Come the day, a Great Divider, who rules but does not lead.
This Father of Lies who befouls freedoms, sick grin upon his face, professing distinctions no one believes.
Greedily his eyes seek false praise, hungering for a glory never earned, a lust unappeased, with bloated contempt for august persons at war with this primordial craven need.
This Caricature, this sad cartoon in human suit, heart devoid of earthly emotion save those to nurture pusillanimous demands.
Oh come Great Divider, with fragile ego, and quest for grandeur, we want nothing more of you.
Your time is now, and now alone, a mistake of loathing and fear to be remembered by our children and those to follow. Be gone evil, your rein dwindles, hearth and home returns to us.
And by your leave, the child America will heal.
Weird Snapchat filter got me like…
To the 99 people who follow my blog, have a happy holiday. May the 2nd half of the year deliver good fortune, better health, and your realized dreams.
One of my earliest memories is of my mom and I coming home from Grandma’s house. I was little, maybe around 4 or 5. I was still riding in a car seat, and we were in her station wagon. It didn’t have air conditioning and the windows were down. Kids didn’t have to ride in the back seat by law yet so I was up front with her. We took our freeway exit and while sitting at the light, a man pulled up in a beat up old chevy who also had windows down. I looked him square in the eye and cried out, “Daddyyyyyyyyyyyyy.”
My mom didn’t even turn her head. She got a laser lock on the traffic light with her eyes, nary a muscle twitched on her face and flush began to spread over her face.
It looked like this.
Trading Places-Nice Purse
I’ve decided to start my own religion, Church of Bobrossian of the Latter Day Paints, achieving peace through happy little clouds.
My tale begins in the arms of my lover. “You look pale,” he says, brushing a lock of chestnut brown hair behind my ear. “I haven’t been feeling well lately,” I reply. Confusion sets in as I contemplate the fact that I’m normally as rudely healthy as a peasant. It disconcerts me.
Days later, after being diagnosed with “walking pneumonia” or what I like to call “walking dead” (see below visual representation) the confusion has been replaced with gasping as I lay in bed trying to breathe. I never thought it could happen to me, and didn’t understand what was happening.
Daytime health achievements were followed by debilitating, tear wringing nights with my heart fluttering in my chest like a caged bird seeking release from its chambers as I fought to get oxygen into my body.
And so…. the worst is over. I am on the mend. Like a storm that has ridden in on churning clouds and vicious winds that fall away on gossamer threads leaving only silent contemplation in its wake, the worst has crested and I’m left with aftermath.
I am weak. Walking only a short distance requires a rest on each end. I must still wear a mask, not because I may infect someone but because my immune system is as fragile as a china teacup.
But I feel me. I am in here. It’s only a matter of time until I’m healed.
I look forward to the day when in my beauty and strength once again compel and propel me into the arms of my lover.
For now, for today, I am simply….
The Hollow Woman