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Photo by Fotoscapes.com

Song: Moving Forward by Israel Houghton

I’m tired of only posting pretty stuff. Today I laid out on the f******floor with a Spiderman blanket and a plain notebook. Things look so different from down there. I just literally laid my heavy heart down on the ground. Relief. Seeking warmth I just rolled up in the weight of my worry and listened to the heat come through the vents. If I curse am I a hypocrite? You taught me not to hold things in and to say them how I feel. I’m hearing gospel songs, “You make all things new.” You told me not to hold things in but I can’t just spill out all over the floor, the kids could slip. They don’t like tears, snot, spit and sadness in their food. So lately I’ve been holding tissues, paper towel or a t-shirt up to my face. Trying this new thing.

I call it the muffled scream wail-cry.

I kick my feet and try to force an internal combustion that no one sees. It turns into a weird growl. Then an inquisitive “why” as if I deserve to understand or question. You taught me how to spill out. She taught me how to pour in. Right now I just want to hold you and tell you it’ll be okay. Even if I’m not sure if it’s true.

Shaun Liriano 12/2/2020

Beauty for Beauty

I wrote a piece entitled “Saints and Poets” about 3 months ago. It was deleted accidentally and I was heartbroken. I never had the courage, patience, or frankly…the balls to re-create it. The feelings and emotions that intercourse to breed the content of “Saints and Poets” sparked once again and came up with a really cool scene. It is in no way as good as the original but it was fun to write.

“I am one who tells the truth and exposes evil and seeks with Beauty for Beauty to set the world right.”
~ W.E.B Dubois

EMILY: “Does anyone ever realize life while they live it…every, every minute?”

STAGE MANAGER: “No. Saints and poets maybe…they do some.”
― Thornton Wilder, Our Town
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Now the two, stood naked in a corner holding one another. They were an unlikely pair…

It was so dark. It was so cold. It was excruciating. You could smell the impending death. They were coming. You could hear their breaths. You could see their green eyes in your nightmares. You couldn’t hear their hearts beat.

Although the sound was faint, he knew it was there. Tom knew their hearts could still beat. He knew they could still feel.
Tom was a faithful person. He never stole anything, not even a pen. He was the type a guy to always leave a penny in the “take one leave one” tray at the 7-11. He would leave his change in the vending machine so he could surprise the next person. He never forgot a birthday. He never forgot an anniversary. In fact, he would forget his OWN birthday! He just loved people but more importantly, he believed in the goodness of the human heart. Tom was small framed, balding, and he kept his wardrobe impeccably simple. He had 7 different button down shirts, 3 polo’s, 2 t-shirts for the summer and 4 pairs of khaki pants. He did his laundry every Friday at the Laundromat in his apartment building. His sock drawer had dividers to keep everything separated and organized. He kept bleach under the kitchen sink to keep his socks white. He budgeted $5 per paycheck, in case one of the items in his “wardrobe” needed to be replaced. Tom didn’t have many friends but the friends he did have called him a Saint.

Samaria was what her dad called a “rebel without a cause.” If you said the sky was blue, she said it was magenta. She saw colors where there was only black and white. She described grey like a rainbow. She was tormented by life and impaired by her imagination. If you paid a penny for her thoughts, you would wait for a refund. It would never be because her thoughts weren’t intricate and unique. It would be because they were too heavy for the average person to carry away from the conversation. Samaria was a dreamer and she counted blessings not sheep. Samaria was a fighter and she would battle 300 warriors in the blistering cold to defend the honor of someone she loved. The dwelling in her heart had multiple vacancies. There was always an invitation to be warm there. Samaria was a poet.

Now the two, stood naked in a corner holding one another. They were an unlikely pair…

-To Be Continued-

-Shaun Nickens

***Day 5 of the 30 day writing challenge. Thank you to my new followers, I smile every time I get an alert. Keep the comments coming. Leave your feedback @shutyamouthnow on Twitter. Happy New Year!