His world had been comprised of hastily constructed philosophies, which upon close examination, had failed him and promptly collapsed.
“Peanut butter,” he gasped moaning at the delicious taste of the product his mother had refused to feed him as a child.
“How can you have not tasted Peanut butter, Charlie? You’re thirty-nine years old and have been living on your own for twenty years. Didn’t it ever occur to you buy it, just once, to see what it tasted like?”
Charlie looked at Dana his mouth a gap,”This is mind blowing. All my life I thought Peanut butter would kill me. My mother convinced me my throat would swell, that I would die on the floor gasping for air if I ate it. But I’m fine. I’ve been eating it all day and it hasn’t made me sick or made me have trouble breathing. My mother was a liar!”
“She was just trying to protect you, Charlie. You did say she saw a kid die from being exposed to peanut butter when she was in school. It’s why they don’t allow it public schools. Your mom should have let you try a bit of Peanut butter first to see if your body reacted,” Dana remarked.
Charlie shook is head and sighed with pleasure. “I’m going to be eating Peanut butter for the rest of my days, for all those years I was robbed of it’s taste and smooth texture.”
Dana laughed,”Careful Charlie, there is a lot of calories in peanut butter. You don’t want to ruin your physique.”
“Who cares. I swear I’ll go to the gym if that happens.”
Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to “write a poem that is a portrait of someone important to you. It doesn’t need to focus so much on what a person looks (or looked) like, as what they are or were.” The corresponding GoodRead’s Author’s Quote for the A to Z Challenge, begins with the letter I. Thanks toNEEKNERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menageriewho provided the wonderfully creepy photograph.
“If I’d been born a ghoul, I think I would’ve killed people. I just happened to be born a human. That’s the only reason why I’m allowed to live a moral life.” ― Sui Ishida
I knew her as a little girl,
Though others thought her odd.
She had that “something” about her,
People either loved or abhorred.
At first, I thought, she was enormously strange,
But her quirks endeared me to her.
She protected me from those cruel girls,
One smile from her, they stumbled away on their heels.
She had shocking violet hair on one side,
She was never quite a blond.
Always experimenting with new looks,
Trying to glean from her appearance,
Who she was inside herself.
Her eyes a brilliant cornflower blue glimmered,
When some person made her enraged.
Her friends all knew some stupid student,
Would soon regret their actions;
She only had to smile.
And some bullies face turned violet, rouge, or primrose.
My friend was odd but lively,
Never afraid to do anything.
Dragging me along, to be a part of her drama.
Of her wicked practical jokes,
Others whispered she was a bit ‘Tim Burton,’
Calling her the ‘corpse bride.’
But she would always smile,
In a way that scared many,
Who never knew the truth about her —
She was passionate, kind, and loyal.
If you could get past her walls, her insecurities,
She was most lovely and grew to be a beauty.
Her hair still half-purple — it was her thing.
How we knew her for her.
Her terrifying smile gleamed,
She could now afford braces,
For teeth that had scared everyone.
And when the braces disappeared,
Her teeth stood in straight white rows.
Her grim frown had turned forever upside down,
She was no longer that weird girl.
Though there was still ‘something’ about her;
Strange became a talent, something sought after,
When she transformed into a swan.
She became a cut diamond, no longer rough, she was —
He sings the song, he knows so well, “American Pie” resounds,
A story “a long long time ago” the lyrics found,
On the lips of those passing by,
Throwing coins for memories sighed,
Thinking of “the day the music —
Died,” a plane crash in history mused.
Brought into the present, the “music [that] makes [him] smile.”
Singing talent innate: “Bye, Bye Miss American pie.”
He sings of the “good old boys . . . drinking whiskey and rye,”
Of the day they thought “this would be the day that” they’d up and die,
He breathes life into Rock and Roll,
Thinks music can save “mortal” souls.
His sonorous voice knows he has —
No luck; but he’ll sing for the past.
For “Miss American pie;” she drives her “Chevy” to the dry —
Levy;” all passing, know the lyrics “the day the music died.”
He’s a hit, his voice similar to Don McLean of past,
He drives home the point as if it were shards of sharp glass.
As history occurred, passed,
“Dirges in the dark” that collapse.
Of forgotten heroes, music lost,
Of times forgotten, with cost.
Singing for the “kings” and “queens” who walk on by, listening,
He sings the song he knows so well “Bye Bye . . . American pie.”
Don McLean – “American Pie”
Wrapped Refrain (Form No. 2), created by Jan Turner, carries some similar aspects as her Wrapped Refrain form, with further advanced techniques. It consists of 2 or more stanzas of 8 lines each, with the following set rules:
“Clementine anxiously waited for the 5:40 out of the city, wondering if he would be on board.” It head been two-years since she’d seen Philip. He’d been sent out to fight the Nazis in France. She’d faithfully written to him but Philip hadn’t been able to send many letters back.
After the harrowing footage she’d seen of soldiers fighting on the beaches of Normandy, Clementine wondered if her Philip would be himself; how could he? The train arrived and she continued waiting.
Seconds later Philip was holding her so tightly she couldn’t breath. He cried into her neck,”I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I had no doubt you would,” Clementine whispered back, stroking Philip’s hair as his tears dried.
It was almost as if he’d never been gone; in each other’s arms, they were both home.
Thanks to Oloriel of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s prompt. First we are to go to Wikipedia and go to the ‘Random Article’ Button, his is our title. Second we are to HERE and find a randomly generated picture.
Ring the bells ring them, sound organ pipes too,
Atlantis sinks to obscurity.
Earth trembles, calls with a tune sung,
Ring the bells; last time you’ll hear them out loud.
Welcome to another biweekly interview on Mandibelle16. I’m hoping where ever you are the weather is nice and spring is on its way or summer isn’t too hot. This week I interviewed the impressive and talented writer Jasminder Bainsfrom the United States. You can check out her blog here: Confessions Of A Reborn Girl
1. Hi Jasminder. Please Tell Us About Yourself?
Where to begin…I live to write because it’s my form of therapy and I love weaving words into stories. I’m a full-time dream chaser with a knack for crafting things and philosophizing and overthinking when I can.
I’m two years clean and keeping it that way.Psychology fascinates me; hence, I’m majoring in it. You’ll find there is a lot of psychology based posts on my blog. I love to sing and dance to KPOP when nobody’s around, or at least when I think nobody’s around. I had to run up three flights of stairs because I got caught once.
Also, I’m obsessed with green tea and I like to meditate because it clears my mind. I prefer video games and Doc Martens to dresses ( I only own one dress) and makeup. The only makeup I wear is eyeliner and it’s about as good as my sense of direction. I get lost even with a GPS to help me find my way. I’m an aggressive middle-class minimalist who pillages anything I can get my hands on; this is why I have a ring of rocks sitting on my dresser.
I have moments where I’m incredibly with the times and others I’m not. I set up a Twitter account recently. I have no idea what half the buttons mean. But I can give you Excel pointers and talk about ‘markdown formatting;’ I can’t tell you much about Facebook.
2. When Did You Begin Writing and Blogging? What Does Writing and Blogging Mean To You? What motivates and inspires you?
I started blogging last July, but I’ve been writing since I was in fifth grade. Poetry and blogging are how I vent as well as defeat stereotypes. I write because I want to heal other people and because I love doing it.
I find inspiration from my life because I’m an avid people-watcher and I overthink everything. I find new material is as simple as walking into the middle of a cafeteria and sitting down. I learned so much about human interaction by doing this. I make time for writing whenever I can.
“I live to write because it’s my form of therapy and I love weaving words into stories. I’m a full-time dream chaser with a knack for crafting things and philosophizing and overthinking when I can.” – Jasminder Bains
3. What Are Your Most Current Writing Projects? Any Future Projects You Have In Mind?
I’m planning on participating in the2017 Kindness Challenge!The link to sign up ishere if you’re interested. I’m also hosting my own blogging challenge, it’s called the ‘BoundlessChallenge.’ The premise of the challenge is to share a #boundlessmomentfrom the past week where you did something that you thought you weren’t actually capable of doing.
I started the challenge not too long ago so it’s relatively new. My goal is to inspire people through this prompt. Maybe they will believe they are capable of doing much more than they think they can do. Check out the sixth #boudlessmoment challenge on my blog HERE.
4. Can You Tell Us More About Your Blog and Why You Started Blogging?
When I founded @Confessions (Confessions Of A Reborn Girl) I had one goal and one goal alone:to teach others about human potential. Too many times I’ve heard stories of people who gave up on their dreams because they didn’t think they had it in them or someone discouraged them from their path. I’m here to tell you thatyou are good enoughand that nobody can tell you otherwise.
“The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any.” – Alice Walker
That being said, [my blog] would qualify as a lifestyle blog, though I focus more on mentality and mindset rather than fashion or food. My blog categories are different takes on that ‘boundless lifestyle’ if you will.
Life, as the catagory name states, revolves around my everyday thoughts and experiences. [As I noted above] you can also find my ownblogging challenge, the Boundless Challenge, which is devoted to inspiring the WordPress community to achieve their full potential. At the end of each week, I share #boundlessmoments of my own and from across the internet. . . Who knows? Maybe next week you’ll be featured!
Writer’s Corner is [a segment on my blog] where I analyze social norms and American culture along with occasional philosophizing.DIYis exactly as the name states. I have this category because crafting opened up my thinking in a way nothing else could. I believe that it can do the same for you. [Lastly, my] meditation journal [catagory]stems from my adoration for — well — meditation. [Since I] over-think, meditation is the perfect counter to my habit and it helps me analyze my emotions and inner conflict.
“Too many times, I’ve heard stories of people who gave up on their dreams because they just didn’t think they had it in them or someone discouraged them from their path. I’m here to tell you that you are good enough and that nobody can tell you otherwise” – Jasminder Bains
5. How Does Your Blog Tie-In With Your Stance on Mental Health?
I continue to challenge thestigmas and negative stereotypes surrounding the field of mental health. There’s so much more to psychology than depression or schizophrenia or bipolar disease; [these are] only a small branch of [what is called] abnormalpsychology. In order to understand the abnormal, we must first understand the normal.
I hope that by being open about my own experiences with mental health challengesand triumphs, I can give others the strength to do the same.There’s nothing wrong with having a bad day, month, or year. There’s nothing wrong with having things that keep you up at night. There’s nothing wrong with being broken.
6. Do You Have Any Other Projects On The Go? What Is Your Writing Process Like? Do You Have Any Genres of Writing or Reading that You Prefer?
I’m planning on writing a fiction book called Project Rebirth. I’ve no details other than that because I hardly know what the book is about myself. 😛 For me, writing is painful.Writing is life. WHAT WAS I THINKING WRITING THAT?!! Editing is painful. Editing is life. Rinse and repeat.
Fantasy is my FAVORITE genre. None of this 21st-century teen smut fantasy romance. I mean classy fantasy like Cornelia Funke’s Inkheart series or Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling or The Ranger’sApprentice books. I prefer these types of books so much more than teen romance novels.
“I hope that by being open about my own experiences with mental health challengesand triumphs, I can give others the strength to do the same.There’s nothing wrong with having a bad day, month, or year. There’s nothing wrong with having things that keep you up at night. There’s nothing wrong with being broken.” – Jasminder Bains
7. Do You Have Any Helpful Tips for Other Writers? Is There Anything Else You’d Like to Share Pertinent to this Interview?
Keep writing. It’s the only way you get better (and shameless). Also, I want to fight the negative stigmas and stereotypes around mental health because it’s vastly misunderstood and generalized which is dangerous for everyone.
8. What Are Your Three Favorite Blogs You Follow Of Any Kind?
What’s this? My insides feel like they’re tearing apart.
Something’s wrong, I should take some medication.
Something’s wrong, it’s 3 A.M. and I’m awake again. Did I ever fall asleep? I feel like I’m dying.
I’m frozen, I feel like screaming, is this really real?
Maybe this is the dream I have to wake up from, I don’t remember falling asleep so maybe I never woke up.
Something’s wrong, it’s 4 A.M. and I’m still here. I should just close my eyes, I wouldn’t be able to sleep if it was appendicitis….would I?
Something’s wrong, it’s only 7 A.M. and I’m already awake. No, mum, don’t leave for work just yet. There’s a patient lying here in bed who needs to be seen.
Mum is gone. My brother needs my phone for school. It’s low on battery because I stared blankly at music videos and funny vines for half the night unable to react thanks to the burning sensation in my stomach.
Dad wants to know what’s going on so I spill my guts on him. It’s time to try another medication, stay hydrated, and ride things out.
Mum says book an appointment if it doesn’t get better. I wonder if it will get better.
I’m a statue, unmoving and emotionless. I thought today was yesterday. Guess my brain didn’t register that I ever went to sleep.
Should I feel crooked that this pain is now who I am? I don’t want to do anything let alone go the hospital. It could be nothing. Just like me.
Dad wants me to make him lunch if I’m able. Fine. The pain is mostly gone and I can wait 10 minutes to pass out.
There are two types of naps: the kind that make you feel worse than before, but you know you had no choice, and the kind that make you feel energized. Mine was the latter. Maybe it’s because I slept two hours instead of 20 minutes. Oh well. At least the pain’s almost gone.
All I’ve had to eat today is half a bagel and a tin of Chobani yogurt. I should eat something else. A salad sounds divine only I’m not sure if I’m strong enough to eat the croutons and leaves yet. Only one way to find out. Verdict: I can chew a crouton. I can’t chew a spinach leaf. I’ll just have a burrito.
Something’s wrong, it’s been 18 hours since I laid awake in bed screaming in my head and I’m doing it again. Except this time in a chair with a plate of food in front of me. Forget it. I’m not eating if it’s gonna sting this bad. Time to take some more medication.
I don’t want to be a physical embodiment of pain, I want my life back. I want to feel joy again, I want to listen to music that lifts me up again, I want to write a blog post ahead of time again, I want to have faith again, I want to feel healthy again, I want to have both feet planted firmly on the ground again, I want to be me again.
Six-year-old James was excited. He was at a giant amusement park with a fascinating complex modular domes. He tried to rush past his parents but his Dad grasped James’ hand firmly.
They entered the first dome and there was a huge race track inside. James squeeled while driving with his Dad in a go-kart. The next dome had a mini-golf course. Half-way through the course James decided he was bored and that it was time for his adventure alone; he crept off when his Dad was putting.
He spent his day playing in a giant indoor playground and then went outside to where there were rides for kids to go on. He made friends with another boy named Paul whose parents thought James had permission to ride rides with them.
After a while James felt sick because he hadn’t eaten. He returned to the mini-golf course to wait for his Dad. He sat there for hours but he never saw his parents. He thought they had decided they didn’t want him.
Then he heard his Mom’s angry voice: “JamesWilliam, where have you been?” He hugged his Mom and cried into his Dad’s shoulder when he picked James up. It appeared his adventure alone was more than James had bargained for.
I didn’tunderstand it, we’d been dating a year and Raph never touched me in public. He didn’t mind when I rubbed his back in the mall or if I made the effort to lace my fingers through his. When I first pecked him on the cheek in public he blushed bright red.
I asked him one day why he didn’t touch me in public. In private he couldn’t keep his hands off me. He didn’t mind cuddling at home and he often tangled his hand in my hair or massaged the back of my neck while we watched TV. I adored these touches but didn’t understand why he was afraid to initiate small bits of PDA.
I explained to Raph how it was important to me because it made me feel like I was his, that he loved me, and didn’t care what anyone else thought of us. He was angry at first and confused, but the next day as we grocery shopped he linked his pinky through mine while we waited to pay.
Two days later he casually put his arm around my shoulders at his friend’s house. I snuggled into him kissing him when his buddy went to grab more beer. I linked my pinky with his and smiling, Raph returned the kiss as his friend walked into the living room. I was thrilled Raph understood how much these small touches meant to me.