I am lonely

in #freewrite5 years ago

So, I write and dream.

Aware of how I have no sense of time while performing, reciting my poetry, but I lose the paper, can’t remember the grand finale of my own poem. All falls short.

Next, a dramatic young man is on, who has more power to wield his words, more influence over the audience, all of whom are up on their feet, jumping about to the beats, repeating his words,
even me.

Two acquaintances some might call friends, Shane and Amy, who have in wake-time split, I don’t know the real story, just the mass postings of his wife walking in city parks pink lipsticked to prove she’s happy enough without him, she who is reeling, double-crossed.

In the sleep time she is not happy with me, with the gifts I have given her even though I have brought her more than any. I am helping her wash the dust off an album cover as big as a door, careful with our damp rags not to lose the man’s penis, water on the old cardboard might peel away the image.

I no longer remember the old way home, the backroads through Lake Shore. It begins to snow and though I’d planned to walk to the party, there is the obligatory plate of brownies I have promised to bring, these making the choice of driving for me.

Perhaps, I just write drivel, dust from the corners swept to the middle to form a precarious cone? Those with letters behind their names, the MFA literary-mafia don’t even bother with their microscopes on mine, and now the rejections don’t even come on slices of crisp white, water-marked with some editor’s fancy scrawl, but shit-boxed and lazy, sent as a mass electronic denial of all us losers who combust that dream at once!

There, in my email, this bomb sandwiched between Amazon and Lancome seems gone,
are the days I even get an e-mailed letter from brother or mother, they just post one pic on Face-demon and call it good, an update for the masses to blue-thumb like, or red-heart love.

And, anything I write outside the prescribed social patterns is called a RANT, she’s just ranting, no art in feeling. Instead, why don’t you learn to carefully construct, delivered UP, soft blocks to ease the reader into a white-bunny-rabbit epiphany?

Photo Credit: rawpixel/unsplash

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Hi @kimberlylane,

I am the Sunday reminder lady for freewrite, and I do not see you writing for Monday. Please do it so I do not get in trouble.

https://steemit.com/freewrite/@mariannewest/day-493-5-minute-freewrite-monday-prompt-stitch

I hear you in every word of this freewrite. It's not easy to write, or to have others read, or to get your writing to place it can be read. We are all so lucky to be here on steem. Hang in there. {{{Hugs}}}

"no art in feeling"
very powerful

I like you words, they have a tone; a sound. And I like the sound of your voice. It is a strong voice, a voice that is confident and I ask you to, please do not stop writing.

Thank you. I will probably always write, sharing the writing is another thing entirely.

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