chloemichelle
Castle is my heart, my home. Guarded by the many layers of bricks I spent years building. You may be able to get past the moat but the drawbridge is closing and the many flaming arrows raining down will get you in the end. I cannot let you tear down my castle. It's the only thing keeping me alive.
Transport me to a place where I no longer know your name. I have not yet known the taste of your kiss or your fingertips on my back. Where we could have rushed through all of that instead of the seven long years it took to actually come to terms with who we are. Together. Transport me to a place where I no longer know your name.
Canvas. I use them a lot but mostly I stare at them. The blank canvas is my favorite canvas because it is all about possibility. It is inviting you to write, paint, and draw on it. I am a canvas. I invite people to do whatever to me without any consequences. Like a canvas I am resilient and willing.
Wings. How apropos. Today my best friend spread his wings by going off to boot camp. He is becoming the person that he has always wanted to be and now nothing is going to stop him. I have never been so proud to have him in my life. His wings will carry him far.
Ticket. One small ticket can take you anywhere you want to go. Imagine a place and a ticket will give you the exclusive view. I collect tickets and nothing else because those are the things help me see where I came from.
If I had a megaphone I doubt it would make much of a difference. Screaming does not make you listen. You have to be ready. My whisper is stronger. My whisper makes you lean forward. My whisper makes you understand. My whisper is more powerful than a megaphone.
trophy. outward accomplishments. it does not represent how I feel on the inside. I am better than the best. my accomplishments cannot be described in just half of a rushed sentence. I am better than the best. I do not need a trophy to know this.
sticks. they can build and break. they can keep you safe or stab you in the heart. sticks are sturdy but flexible. sticks are humans. we are the same.
I used to think that cigarettes were harmful and unnecessary. I stare longingly at each pack for they remind me of my mother. That smoke smell. Her smell.
Etiquette. Folded napkins and perfectly placed silverware. I am not much for etiquette. My clumsy hands clang and bash against the porcelain dishes. My words are slang-ridden and unintelligible.