more. This time she landed near the middle sized TV she had spotted when she first had slipped into this room. Laura was at her wits end as to how to get out of this mess. Using every muscle she could muster up she snatched up the TV and hurled it at Jack. He screamed in panic as the TV crashed his way. It landed on his head. The gun and knife flew under the bed as Laura stood in horrified shock. No movement came from her enemy. Laura’s first thought was that she had knocked him unconscious. This was the part where she knew she should run for her life before anything else happened. But before she even began her creative escape she checked Jack’s pulse. Or what was left of his pulse I should say. As she put her finger on his wrist she felt the very last beat that he would ever utter. That was all she could handle so she slipped out the door, and just kept running.