Hands

Socks snuggly embracing feet, but I look at his hands

They are small, but his fingers are long, delicate

Many times I’ve held them, their grasp never long enough

I long for their warmth, ache for their company

 

His hands are my drug, shivers unhinge my continence

Brown eyes tell his story and I listen amicably

My breasts rise and breath escapes me

I pull on his shirt, he grants me curved lips

 

The moment is maddening, my toes curling under

Grasping at palms, pawing for consideration

How did I come? to this point

Rushing blood from my heart carries me to his mercy

 

I sit and I stare and I wonder

Life in his arms, those hands brushing my rose-colored cheeks

There he is, beside me, my eyes finally close

Bury my head in his chest, and I begin to feel true

Revolver

Revolver

 

Unrealistic transformation, hidden revolver

Bursting bulbs, the lights, the tone will be fine

Cheers or jeers, I don’t care which

Collision into hindrance happens regardless

 

I look over to the mirror, dim luminescent glow

The colors I wear, dark and dazzling

I see my hair draping down and consider it fine

The rings on my fingers click against the crackling hiss deity

 

I look at the door, listening, that relentless vociferate

Repetitious existence, hundreds a year, yet still neurotic

Welcome thy dead souls, intrude my horizon

It’s what they expect so I exhale, and cry again

 

Enervating and worrisome, and loosening my grasp

The phantasmic ritual recovers memory, inception manifestation

I walk to the door and carry my affliction

They will all get to see what they paid for

 

Manuscript Building

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="300" caption="The Barnes and Noble Nook"][/caption]

Well, I am building more than just that. I have began construction of a master document that can and probably will serve as the eReader version of the book. I know for awhile I was giving updates on the editing process and to be honest, that got a little boring. While the updates didn't come, the editing continued, slowly, but surely.

I must say the classes from last semester are paying off as I am doing all sorts of odd things with word, most of which i never really needed to do. Footers and headers are one thing, but I am doing section breaks, starting numbers from different pages, etc. I am needing to do an absolute ton on this document, and even once it's formatted, the work will still not be done. While it will soon all be added to this one document, I intend on going through the story at least two more times before I feel its ready for any sort of publication. It seems like i have read each chapter at least 20 times; probably have. Each time I go through it, I find new things i want to change and the occasional grammatical or spelling mistake. Word is only so good at looking for those issues. Sadly, it even tells me times when there is absolutely nothing wrong with a sentence, yet it still feels the need to yell at me.

Example.

I have a lot of dialog and when a character says something like "Yes?", word immediately thinks its incorrect and yells at me. Yes, I know you can choose to ignore it, but as with writing, there is always a lot of editing and each time I edit anything near that word, it warns me all over again, regardless of the ignore command.

Anyway, I am just glad to finally be putting it all together. I just want it out there already so people can read it. I could care less if they think it's awful. I spent so much time and put in so much effort that I feel it deserves to be released. Why do all that work only to have it stuck in a folder somewhere, no one ever getting a chance to read it.

Solar Half Breed

Blue almond-shaped eyes and black hair, light skin and full lips, and a sultry exotic look
An unusual combination from an unlikely pair and I am not exactly sure where I belong

Who am I and where do I fit in
I look at my skin and I don't belong where I am
Or do I

People look at me differently and they speak of my parents as if they are an anomaly
I don't see what the big deal is, but I am reminded of it everyday
I am accused of coloring my hair yet I take after my father
I am accused of wearing contacts, yet my eyes are blue like my mothers

The guys like my curves and for that, most of the other girls hate me.
I have only two real friends while the others just wanted to be associated with the girl with the mixed parents
I never understood that term
"Mixed"

Since I was a child I was looked at differently, but at first it was only the adults
My mother picked me up from school and the teacher said I wasn't hers
Her hair is auburn and red, and matches her aura
While my black locks shimmer and command attention, contrasting to my pale image

Through high school it was much of the same as I was hated for my beauty
Accused of stealing others boyfriends, I locked myself in my room with my books
I read till i fell asleep, and my father was more than happy to keep the books coming
My mother admired me and told me I was smarter than she, but I never felt that way

In college I felt better and people accepted me
I was never an outcast and I was welcomed into a clique with many other "half breeds"
We were looked upon as rarities and murmurs circulated that we were coveted as partners
I'm still not sure why

I see my parents and they are still together and very happy
They raised me to be who I wanted to be and never preached "colors"
I wasn't White or Black or Spanish or Asian or Mexican or whatever other labels people have for us
I was just me

Although I understand the prejudice, I still cannot accept it
I am not their idea of "white", but I am my mother's daughter and my father's little girl
I am not their idea of "Spanish", but I am my father's child and my mother's baby
I am only what I wish to be and not what you make me out to be

Damage

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="240" caption="Accosted"][/caption]

Knowing when to stop talking is just as valuable as knowing when to talk about something. Some people do not understand this concept and continue talking to till the subject is so raw and bloody that they do not realize they have cause more harm than good. I am a strong proponent of "You cannot force someone to talk to you." In fact, I think i can safety take credit for coining that phrase.

Forcing someone to talk to you is  a lot like waterboarding; torture. If you constantly push someone and verbally accost them, they will eventually tell you anything and everything to get you to shut up and leave them alone. Sadly, this is a disservice to both parties. First, the accosted feels like a victim, and their credibility is now tarnished because they are essentially forced to lied to reclaim some sense of normalcy. Second, the person doing the accosting gets bad information, however it may be the information they wanted all along so it also leaves them with a false sense of justification which may lead them to believe that what they did was right. Well, it's not right.

There is a reason why most people believe that torture isn't worth the time and money. As previously stated, the chances of getting bad information are highly increased, and you also look like a jackass by forcing people to do what you want until they simply cannot take it anymore. Any information gathered through this process might as well be hearsay as the dependability is now always to be questioned. This also works against the accosted. Now, the torturer will become even more angry when they learn the information the accosted gave was false which leads them right back into the same method which gave them the bad information to begin with. After a time, more information will be gathered, most likely bad, and then they 2nd party will once again think they have succeed. It's a vicious cycle.

My Point?

Don't do it. It's like an accusing girlfriend prodding her boyfriend, and trying to get him to admit he is cheating when he isn't. He may begin to feel that if he is being accused of infidelity, he might as well go out and do it. I went through the same thing for years; being accused of this and that. After a period of time I didn't go out and cheat. I simply left and never looked back. If you want to drive someone away, by all means badger them with the same questions 5 or 6 different ways. You cannot make people talk to you so my advice is be more creative with your conversation. Be human. Think to yourself would you eventually freak out if someone kept poking you with a spoon for 7 years? Yes, it sounds funny, but eventually you will feel the urge to grab that spoon and gut them with it.

Bright Star

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="299" caption="Image via Wikipedia"][/caption]

Picked up a John Keats book. Unfortunately, they were out of his poetry books so I went with Bright Star. It includes letters that he sent to Fanny Brawne during their over 2 year love affair. For those of you unfamiliar with Keats, he unfortunately died of tuberculosis age the age of 25. Before he died, he gave Fanny a ring that belong to his mother and she ended up wearing it the rest of her life. She was 18 and he was 23 when they met and like a truly devoted person, she mourned him after he died for over 6 years. She did eventually marry at 33 years of age and had three children, but she never took off the ring. Ever.

His letters were meant for her eyes only, but they obviously still ended up being published 15 years after her death. While at the time, some of the letters were viewed as obscene, the feelings he exhibited via his writings still show truth and promise, and utter devotion even today. There was a movie made of their romance which has a lot of his writing in it as well.