I was out to meet my friend who lived nearby when I found this ravaged mannequin head. Her exquisite hazel eyes and pencilled brows, lifted towards the sky as if mannequin heaven was there.
In reality her mutilated head lies in the tall grass. A used beer bottle leans against her face, an empty red cigarette package nearby.
If she was alive I think she’d be wondering how she ended up here? Why she wasn’t the modelesque mannequin in the window display for Holt Renfrew or at least for H&M. Who had tossed her out like refuse and left her to this fate?
The open road can take you anywhere. There are many places to go, its so difficult to decide precisely which road you will take. On one hand, you have opportunity and potential before you. You’re bursting with aspirations and a chance to discover a new or familiar place and make it your own. You’ve a desire to create lasting and meaningful memories.
But on the other hand, there’s the downside of open roads. Roads aren’t always safe. You believe the road ahead is empty, but you never see a speeding car whipping out, when you both crash. You aren’t paying attention when you see a moose in the middle of the road, directly in your path. You may have the SUV but he’s huge and more likely to kill you.
Journeys aren’t what we think they’ll be. Some of them lead to misery and pain.Some of them lead to mistakes and learning the hard way. But it’s the price of travelling the open road. As you’ve little idea if you’re playing the correct card in a Black Jack, you have little idea where that open road will lead, or end.
Day 20 Prompt: White“White has so many connotations, white flag, white hat – hero in the old west movies, white – purity, white – clean, white light, white clouds, and the list could go on. What is the first thing that comes to mind when you think of white? Start from there and write for ten minutes.”
As the stare,
On your pale face,
Wished to tell you the truth but it wasn’t —
Enough; you appeared sickly, tears rolled down.
Anger, pain unrolled,
Exposed your soft,
But I love you,
Does that count for anything or are my —
Sins to severe? Your eyes blink and I hope.
Black eyes so,
Carved face stoic.
Was trying to heal us, bring the truth to light.
Your eyes begin sparkling, what was cold, now’s —
Hands emote and —
Your glad laugh rings.
Distracting beauty forgives; peace of mind.
“Tetracrys [is] a poetic form invented by Ray Stebbing. [It] consists of at least 5 lines of 1, 2, 3, 4, 10 syllables (total of 20). Tetractys can be written with more than one verse, but must follow suit with an inverted syllable count. Tetractys can also bereversed and written 10, 4, 3, 2, 1.
Shane’s bedroom felt empty and cold, as if every bit of warmth and life had been sucked out of it. It was hard for Kristen to believe, only a few hours ago, her darling boy had been rolling around on his blanket.
One minute Shane had been gurgling and laughing as he held his ABC’s book on his blanket and the next he had fallen asleep peacefully on his back.
Except, Kristen thought, tears streaming down her face, Shane never woke up. Kristen thought Shane was still asleep but when she touched his tiny body he wasn’t breathing; she called 911 hurriedly.
A kindly EMT, Patrick, comforted Kristen.”There is nothing you could have done that would have saved Shane. We don’t know a lot about why babies die from SIDS in their sleep.” Patrick added.
“Still, I should have paid better attention to him . . .” Kristen sobbed.
Patrick looked at Kristen and held her hand.” You’re a parent Kristen and you’re human. You did the best you could,“nothing, especially taking care of a baby, “is ever as easy as it looks.” Parents have no control when a baby dies suddenly so please don’t blame yourself. Grieve, and if you like, have the courage to be a Mother again.
It comes to me in pieces. I wasn’t good enough for you. I was only one of many. I didn’t realize, I wasn’t important.
I didn’t have that special vibe, that made you feel alive. The attraction I felt, only my imagination acting out.
Your piercing look of blue seeing me, trying to devise a way to know me. At least you tried a bit. I miss it.
And I miss the arms of someone who loved me much. But something wasn’t right. It’s how some relationships go. I wasn’t aware how much he saw in me, until he was gone.
Some men don’t try at all. They think you are only a release of the pent up need to mate. The desire of a guy for a pretty woman is tireless and unforgiving. He’s sure you’ll answer his libido’s call.
Why did I never see. I was always a number. I was always an object of sexuality. When I was young and so pretty , my worth was my beauty. Somethings don’t change, only the younger women are hotter.
I think of a song: “But Beautiful is empty / Beautiful is free / Beautiful loves no one / Beautiful stripped me.” (Creed)
Beautiful is empty. Those girls who giggle freely and don’t mind being objectified. But some of them are hiding a world of color and art beneath their facades. A library of knowledge and experiences.
I realize how much we base on looks, our society is based on youth. Those who are the shiny pretty people. But no one can measure up, after your twenties or even then.
You tell me all the hot girls you can get. You tell me how easy they are to find. You make me feel no different then those you have defined merely for sex. What do you want with me, I am not so vapid.
I thought I saw something in you. A softening of a man’s heart. Maybe I thought, you could sympathize with my life and make more of an effort. But I’m merely cute. I am not beautiful.
I’m not the ‘void’ that made me small when collage boys looked at me. I have learned from my experiences and I have always been more then my face or body.
You say we should wait and see. Let the way things go, make the decision. I don’t mind going that way. But I see now I’m a number, a prized pet begging for attention with all the other women. A number.
There is an entire women’s movement of equality and their begging their men and trying to teach their sons to see women differently. I don’t think we’re succeeding.
Woman are valuable because we are a ‘person’equal to men in every way. We are valuable because we are as smart as men and at times, much wiser.
We are not our looks or our ability to bear a certain amount of children. We are not all the same. Each woman is unique and valuable for being herself. Stop numbering us on your head board.
Ladies, stop chasing the men who are only after your tail. Stop letting them win when they characterize you as that easy girl they slept with. Make it hard, so they see your worth. Make them work.
And if they can’t see how wonderful you are. Throw them to the curb. Teach them a lesson. Tell them to stop objectifying women. To stop only seeing bleach-blond hair, big breasts, and a lady whose got back — as the epitome of womanhood.
All of this is special and may make you who you are. The right men will adore your body, and it’s unique proportions. But they’ll adore your mind and your soul equally. They’ll treat you — what a word — specially.
And your man will try his hardest, to ensure you see you are valuable to him. All of you, from your hair to your toes. From your thoughts to your soul.
Don’t do the walk of shame again and be ashamed for expressing your sexuality. If it’s what you desire you should know, you better make him a number before he turns you into one.
You best believe me lady. You are falling for a con. And you’re pushing back the women’s movement when you give into his charm. When he hasn’t put the work into, seeing you for who you are.