in glazed UV protection.
Or permanent lie?
Canadian family girl with a recently discovered love for writing. Other loves include animals and sports.
How does it work?
Gurl this was brilliant! 👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾
Yes! Cathy, THIS is fantastic! Picture or in person, you never know the story behind the smile. I’ve smiled many times when all I wanted to do was cry. 💞
Ooooo, good question, Cathy! Now, my question is; Is it directed at this one, or portrait photos in general? I think it could go eiher way.
Love haikus 😃
In short words I really loved 😍
Ooh, this is do much how I feel about my kids' school photos.
We would like to think they were always happy moments 🥰Nicely done 👍
There does seem to be something a bit artificial in her expression, doesn't there?
That permanent lie hit me so hard. Not everything stay the same. People change. Hence, they become the permanent lie. This was so poignant! I loved it!
Magnificent!!! Loving it!!!💕❤️❤️
A senryu laid out here for you
About appearances, made up or real
Matters not truth, fiction or in between
Just be happy with how you are seen …
And how you truly feel. 😍🍷😍
lol the permanent lie is so funny 😆
More stories from Cathy holmes and writers in Poets and other communities.
I’ll take the prize.
I’ll take the accolades,
and I’ll take the congratulatory messages from fellow creators and friends.
By Cathy holmes18 days ago in Poets
"It's in stone."
you used to say
about your plans.
I would proclaim.
"Not this stone."
You said it so certainly.
By Daniel K6 days ago in Poets
Her eyes reflect an emotion I thought I was incapable of feeling.
They told me I was too damaged and it made me unappealing.
By Alexandria Stanwyck6 days ago in Poets
I hung out at Madigan Park all the time when I was a kid. Back then it wasn’t Madigan—it was just the park, the place my friends and I went to get stoned under the bigass birds-of-paradise that sang after a few joints. Now it’s nothing. Those birds-of-paradise—most of them older than I am—burned in the fight. The stinky torreya the mayor planted for his birthday is black and barely standing. Faulkner’s founder is flat on his face with a broken nose, which my partner has been trying to slip into my pocket for the last ten minutes. Even the playground is now a McDonald’s-colored puddle and the lawns are black where the last embers aren’t glowing.
By Rosie Ford 4 days ago in Chapters