A royal crown sits upon his head like a boat stuck on a stream in one place. It's like it's entangled in the roots of his hair, like it's apart of him. In the shower, at work, in front of everyone. It's going to be there for ever and ever. But who cares? I like it that way.
"Feed the World" is also a large part of the answer to the immigration crisis, and in a world that has enough food (and technology for clean water provision and water recycling) it should be a an obvious move to make - perhaps we could at least muster the political will power to get it done by Christmas 2020?
His focus was scattered, so filled with nervous anticipation was he, so excited, even giddy. He couldn't hold a conversation or sit still while his thoughts danced in infinite directions. Yet he had to get through the day in one piece. He met Mairead last Tuesday at a wedding and this, he hoped, was their first date. He could picture it already - holding hands, a tingling feeling spreading throughout his entire body. He would take her for a walk through the park and count the ducks; it seemed the most natural thing in all the world. And she, his special girl.
Winter lays down her icy bouquet for the long sleep as spring waves in a sea of vivid blooms.
One morning, in social study class, the teacher explained the term, “Dysfunctional families.” Marshall sat up in his desk. That description fit his family perfectly. All the hype through the years about happy families at Thanksgiving and Christmas left him empty, sad. Those two holidays were even worse for his family, and he dreaded them to heart sickness. He knew exactly what would happen. His dad would drink even more. More than once, his dad brought drinking buddies home for “thanksgiving dinner.” This “thanksgiving” dinner was a “usual” meal, with the exception that his mom said a prayer. Why? What did she or any of the family have to be thankful for? How could his mom be thankful for such confusion, and yelling and screaming? How could anyone thank a God who allowed such misery? When he was younger, Marshall had to stay at home for the long nights of discontent on Thanksgiving and Christmas. Now that he was older, he could grab his coat and hit the streets. It was cold out, and his jacket was thin. However, it was quiet in the downtown park.
When I was a very small child, I wasn't allowed to say I didn't care about anything, so I believed I had to care about everything. My mother used to say a little rhyme if I said, "I don't care." It's a sadistic little ditty, and it goes like this:
"Don't Care was made to care,
Don't Care was shot,
Don't Care was put in a pot,
And boiled until she was hot."
It's taken so very long to get out of that verbal trap, to climb far enough down into my brain to untangle the fuckedupness it caused. I can now feel free not to care. I don't care about assholes and selfish people. I realise that's the usual state of mind for normal people, but it's a brand new trick to me. I feel so free. Finally, fucking finally, "I don't care. I don't care. I don't care... unless I do... but that's my choice... because I say so."
The government made a new housing bond, you paid the money in to buy housing for the poor, they took care of the rest. We downsized just to pay into it and it was worth it, seeing the country rise instead of fall.
Lightning illuminates a brilliant pathway above, lifting our eyes skyward, bringing even the slowest soul-pulses back into a steady and strong rhythm.
The pyjamas lay soft on her skin, keeping in the warmth every night, allowing her to dream as the stars shone brightly above.
Something flashed beneath the surface of his hardened expression and I hurried to investigate the sudden shift. It was too late, the emotion disappeared before I could identify it, like reaching desperately for an escaped balloon; the string dangling so tantalizingly close but the wind pushed it away and it's lost forever.
Someone once told me I am strong. Sometimes, I really do think that I am. But on days like today, when my feelings overwhelm me, the word "strong" becomes insignificant, to the varying waves of emotion that engulf me. Today, I got lost in the tide and I caved, swept away by my own fears.
I am only human.
Fortunately, I am not defined by my moments of weakness and fear, but by the days when I muster the strength to rise above the tide. Then and only then, I consider myself to be... strong
Isn’t it funny, that if I had made a different decision I wouldn’t be here now? If I had put a different answer on that sheet, my fate would’ve been written in different ink. Because if I was sat here in a different universe, without you by my side, I would have never become complete.