#original words

[thoughtcascades]

Ur so pretty u remind me of this cool rock i found once

[sammysmidnightmusings]

The saddest part is that you've made them your first priority, but to them, you are just an option.

[onekindredspirit]

The other day I had a call from my very first friend in this world.

She had returned to New Zealand to be with her dying father.

I was 6 years old when I first became aware of her. Even at that age she had dimensions of personality that made the other kids in our class appear a little dull.

We spent a childhood together.

At 15 we became lovers.

Perhaps a year later I left her for a poet.

It was not my finest hour but the poet introduced me to another woman who would also become significant in my life ... and so it goes.

The other day I had a phone call from this lover from the past.

Her father is dying.

She wants to give me one of his cameras ...

I choose the Olympus Trip 35, now considered a bit of a cult film camera.

She has it serviced and sent to me.

"You owe me lunch." she said.

"I do." I replied

And then I thanked her for our shared youth together.

It meant a lot to me.

One Kindred Spirit

Hand Colored Silver Print & Digital Image

[withastorytotell]

Something in me dies when I look back at 15, 16 17 years and more of the little time that I have lived and passed and I realize the weight of all the unmade decisions abandoned. I could have picked up that book. I could have taken that one last photograph, I should have told that her smile was pretty. I could have given him that letter when his mom died. I could have adopted that stray kitten. I could have said sorry and baked grandma that cake and been silent before I cut with my unfathomed anger. I should have breathed better before that one fight and told my sisters that I loved them. I should have taken a step back and I could have kept that one foot forward. I get to revel in the could've, should've and would've now. The after-taste is left far more bitter with regret than sweet.

[randik-86]

Welcome to my world of

Beauty and

Chaos...

Female |30s|Please proceed...

All poetry is my original work. The artwork that accompanies, I have no claim. They are to emphasise and add visual stimulation to what is written. Please feel free to repost my work, but make no claims.

I have been doing this for over 2 decades. Most of my poems have been written and locked up for years, and I have now decided to share with those of you, that feel you can relate.If you want to be part of my exclusive world, I ask that you make a request with your reasons.

No use messaging me if I do not follow you in return.

Blogs that are blank or do not interest me I do not follow in return, but I do appreciate those of you who respect my work.

I am not demanding, I have few simple requests:

1. Enjoy and appreciate my artwork/poems;

2. Be respectful.

©️randik86

[poems-to-read]

" She didn't hug, didn't touch anyone. That must be why she felt so cold. She already knew heat, she avoided it at all costs because of the burns it causes. She was already used to being so cold. That's why she never I missed being warm "

[thepathetickind]

by laurenmaerie, you’re my happiness

[thirteen-31]

[lavender-lemons-and-lace]

I write these words with hands covered in stardust, to those who told me to dream small; they said the heavens were impossible to reach. Look at my hands, and tell me again that I cannot obtain what I reach for.

- Lavender

[cepetriwrites]

I come home for Thanksgiving,

and see my young niece reading a Colleen Hoover novel.

And first I cringe, knowing the low quality trash she’s consuming.

Then I remember when I was her age;

and I spent the holidays devouring the

Twilight novels.

Lovingly bought for me by family members, who would’ve hated every page.

Of the fond times I had,

of the friends and memories I’ve made,

thanks to those silly, cringe worthy books.

I look again at my niece,

she’s curled up on a couch, wrapped in a blanket,

content, flipping through the pages.

I smile, how wonderful growing up is,

where you get discover trashy novels,

in your grandparents’ house,

surrounded by people you love and good food.

[wordswithloveee]

[thoughtcascades]

when i pass i hope i get an achievement for doing this on survival mode

[sammysmidnightmusings]

Am I too demanding, or do I just know my worth and what I deserve?

[onekindredspirit]

The Dickensian Bookshop

Each time I pass through this small town I try to spend some time at the Dickensian Bookshop, one of my favourite second hand booksellers.

As I approached the store I saw an old man (not the guy in my photo) clinging to a Give Way sign across the street.

I browsed the shop window display and didn’t need to look to know that he would be closing in on me. I’m a magnet for the unusual.

When I did look up he was a metre away and intense with energy. I looked into him but I didn’t sense any malice, at least not for me.

“I’m looking for HOODS!” he said. He pronounced the word hoods with considerably more emphasis than the rest of the sentence, and that was interesting.

In this once English colony, the word hood is easily recognised as a variant of hoodlum. It’s just that we stopped using the words hood and hoodlum a long time ago.

Anyway, I’ve found from my experience with interesting people that mirroring is comforting for them.

“HOODS?” I yelled back at him.

“Yes, HOODS! I’m looking to rough me up some HOODS!”

“Rough me up” of course means to hit and otherwise treat roughly, people in need of ill treatment. In this context, HOODS.

“Well I’m sure you’ll find plenty of HOODS in this town.” I said.

I could see that this was new information for him and also, that I was probably the most agreeable person he’d met recently.

He considered things for a moment, his clenched fists churning in a low ready position, as if remembering what it was like to be a boxer from a long time ago, and then suddenly, he went blank.

With the right equipment I could probably have shown you the exact place in his brain where a tangle of malignant protein was blocking the vital connection to the spot where he had saved those memories of his youth as a boxing man.

Instead, I took his cerebral misfire as an opportunity to gracefully slip into the bookstore and I closed the door deliberately behind me. I didn’t want to discover, upon his reanimation, that I now looked like a hoodlum to him.

“He’s looking for hoods.” I said to the lovely person behind the little desk by the door.

“Oh dear. I saw him hanging onto a sign over there.” and they motioned vaguely with their head. “I hope he’s okay.”

“Yes, I think he has dementia. He’s quite hunched and kind of shuffles when he walks but it doesn’t feel too bad yet. I mean, I don’t think he’s lost or anything and ... I didn’t sense any fear in him.”

I spent 20 minutes in this wonderful bookstore, in the midst of this wonderful life and grateful that it was not yet my turn to cling to signs.

I bought a biography of Patrick Leigh Fermor, a book of photographs by the painter Alphonse Mucha and the graphic novel/anthology American Splendor - The Life and Times of Harvey Pekar.

Of course, none of this ends well for us. I watched one of my best friends die in mortal fear. My father suffered panic attacks as his end drew near. I hope to be brave, I hope to laugh in the face of death and, if given the opportunity, I hope also to cling to many signs, in particular, those that instruct me to Give Way and to Yield.

- One Kindred Spirit

 Silver Print

[withastorytotell]

I don't want to be strong. I want to be loving, and giving without worrying if they will take too much. I want to be an idiot. I want to be able to be an idiot with my loved ones without worrying if they will judge hard. I had a sir who called me an idiot as he laughed along with me and oh, how adored I felt. It felt like the biggest compliment to be an idiot where I could learn lessons and laugh at my mistakes. I don't want to be strong. Because being strong meant that life was tough and scars require us to have hardened skin. I want to be soft. I want to be gentle and cry if I have to. Insults that don't burn is just adoration and I'm thankful for that.

[randik-86]

A womans beauty should not be defined by her looks,

But by what she is capable of...

©️randik86