I almost stopped by to say hello, but then I remembered when we locked eyes my bones turn to jello
I almost left you a present, but how could I, when you won't give me time?
A bucket of brushes for when you feel life is moving too fast and you are in need of slow movements letting your creativity flow freely at last.
New bottles of paint with which you would have enough to color the world you wish to create..
Lastly a few canvases for when you need an escape.
I paid for them, then walked to my car wondering why these emotions are still hitting me so hard.. Especially since the last time I saw you seems so far.
I opened the door, sat in my seat, then asked myself, "What would happen this time, would the pattern repeat?"
Or could we allow ourselves to truly meet where the masks have fallen off, where the true me can go to you and with a smile, greet?
About the Creator
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More stories from Jaclyn Gilbert and writers in Poets and other communities.
Building my future
I grew my own world I drew it's very map from the cliffs and the edges where some things may overlap I am able I am stable I am happy I am glad I pulled at the old roots until the ones that flourished were heavily nourished and the seeds that grew were made of joy not madness so from the seeds of joy grew trees and hills where in every direction I was fulfilled. I felt a smile across my face as I begin to realize it's the dawning of a beautiful age and I am new and clean refreshed with new meaning and I am healthy mind body and soul and I am so fortunate to be feeling this all. Peace, joy, faith, safety, good humor and good times were of the 7 seeds that I had planted. The last one has been blooming for some time which was needed as love was that seed and I dwelled on that one for many seasons.
By Jaclyn Gilbert 3 years ago in Poets
Two Wrinkles In Time
It is pointless to run, my darling, because sixty seconds ago, I will kill you. My blade will have sliced reality open right in front of you. It will have first pierced it as it would a bed sheet left hanging to dry, flapping in the wind on a Sunday afternoon. But the metal will have drawn a line in the air that the ghostly tear will have followed. Then I, La Dyablès, machete firmly in hand, will have emerged from what your mind, at the time, could only interpret as the other side of here—whatever that means to you. I know. I have seen that look on the faces of countless unlucky… clients. You will not have been the first nor the last to try and reneg on a riches for soul contract only to present this visage to me when I come to collect.
By Lily Séjor5 days ago in Fiction
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