She lifted her arm to beckon him to her. He hesitated, not because he was afraid, but because she was so beautiful she was translucent. She couldn’t possibly be real and so it make him wonder if he was in his right mind.
He beckoned her closer with his blood encrusted finger. She stood stock still like a deer caught in headlights. This was it, she knew this was it. The end of life as she knew, the end of the world she lived in, the end of her.
Reaching to what I thought would save me,
Because I knew it was the only thing that could reverse,
The effects of absence,
Withdrawal without intention,
Yet even as I return to the addiction,
I know I need to escape,
To be the one to leave my dependency,
Or else I’ll be stuck in this spiral forever.
To have someone beckon for you meant that they wanted you, but for what? It’s different to be wanted and to be used. Everyone wants to be wanted, the question is how far will we go to get that attention?
I hate when people beckon me forward. Like I’m a dog. News flash: I’m no one’s bitch. I come and go as I please. I’m way to much of an individual to let people walk all over me. That’s how I got my name. Anna Jade.
i want to call my bestfriend from canada and tell her i miss her and she’s missing alot of things we’re drifting apart but i miss her so much and i love her.
I beckon you to heed the call, I beckon you to read it all. Read of the hardships they go through, heed what your heart tells you to do. Charity is a thing of love, don’t bother giving it out of pity. Understand what they go through and feel what they feel.
I beckoned her closer one last time. She screamed for help, but I couldn’t let this one go. The way her hair danced on her shoulders as she ran only made me want her more. I friskily walked towards her and pulled her close to me. With the swipe of my hand, a loud clap was heard from miles away. Tears were forming in her eyes because she knew she should’ve come when I beckoned her to.
She beckoned with all her might. She was ancient, fading, but I could see the desire in her eyes. She wanted love in these final hours. I could give it to her, and in such a way that she’d have a proper exit from this world and a headstart into the next.
the sunlight rises tenetively
it beckons me come outside
and share its watery light
but i cannot say if i’ll see the day
that i’ll fight my way
out of the night.
Life beckons. That’s what everyone says. But what does it really mean? I guess it means this…your life is so full of love and hope and joy that it BECKONs you to share it. It beckons you to smile. When life beckons, it is daring you to not smile and appreciate and share what you have. Tonight is one of those nights.
She beckoned him closer, a ghostly figure among the fog. He frowned. “Hello?” His voice echoed. She just stood there, gesturing him to follow. For a moment, she turned, walking away, and then turned back again, waving him forward until he started walking once more. After a while, they reached a small pool in the middle of a clearing. He stared, not having known they were in a forest, and she beckoned him down, down into the pool, down into her deadly embrace.
every time we saw one another we would beckon the other near
instinctively our arms wrapped around one another.
the circumstances have never mattered –
we have always been drawn to one another,
as if no time has passed at all and we never left the others arms
with a sultry smirk and a wink too sexy to be legal, she beckoned to him with a grab of his tie through the prison bars and yanked his face next to hers. stumbling and losing his balance, his hands flew up to clutch at the bars, eyes shooting daggers as her real ones stood safely behind him. “you need to loosen up, honey,” she said softly, insinuating so much more than he could have. “do something…explosive.”
“…shit,” he grit out, flinging himself away from her as the ceiling gave way and the blaring sound of a helicopter shocked its way into his eardrums. “call me,” she yelled, gripping the rope as she had gripped his heart, and left him hanging.
He put his finger to his lip signaling me to be quiet and then beckoned me to come nearer.
I eased closer, careful not to give myself away. I could see through the crack in the door from my new position.
They were nuzzling on the sofa, sipping wine, laughing.
My husband. And some woman that was not me.
I stood there for a minute taking it in, watching them.
Then I stepped back, kicked the door open screaming like a banshee, leaped on my husband and got in as many licks as I could before I was pulled off of him.
“Fuck you,” I said to him, while he gulped air. “FUCK. YOU.”
She beckoned me into the hall, a curling finger luring me away from my tight necktie and pressed slacks. Her robe was open – only just – and I could the curve of the spiral of my life leading me away from the logical lateral. I could see the fun of the slide I rode in fifth grade.
“Get over here!” I beckoned my friend from across the room. “There’s something you have to see!”
With haste, my friend stood up out of her chair and made her way over to my desk. I pointed to the screen and smiled. “It worked. It really worked.” I said to her quietly.
He was crouched underneath the sticky patio table, trying to blend in with the the tacky chipping paint and old pink gum stubs stuck to the bottom of it. His long lanky body was folded in the oddest way, and I imagined this was because it was the only way he could comfortably fit in the small space between the table legs and the brick. He beckoned with the nod of his head and a wave of his finger. I was minding my business like I do everyday when I get my Starbucks. Tall, non-fat, no foam, no water, extra hot chai tea latte; double cupped please. I tried to imagine why anyone would have a reason to be hunched under a lopsided table at Starbucks, let alone need to see me while in that position. He was starting to make quite the scene now, waving his arms and mouthing something (um duh, I’m not a lip reader). Everyone was starting to look at him, and worst of all, they were looking at who he seemed to be trying to get the attention of….me. This really was getting quite embarrassing. I left my optimal place in the crowded line and scurried to his not-very-discrete hiding place. Before I can say anything, his long skinny arm reaches up and yanks you down, right in front of his freckled face, “You need to do me a favour,” he whispered. “Why are you under a table?” He pointed to the stubs of gum and smiled, “those. It’s like insulation. They can’t hear us through the carnauba wax in the gum.” I raised my eyebrow, and glanced at all the people giving us weird looks passing us on the street. “Um…” I said, “I’m pretty sure they can.” His gaunt face became very serious and pupils grew large. “Not them,” he whispered before motioning to the clouded sky, “them.”
Sizzling on the stove with the eggs. I woke up to the smell and sound of grease sizzling in the pan, of coffee brewing and of cold dew waiting in the leaves. I hope she’s not making it too crisp, I thought to myself. Then again, maybe it would be better that way, since I’ve heard that eating too much of it gives you heart disease. Yes sir, long strips of fatty, thin-cut, farm-bred…. oh, wait….
the lighthouse beckons. one day I shall live in its lonely tower. light shines on the treacherous reef below. all I hear is foghorns in the distance. towers are fortresses.
paris beckons me whenever i am ready to handle what the city offers. it’s not easy to be in the city, for it always forces me to look deeper inside myself, my heart, my soul. perhaps that’s why i go back there, and the city won’t reckon when i’m not ready.
A sultry whisper cuts through the thick tension of the room with its velvety edges. He wraps himself around those words and embraces the warmth they provide, a warmth so much more vibrant than that of the fire beside them.
He’s crouching underneath a patio table, trying to blend in with the the chipping paint and stubs of pink gum. He beckons me with the nod of his head. I’m minding my business like always everyone should at Starbucks. I try to imagine why anyone would be hunched under a lopsided table at Starbucks, let alone need to see me while there. He’s making quite the scene now, waving his arms and mouthing something. Everyone’s staring at him, and worst of all, they’re looking at me too. Fuck. I leave my optimal spot in the crowded line and scurry to his not-so-discrete hiding place. His long arm reaches up and yanks me down. “Why are you under a table?” I ask. He points to the stubs of gum and smiles, “those. It’s like insulation. They can’t hear us through the carnauba wax in the gum.” I raise my eyebrow, and glance at all the people giving us weird looks as they pass us on the street. “Um, I’m pretty sure they can.” His face becomes very serious and his pupils grow large. “Not them,” he whispers before motioning to the clouded sky, “them.”
He’s crouching underneath a patio table, trying to blend in with the the chipping paint and stubs of pink gum. He beckons me with the nod of his head. I’m minding my business like I always at Starbucks. Tall, non-fat, no foam, no water, extra hot chai tea latte. I try to imagine why anyone would be hunched under a lopsided table at Starbucks, let alone need to see me while in that position. He’s making quite the scene now, waving his arms and mouthing something. Everyone’s staring at him, and worst of all, they’re looking at me too. Fuck. I leave my optimal place in the crowded line and scurry to his not-so-discrete hiding place. His long skinny arm reaches up and yanks me down, right in front of his freckly face. “Why are you under a table?” I ask. He points to the stubs of gum and smiles, “those. It’s like insulation. They can’t hear us through the carnauba wax in the gum.” I raise my eyebrow, and glance at all the people giving us weird looks as they pass us on the street. “Um, I’m pretty sure they can.” His face becomes very serious and his pupils grow large. “Not them,” he whispers before motioning to the clouded sky, “them.”
I saw my dad beckoning me over to him. I went up to him and he gave me a big hug. At first I was dying of curiosity to find out why he was doing this. Then I saw that he was holding something. I looked over his shoulder and saw a box that said petco. I realized that he got me a bird for my birthday.
I beckoned it forward. Would it come to me or him? That was the decision that would chang our lives forward. The winner lives, The loser suffers eternal damnation. Who would it respond to?
she felt the familiar but still sharp pang of lonliness as she walked up the stairs to the guest bedroom. downstairs, they were laughing and playing games. she wished they would beckon her come and join in, but no one did. and she would not ask to be invited. this was after all, not her family. she had had a family once…and now, for the second time this week, she felt painfully homesick.
I didn’t want to hear what he was saying. I thought maybe if I closed my eyes I would evade the words. I let him beat me. I let him wrap his strong fingers around my neck. I was tired, tired of fighting so I let him. I thought it was the worst mistake of my life faliing in love with a man like this and staying. That day he choked my spirit right out of me, and that is when I saw the hand of God. He beckoned to me and I came. It was the first time I had not been afraid of an outstretched hand, and I thanked the man whose hands brought me here. He killed me and saved my life.
he wanted me there
to be with him
i complied.
but i didn’t know what i was getting into.
i wish i was more careful
more aware more sensible.
because it all sounds so regrettable.
the lonely girl that never made it back home.
She beckoned with her eyes. They were so round and beautiful and blue and clear that everyone loved to see them. However, some did not understand the power of her eyes. Her name is Allison Harvard.
She lifted her arm to beckon him to her. He hesitated, not because he was afraid, but because she was so beautiful she was translucent. She couldn’t possibly be real and so it make him wonder if he was in his right mind.
in my dreams, i beckon him to come to me.
he used to listen, and be with me eagerly.
now, he glares and walks away.
He beckoned her closer with his blood encrusted finger. She stood stock still like a deer caught in headlights. This was it, she knew this was it. The end of life as she knew, the end of the world she lived in, the end of her.
Reaching to what I thought would save me,
Because I knew it was the only thing that could reverse,
The effects of absence,
Withdrawal without intention,
Yet even as I return to the addiction,
I know I need to escape,
To be the one to leave my dependency,
Or else I’ll be stuck in this spiral forever.
I went to SF today, for a bay area Red Cross meeting. It was boring, definitely not the crux of this little post.
When I stepped outside of the building, I went for some food and was stopped by the enticing three story building next to Subway. It was a bookstore.
And so, my lunch money went into getting Socrates some publisher’s pay. It was okay though. The knowledge of a legend was beckoning me to join him.
To have someone beckon for you meant that they wanted you, but for what? It’s different to be wanted and to be used. Everyone wants to be wanted, the question is how far will we go to get that attention?
Sleep beckons, but I resist its sultry siren call in favor of the more passionate embrace of that hyperactive madness brought on by exhaustion.
I hate when people beckon me forward. Like I’m a dog. News flash: I’m no one’s bitch. I come and go as I please. I’m way to much of an individual to let people walk all over me. That’s how I got my name. Anna Jade.
i beckon your return, with only a gust of ghost flushing my sight
i want to call my bestfriend from canada and tell her i miss her and she’s missing alot of things we’re drifting apart but i miss her so much and i love her.
I beckon you to heed the call, I beckon you to read it all. Read of the hardships they go through, heed what your heart tells you to do. Charity is a thing of love, don’t bother giving it out of pity. Understand what they go through and feel what they feel.
I beckoned her closer one last time. She screamed for help, but I couldn’t let this one go. The way her hair danced on her shoulders as she ran only made me want her more. I friskily walked towards her and pulled her close to me. With the swipe of my hand, a loud clap was heard from miles away. Tears were forming in her eyes because she knew she should’ve come when I beckoned her to.
i hear you. you don’t hear me. you never listen but you always speak. i try & try & try again. but to you im always wrong. hear me. hear this.
She beckoned with all her might. She was ancient, fading, but I could see the desire in her eyes. She wanted love in these final hours. I could give it to her, and in such a way that she’d have a proper exit from this world and a headstart into the next.
I am homesick for lands I’ve been,
missing family I’ve never known.
The distance beckons.
the sunlight rises tenetively
it beckons me come outside
and share its watery light
but i cannot say if i’ll see the day
that i’ll fight my way
out of the night.
Life beckons. That’s what everyone says. But what does it really mean? I guess it means this…your life is so full of love and hope and joy that it BECKONs you to share it. It beckons you to smile. When life beckons, it is daring you to not smile and appreciate and share what you have. Tonight is one of those nights.
She beckoned him closer, a ghostly figure among the fog. He frowned. “Hello?” His voice echoed. She just stood there, gesturing him to follow. For a moment, she turned, walking away, and then turned back again, waving him forward until he started walking once more. After a while, they reached a small pool in the middle of a clearing. He stared, not having known they were in a forest, and she beckoned him down, down into the pool, down into her deadly embrace.
every time we saw one another we would beckon the other near
instinctively our arms wrapped around one another.
the circumstances have never mattered –
we have always been drawn to one another,
as if no time has passed at all and we never left the others arms
with a sultry smirk and a wink too sexy to be legal, she beckoned to him with a grab of his tie through the prison bars and yanked his face next to hers. stumbling and losing his balance, his hands flew up to clutch at the bars, eyes shooting daggers as her real ones stood safely behind him. “you need to loosen up, honey,” she said softly, insinuating so much more than he could have. “do something…explosive.”
“…shit,” he grit out, flinging himself away from her as the ceiling gave way and the blaring sound of a helicopter shocked its way into his eardrums. “call me,” she yelled, gripping the rope as she had gripped his heart, and left him hanging.
He put his finger to his lip signaling me to be quiet and then beckoned me to come nearer.
I eased closer, careful not to give myself away. I could see through the crack in the door from my new position.
They were nuzzling on the sofa, sipping wine, laughing.
My husband. And some woman that was not me.
I stood there for a minute taking it in, watching them.
Then I stepped back, kicked the door open screaming like a banshee, leaped on my husband and got in as many licks as I could before I was pulled off of him.
“Fuck you,” I said to him, while he gulped air. “FUCK. YOU.”
She beckoned me into the hall, a curling finger luring me away from my tight necktie and pressed slacks. Her robe was open – only just – and I could the curve of the spiral of my life leading me away from the logical lateral. I could see the fun of the slide I rode in fifth grade.
“Get over here!” I beckoned my friend from across the room. “There’s something you have to see!”
With haste, my friend stood up out of her chair and made her way over to my desk. I pointed to the screen and smiled. “It worked. It really worked.” I said to her quietly.
He was crouched underneath the sticky patio table, trying to blend in with the the tacky chipping paint and old pink gum stubs stuck to the bottom of it. His long lanky body was folded in the oddest way, and I imagined this was because it was the only way he could comfortably fit in the small space between the table legs and the brick. He beckoned with the nod of his head and a wave of his finger. I was minding my business like I do everyday when I get my Starbucks. Tall, non-fat, no foam, no water, extra hot chai tea latte; double cupped please. I tried to imagine why anyone would have a reason to be hunched under a lopsided table at Starbucks, let alone need to see me while in that position. He was starting to make quite the scene now, waving his arms and mouthing something (um duh, I’m not a lip reader). Everyone was starting to look at him, and worst of all, they were looking at who he seemed to be trying to get the attention of….me. This really was getting quite embarrassing. I left my optimal place in the crowded line and scurried to his not-very-discrete hiding place. Before I can say anything, his long skinny arm reaches up and yanks you down, right in front of his freckled face, “You need to do me a favour,” he whispered. “Why are you under a table?” He pointed to the stubs of gum and smiled, “those. It’s like insulation. They can’t hear us through the carnauba wax in the gum.” I raised my eyebrow, and glanced at all the people giving us weird looks passing us on the street. “Um…” I said, “I’m pretty sure they can.” His gaunt face became very serious and pupils grew large. “Not them,” he whispered before motioning to the clouded sky, “them.”
Sizzling on the stove with the eggs. I woke up to the smell and sound of grease sizzling in the pan, of coffee brewing and of cold dew waiting in the leaves. I hope she’s not making it too crisp, I thought to myself. Then again, maybe it would be better that way, since I’ve heard that eating too much of it gives you heart disease. Yes sir, long strips of fatty, thin-cut, farm-bred…. oh, wait….
the lighthouse beckons. one day I shall live in its lonely tower. light shines on the treacherous reef below. all I hear is foghorns in the distance. towers are fortresses.
paris beckons me whenever i am ready to handle what the city offers. it’s not easy to be in the city, for it always forces me to look deeper inside myself, my heart, my soul. perhaps that’s why i go back there, and the city won’t reckon when i’m not ready.
A sultry whisper cuts through the thick tension of the room with its velvety edges. He wraps himself around those words and embraces the warmth they provide, a warmth so much more vibrant than that of the fire beside them.
boo
He’s crouching underneath a patio table, trying to blend in with the the chipping paint and stubs of pink gum. He beckons me with the nod of his head. I’m minding my business like always everyone should at Starbucks. I try to imagine why anyone would be hunched under a lopsided table at Starbucks, let alone need to see me while there. He’s making quite the scene now, waving his arms and mouthing something. Everyone’s staring at him, and worst of all, they’re looking at me too. Fuck. I leave my optimal spot in the crowded line and scurry to his not-so-discrete hiding place. His long arm reaches up and yanks me down. “Why are you under a table?” I ask. He points to the stubs of gum and smiles, “those. It’s like insulation. They can’t hear us through the carnauba wax in the gum.” I raise my eyebrow, and glance at all the people giving us weird looks as they pass us on the street. “Um, I’m pretty sure they can.” His face becomes very serious and his pupils grow large. “Not them,” he whispers before motioning to the clouded sky, “them.”
He’s crouching underneath a patio table, trying to blend in with the the chipping paint and stubs of pink gum. He beckons me with the nod of his head. I’m minding my business like I always at Starbucks. Tall, non-fat, no foam, no water, extra hot chai tea latte. I try to imagine why anyone would be hunched under a lopsided table at Starbucks, let alone need to see me while in that position. He’s making quite the scene now, waving his arms and mouthing something. Everyone’s staring at him, and worst of all, they’re looking at me too. Fuck. I leave my optimal place in the crowded line and scurry to his not-so-discrete hiding place. His long skinny arm reaches up and yanks me down, right in front of his freckly face. “Why are you under a table?” I ask. He points to the stubs of gum and smiles, “those. It’s like insulation. They can’t hear us through the carnauba wax in the gum.” I raise my eyebrow, and glance at all the people giving us weird looks as they pass us on the street. “Um, I’m pretty sure they can.” His face becomes very serious and his pupils grow large. “Not them,” he whispers before motioning to the clouded sky, “them.”
I saw my dad beckoning me over to him. I went up to him and he gave me a big hug. At first I was dying of curiosity to find out why he was doing this. Then I saw that he was holding something. I looked over his shoulder and saw a box that said petco. I realized that he got me a bird for my birthday.
I beckoned it forward. Would it come to me or him? That was the decision that would chang our lives forward. The winner lives, The loser suffers eternal damnation. Who would it respond to?
she felt the familiar but still sharp pang of lonliness as she walked up the stairs to the guest bedroom. downstairs, they were laughing and playing games. she wished they would beckon her come and join in, but no one did. and she would not ask to be invited. this was after all, not her family. she had had a family once…and now, for the second time this week, she felt painfully homesick.
I didn’t want to hear what he was saying. I thought maybe if I closed my eyes I would evade the words. I let him beat me. I let him wrap his strong fingers around my neck. I was tired, tired of fighting so I let him. I thought it was the worst mistake of my life faliing in love with a man like this and staying. That day he choked my spirit right out of me, and that is when I saw the hand of God. He beckoned to me and I came. It was the first time I had not been afraid of an outstretched hand, and I thanked the man whose hands brought me here. He killed me and saved my life.
he wanted me there
to be with him
i complied.
but i didn’t know what i was getting into.
i wish i was more careful
more aware more sensible.
because it all sounds so regrettable.
the lonely girl that never made it back home.
She beckoned with her eyes. They were so round and beautiful and blue and clear that everyone loved to see them. However, some did not understand the power of her eyes. Her name is Allison Harvard.
The hand beckoned me over. The hand was long and spiny, withered and weathered and yet fresh with gnarled barnacles of scar tissue. It beckons.
I saw someone in the far end of the road. He could be my only chance, so I beckoned him. He didn’t see. He walked away and I lost my last hope.
you bitch c’mon