My art is like the rain
That falls in spring.
It comes Suddenly.
There's no umbrella to catch it.
I've been in a drought.
I need the rain to moisten
The dry crust around my heart.
So I pray for it to fall
But it doesn't.
Then one day, signs of a storm appear.
Strong winds shake the tree leaves.
Dark clouds roll in.
It's evening when the skies open up
And water pours from the heavens.
My mama tells me God is crying,
But I know better.
I listen to the pitter patter on the roof,
While I sit in the kitchen,
Watching rain drops slide down
The window panes.
Suddenly I get that itch to write.
I feel that familiar cramp in my right hand,
Where
Inspiration breaks like a dam.
Let it burst.
I think speak and write now.
Let it burst.
Looking back I lost touch.
Let it burst.
But this voice is confidant.
Let it burst.
Practice, practice, I say.
Let it burst.
Make this time count.
Let it burst.
Broken hearts bleed
Like open wounds -
Or so they say.
Mine's got this funny way
Of not feeling.
It does that lub-dub, lub-dub
Like other hearts, so
I know it's alive.
But when painful memories
Resurface, like they always do,
I wait for my heart to react but
Nothing happens.
This got me thinking,
Is it supposed to be this way?
When I'm hurting, does
My heart need to hurt too?
My answer is no.
It's enough that my eyes cry
And the tears dry on my cheeks.
I'd rather curl into a ball
And pretend to sleep.
Or ignore my phone when
It starts buzzing.
I've got some cookies in
The freezer, ready to bake.
That sweet, gooey goody
Is exactly
I Dreamed I Touched the Sky by sarah2231, literature
Literature
I Dreamed I Touched the Sky
In the morning I longed to touch the sky.
At night, I dreamed I did.
I dreamed I saw clouds sailing across the blue expanse
Like boats traversing a calm ocean.
Farther and farther they sailed away
Leaving me behind to gaze after them.
Then came a pair of mourning doves,
As swift as arrows, shooting past me.
I marveled at their speed.
Though small, they were incredibly agile
And naturally in sync.
I wanted to join them, spread my arms and take flight.
To my disappointment, my arms would not rise.
I floated where I was, suspended midair,
And could not signal my body to move.
Frustrated, I tried to wiggle my toes.
Still, I felt nothing.
Mea
Beyond a glass window, an assortment of baked goods beckons to me from the front counter of the cafe. Behind me a line of people is beginning to form. Despite the pressure to order quickly, that familiar problem arises. Which one should I choose? The blueberry muffins look exceptionally delicious but I’ve never tasted one. Next to them, on a silver tray, are slices of pumpkin pound cake. Immediately, my craving for something sweet intensifies. But, it’s not till I notice the lonely lemon bar on a tray behind the pound cake that I settle on what to order.
Even as I stare, salivating, I am imagining the taste of the chilled good.
Happy Couple, Sad Couple, and Happy Again by sarah2231, literature
Literature
Happy Couple, Sad Couple, and Happy Again
Living in a world that revolved around you was natural, until one day when it wasn't. I can't recall when that happened exactly or what changed. All I know (with absolute certainty) is that I no longer feel alone or like I'm missing something whenever we're apart. Just as the world continues to turn and life goes on, I wake up every morning to the promise of a new day, fresh with no mistakes in it, and I am confident that just as the sun, moon, and stars have a purpose, so do I. Though you won't be there to say hello, wish me well, or tell me that I've been missed, it's alright. Everything is alright. For the first time, I feel liberated from
You have asked me before, why do you write, and
my response is never the same. My dear, there is no
definite answer to your question. I write because I feel it.
If I do not feel it, I do not write.
Today, in this moment, I write for you.
As the pen glides across the surface of the blank page,
I feel my hand tingling, and so I grip it tighter.
I wonder if the pen has learned to think for itself,
or is it my hand that knows exactly what I want to say,
even before I do?
For, it keeps the pen moving, crafting letter after letter,
with no predictable end in mind. It does not stop when I will it to,
but only when it has written