A puddle of nothing sits at the front entrance of my door,
full of swirling colors that choose not to be named. Closer I fall, soon I will be leaking into this tainted water that came neither the sky nor the ground. This puddle has the smells of tears, yet I do not dare taste it for salt. A puddle of nothing sits at the front entrance of my door, everyone stays away. The frigid, murky waters dare me to do something about it, However I just step back into my house and wish for rain boots. I never really mean it. A puddle of nothing sits at the front entrance of my doorway, if I don't do anything it might go away. Evaporation is a tricky process for an unseen liquid to undertake.
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go for it, feel free. not a care in the world. wrench my heart out while i remain innocent and in your eyes. tear it out with your bare, filthy hands and act as though my heart is not the single organism which continues to bring life throughout my lifeless body. act as though it is nothing at all; a mere speck of dust on the face of the earth as a whole. rip it out and drag it across the ground negligently, leaving behind a trail of not only deep red blood, but every hope and dream i bring about as well. do not for one moment worry about my emotions toward the matter, for i am simply a puppet in your distasteful show. take advantage of my isolophobia and remove me from society. i will not be bothered, not for one moment will i be saddened in the least. why would i? because you took time out of your pathetic life in order to scrutinize mine? you are the cause of the scars then ensconce themselves upon my arms and legs, haunting me with every move i make. i cannot blind my eyes, somehow enabling myself to suspend my ability to look down and see all of my hurts, pains, and failures; nor can i undo the cuts which bled from my open wounds for hours and hours, causing me to pass out multiple times and finally leading up to my ultimate diagnosis.
Once in a field many of years before there were ever towns or people, there were two spirits. One of the spirits was a beautiful lady with the eyes of the tiger and the hands of a wolf. She was called Mother Nature. She was graceful and lovely, but she could be vicious. The other spirit was a studious man who could control the power of time. He went by the name of Father Time. One day, while Mother Nature was strolling along the empty earth of grass, remote from anyone or anything living, she stumbled upon a bed of dirt. She was shocked.
“Who dug up my precious earth!?” Her long green dress turned to a hot lava red. Her eyes went pink, showing the sign of death in her expression. She beamed at the pile of dirt and raised her hands to the sun. Then, with a deafening boom and crash, the pile of dirt and mud exploded. When the smoke cleared, the bed of dirt was gone, and in its place was a perfect sheet of grass. “That is much better,” she sighed in relief, but then a puzzled look came upon her face as she realized that there was nothing on the earth that could have done this. She kept strolling, wondering how and why there was a bed of messy, untidy dirt in the middle of her perfect, plain, grassy earth. As she strolled along the earth, her beady eyes spotted another bed of dirt. Like before, her dress turned to a hot red and her face read anger and death. Again, she reached her hands up to the sun and- “WAIT!” The bed of dirt screeched in a high pitched voice, bursting an eardrum like a drummer who had went into your ear, banging really hard on your eardrum with a mallet. Mother Nature fell back as the heat in her hands disappeared. This time, her dress turned yellow as she stared at the muddy disorganized pile of dirt in front of her feet. Then, Mother Nature gave a yelp of terror and fell onto the plain grass with her dress as the color of purple as an old man arose from the bed of dirt. Mother Nature laid there confused and scared looking at an old man in an old polo shirt and trousers who stood over her. “Did I scare ya? I was taking a nap underground for a while. About, say, a few millennia.” Mother Nature stood and her dress turned to her normal green color again. She stared at the filthy old man. The old man did notice and said, “Oh. Let me introduce myself. I’m Father Time. I don’t actually look like this.” In the blink of an eye the old man in front of Mother Nature was now a young man with a crystal clear voice and nice tidy white robe. There was also a giant wrist chain watch hanging from his robe pocket. Father Time looked at her and winked. Mother Nature became frustrated and her dress turned hot red in anger. “I don’t care who you are, so get off my precious earth, or I will have to use the power of the sun against you.” “I’ve been here longer than you were. When I found this place, it was just a floating sphere of soft dirt. I was tired of searching for a perfect home, but then I found this floating sphere of soft dirt and buried myself inside to take a long nap. Then you arrived and turned my beautiful home into a boring field of grass. Nothing. You don’t have to be tightly wound all the time.” Mother Nature started to fume again, but thick brown and black dead leaves started blooming from her dress. She never felt this emotion before. The emotion of guilt- guilt for taking away someone’s home and changing it into nothing. Father Time blinked at Mother Nature with pity. Then Mother Nature spoke with sorrow. “You are right, but I need everything to be perfect.” Father Time listened and put his hand up to his chin and started rubbing it. Then he brewed up a brilliant idea. “Well, we can both create something that is perfect, yet it is not plain and useless.” Father Time paused to add a dramatic effect. “We can grow a garden!” “Okay, but I need it to be perfect,” Mother Nature blinked and yelled. Father Time picked a patch of ground to use and told Mother Nature to make beds of dirt in each section. Mother Nature argued but in the end, there were beds of dirt that were perfectly squared off and very tight. Next, Mother Nature’s dress turned blue, and she put her hands above the soil and rose. As she lifted her hands little stems came popping up in perfect tidy rows. Then, Father Time came over and put his humongous watch under the dirt. As the watch was in the dirt, the little stems grew bigger and bigger. Leaves grew on the stems and orange pedals blossomed from the top. Father Time took his watch out and chuckled to himself. “They grow up so fast.” Mother Nature chuckled and said, “I think I’ll name them Mari, Marigold.” Then the flowers waved at them as if they were happy. Then they went to the next bed doing the same thing and then the next bed. However, each bed had a different plant. Mother Nature’s dress turned to all colors of the rainbow like a color bomb blew up in front of her. Mother Nature was so happy, that she cried in a really melancholy tone. She was now understanding the beauty in anything even if it was messy. In the end, Mother Nature and Father Time were in the same time frame and understood each other. In the next following years, they grow more and more plants around the earth and created beauty. In those years they would also create the oceans to give water to the growing Earth and added rain, wind, heat and more to keep balance with the Earth when they would leave to find another poor, helpless floating sphere of soft dirt waiting for something to bring beauty upon it. that needed beauty and life. Through the process of evolution, animals arose and used the earth as there own home. Mother Nature and Father Time are now only a legend but it is clear that the start of life on our home was that small garden, in our home town. Dear Senator Steve Martin,
You probably won’t believe this, but I woke up today with the strangest though that I was a person. I know; that’s pretty ridiculous considering that I am a woman. Then I read your facebook post that called women “hosts” because we can have babies. I’m glad you wrote that because now I can be completely confident that I am nothing more than an incubator. I exist, plain and simple, to have babies. And if those babies turn out to be girls, they exist just to have babies. But if those babies turn out to be boys, then they can be senators just like you (unless, of course, they are not white and straight.) How could I have forgotten the natural order? Women have children; men, power. It really isn’t that hard to remember. I guess the thing that got me confused before your comment helped clear me up is that I have so many things in common with real people. I have friends and a favorite song and a loud laugh and people who have impacted me and people I have impacted. I have a voice, and I have opinions. This morning when I woke up, I thought that those things made me more than my uterus, but I guess not. I am not going to argue with you that every woman deserves to have ownership of her body, but I do want to tell you this. There are young girls who read the news and go on facebook. These girls read that mothers are “hosts” and whatever your intentions were, I can tell you exactly how it feels to read that. It feels like there is a coal in your stomach. It feels like when you’ve stood up too fast and everything is a little dizzy. It feels like, Mr. Senator, you can see yourself disappearing. That is why I am writing to you right now, not because I think you will listen to a 15 year old girl, but because I need to reappear. I need to prove to myself that I am more than what my body can carry. I am not a host. I am not an incubator. I am a woman who can call something disgusting when she sees something disgusting. I only hope that all the other young girls who read that post can understand this. I only hope that you have not made objects of more than half your state. Sincerely, Oonagh Kligman |