bk53
New Muse
Posts: 9
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Scraps
Jun 30, 2007 16:48:10 GMT -5
Post by bk53 on Jun 30, 2007 16:48:10 GMT -5
I amused myself for hours. There wasn't much to talk about. Cities written on little scraps of paper brought to life by the magic of make-believe, enabled me to shut out the world for a little while. Dad drove. Mom rode, silent, beside him, and I played my imaginary game all the way to North Carolina. I was shy, always preoccupied. You could say I was a dreamer. I always felt like an outsider. There was love, the responsible kind, but we never clicked. We were just different. He had grew up poor, fought in a war, and may have resented the fact that I lacked any sense of moral fiber. I was the red headed step-child, along for the ride, and we were a house divided. Fortunately we were rescued from poverty, because mom was a stunner, and you do what you have to, to get by. Sometimes I wonder if there is such a thing as love, or is just chemicals and biology? Am I a bad seed for thinking these things? Nothing has changed to make me think differently. I do not mourn the passing of loved one's like I should. At moments I believe there is a higher power, but too often feel utterly alone. Back in the back seat I'm remembering shutting out everyone and everything.
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Scraps
Jul 3, 2007 14:09:18 GMT -5
Post by Elle Rush on Jul 3, 2007 14:09:18 GMT -5
Hello & welcome! This piece is a good introduction to your work. I enjoy the poignancy and power of it very much.
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