Sharing a little blog love

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I often neglect to stop in and pay a visit to many of the blogs I’ve chosen to follow. It’s an easy thing to do, and one that sometimes makes me feel a little like a thoughtless twit.

When I decided to take the leap and begin this blogging adventure it was rather scary; it isn’t easy to put yourself out there for the world to see. Those who do are brave and deserving of recognition.

I happened upon one of those blogs this morning and I wanted to share a little encouragement in the form of a shout-out to God of Words and Broken Things. If others hadn’t done the same for me, I may not have continued sharing, I would not have met the beautiful people who have come into my life because they took a moment to stop and read a piece of my heart . . .

{{{Hugs}}} writers and readers!

Everything is okay, is everything really okay? Breathe.

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Wake up. Just wake up. I can’t. I’m so tired and I need to wake up because I need out of this dream. It’s a dream. I’m awake. The feeling won’t go away. My heart is beating too fast. It swishing. Why am I still afraid? Nothing is wrong. Nothing. Is. Wrong.

Something is wrong. Something is definitely wrong. This is more than anxiety this time. Something is wrong. It’s too quiet. Are the kids okay? It might have rained last night and the roads are probably wet, I wonder if he made it to work okay?

Someone would have called if he didn’t. Right? Maybe I should text him. I wonder if my mom is okay. I didn’t talk to my daughter yesterday. She called and I missed it and I didn’t call back. She didn’t call me again. Is everything okay?

Dammit. Something is wrong.

Just breathe through it.

It’s hard to breathe.

My heart is swishing.

Everything is okay.

Dammit. It’s not.

Okay. It will pass. How long? I felt like this yesterday too. It’s worse today and it’s going to keep getting worse. Maybe I should call and check on everyone. What if something is wrong though? What if I call and the phone rings while they are driving? They’ll have an accident. I’m not calling. Everything is fine.

I’m holding my breath again. Stop doing that. My heart is swishing. I think I messed up something yesterday. What did I forget? It was important, I think. I screwed something up again.

Breathe.

Something just doesn’t feel right. I can feel my heart in my arms and my head and my legs. Breath through it. It’s not real.

It’s real.

Your mind is telling you lies, it’s anxiety. It’s a liar. What if this time something is wrong though? I didn’t charge my phone last night. Something might have happened and I didn’t get the call because the phone is dead. No one is dead. Everyone is okay. Why didn’t I call her back yesterday? She was fine. Nothing was wrong or she would have said so when she said to call her back.

Swishing.

Stop holding your breath, dammit.

Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh,

A tubby, little cubby all stuffed with fluff.

He’s Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh,

A willy, nilly, silly old bear.

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

Still swishing.

Geez, stop crying. So stupid. Willy, nilly, silly old bear.

Stupid. This is so stupid. Tubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff. It’s not working. I can’t go to the store today. This is a warning. It’s a warning. If we all stay in the house it’ll be okay. I heard one of the boys leave this morning. I think I heard one of them leaving. He’s supposed to tell me when he goes out. Why did he even leave the house? This is ridiculous. He’s probably in his room. He’s not. It might start raining.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Willy, nilly, silly old bear . . .

(swish)

Last night’s Dreams won’t release me

their Icy fingers won’t let me go

Holding, Squeezing, gripping

I Can’t regain control
       Anxious Oppression,

I can’t still My heart
       Shallow Breath, I need to breathe
        I’m lost Once it starts
       Shallow Breath, why can’t I breathe

I feel it just Under my skin
Poisonous Lies

from some Acrimony within
    Shadows Torment
   They only Exist in my mind

Last night’s Dreams won’t release me

Coming Storm

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And a mournful disquietude

arose amidst the paean of a new order.

Mingling voices wrestling and rising

to a crescendo of wailing,

a cacophony of battle cries and laments.

Divisiveness swept through,

brother turned against brother,

friend became foe

against the backdrop

of a darkening sky.

And an evil crept in

to feed an insatiable hunger,

it fed and it fattened and grew.

It feasted on a banquet

of prideful souls,

ripe for harvest.

It chewed at the marrow

till nothing was left

but the bones of the people,

then he bid them to rise

and to follow,

leading them blind

into the abyss.

Silenced by Society

 

silenced

Somber soliloquies

echo in silence.

Dialectic diatribes

dance amongst

shadows

to the cadence

of unvoiced

sonants

lingering

on the lips of a

pensive muse.

Sound without

substance,

song without

verse,

sight without

vision.

Meaning found

in madness,

ignorance embraced

by the masses.

Dare you not

speak aloud

the truths

within your soul

else be struck down,

silenced,

shunned, and

devoured by

the delusional,

the self-righteous,

the misinformed,

the judgmental –

(who claim not to be),

– the sheep

that have become

a plague on

the microcosm

of society . . .

Crystal R. Cook

The Benefits and Blessings of Creative Writing

qwietpleez:

I’m honored to be a part of a brand new site and looking forward to watching it grow – Soon there will be art and writing of all kinds, a celebration of creativity . . . Do you have something you want to share? Submissions are welcome!

Originally posted on Blu Sky Collective:

In my life, words have taken me by the hand and the heart to lead me through my darkest moments; they’ve basked with me in the light of joy, and captured my tears when sorrow came to call. The benefits of creative writing for our minds and our hearts and our souls are as boundless and limitless as words themselves.

The harvest of self is bountiful when the mind is allowed to explore creativity. Creative writing is the ultimate expression of who we are. Freedom from the everyday can be found when our words begin to flow. When we allow ourselves to simply go wherever the words may take us, we open our minds, our hearts and our souls. I’ve so often found when my day has been long and my frustrations have been many, I can pick up a pen and serenity will find me.

As my pen softly…

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The smell of death

PoisonBottle040513To be honest, I don’t know just when the death occurred. Poison is funny like that. I suppose if you knew the precise moment the lethal element was partaken of it would be easier. Yes. It certainly would have been easier.

I didn’t want to be witness to the deed though, so I chose the sneaky and sinister route. Perhaps it could be considered cowardly even, but my reasoning seemed sound enough, and I seriously doubt the poison I was offering would have been accepted anyway, not from my hand.

I left it, disguised and concealed; certain it was appealing enough to be devoured. It was. I know that now. My plan worked perfectly, at least I thought it did, before the smell. I hadn’t planned on him hiding once he felt what he had to have known was death tiptoeing toward his heart. Maybe this is his revenge.

It was hardly noticeable at first, but in this heat, it didn’t take long before the rancid, stomach turning scent of decomposition began filling the room and I knew it would only get worse before it got better so I started searching for the corpse.

To my horror, I couldn’t find it. The bastard found the passageways built into the walls. Passageways I could not enter. I peeked into one, even cutting away a portion of the wall. The smell was overpowering, but I found nothing.

I am quite sure this is indeed his revenge. I tried to get rid of him without resorting to this, I tried. All of my efforts ended in failure and he stayed, taunting me. I had no choice. He had to go, I hope you understand – he had to. I didn’t want it to end like this. Especially like this.

Why couldn’t he have just ran away? None of this would have happened.

I wonder how long his stench will remain here, in my home. MY home. Next time, I will plan better.

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So anyway – I wouldn’t let my husband use the sticky mouse traps because, well, how awful are those? Instead of buying the snap traps, still awful, but usually quick, and instead of the traps they can enter and be set loose elsewhere to torment someone far from us – he opted for poison. I told him not to. I told him this would happen and it did.

This effing stinks . . . so bad.

           I don’t want mice in my house, but I don’t want their decomposing remains behind my walls either!

I’m pretty sure I’m gonna blow chunks.

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We’ve rescued more mice than I can count, BUT, I can only deal with so much.

To the surviving mousies . . . The scratching in the walls, the poo pellets in the cupboard – I gotta draw the line when you poo in my cupboard. I mean really, by my food? Not cool mouse. Not cool at all. Don’t even peek out from under the entertainment center and look at me with those beady little eyes of yours and twitch your whiskers like your fricken cute or something. It’s not cute to crap in someones shoes, dude. It’s not cute to dig effing holes in someones walls. And for real, you scared my dog and no, my dog is not a sissy. Okay, he is, BUT that’s beside the point.

So it’s come down to this, you gots to go. Out. Bye-bye. Adios. Au revoir. Arrivaderci. Ciao. Do svidanya. And if ya don’t, I can’t stop the man-o-the-house from doing what he’s gonna do. Like kill you dead.

Deaddeaddeadsky.

Stop crapping in my shoes. Seriously.