Running with Scissors e.1

 a collage based on a calendar page, with various magazine images layered and thread loosely strung 

 a collage of legs and feet with a caption about handy feet

a quick sketch; The Butterfly Room

To you,

thank you for being my anchor,my wings
for lifting me up
holding me steady
letting me go when you know
I'm ready
thank you for being
such a support

Lane, I couldn't have done it with out you

Black Soap

Black soap,

it's in a tin

brand new

three times worn in

bought to pamper

used to purge

was a simple

saturday splurge

but no more now

it means something else

not for giving treats

my dark dark soap

rough and messy

scrapes daily defeats

rubbing hard

here and there

to buff away the

pain and wrong

my daily song

scrub it all this day

no soft nor white

soap will do the trick

for rub all day it will simply rub

it cannot scratch the muck

I have to use my blackest soap, 

to clean off my bad luck

let's start anew

with skin all red

and nothing there to taint it

and maybe someday

I'll be clean

and can use white soap instead

So I Wait

Never go to bed upset

never sleep angry

well I'm missing you

and worried now

that you might just hate me

you say you don't

you never could

and that you'll always stay

but I'm still scared 

I don't know how

to get to better days

I've tried, I have,

but seem to fail

worse with each attempt

so I'm waiting now

I will to sleep

'till you come back

to me

Beginning of Something

Found this in my purse:

A Broken Doll

    Porcelain fine and fair
with scratches here and there
    Still pure it ever glows

    Eyes of shining light
who've long seen only night
    But they still happiness hold

    Locks of perfect curls
the softest in the world
    Though matted, they are fine

    This broken doll, a beauty from
an age that is long gone
    But the doll remains, lovely still
beauty, held inside

The Friday Parcel

Quick footsteps upon rough pavement
rubber soles colliding with aged stone
pants brush, she walks quickly
around him, past her
weaving from left to right
trying to stay out of sight
She hardly glances right as she steps into the street
The brown paper crinkles under her arm
she adjusts her long package
it slips and she snatches it up
eyes darting around her as she bends over
she keeps walking
with even more haste
she buzzes in
taking the stairs at double
briskly down the tattered carpet
her feet move with fear
her key juts into the lock
not daring a moments pause
inside one door, there's just one more
keys fumbling, making sharp clicks against the old doorknob
turn twist push slide close lean
the narrow parcel leaps from her hand like
hot coal
and she leans against the door
standing
staring
at the brown paper bag
her heart pounding
her palms sweating
the end of the package has been torn
and she can see
just the tip
of a rounded brown baguette

all this for a loaf of bread?

Word of the Week

The word of the week is sacrifice
are you willing to lose it all
for the hope that something better will fall
into place?
Is is ok to give all this up?
the daily smiles and people
for a love that is written in years
years to come, ages it will last
but when you look back
into this dusty, dark past
will you regret the choices you made
to get to that day,
and if they had changed
would your life be the same?