The glow in her face reflected the correct amount of money had been spent on her. She was such a mean and self-centered little brat. Her voice made this awful din, continuously thrumming when she didn’t get what she wanted—what a whiny cretin she was. Santa’s imaginary slide down the chimney and his short stint spent drinking the milk and cookies left for him made her wave her hands excitedly. He’d sure have a stain on his reputation had they not made it look convincing! Fiddling with the clasp on my chain, my thought was, “Score one for the parents!”
I’ve loved many songs over these past 57 years, having some favorites that I would play every day, all year long. But I never really adopted one as my theme song. That is until I heard this one above by Pink “Raise Your Glass.” I immediately fell in love with the lyrics of being a strong, self-assured being. I was going through some events in my life at the time, which gave me some insights on how to move forward. Being myself in every way possible became my motto, and the song certainly illustrated the importance of it. The release date of this song coincided with a convention I attended in 2010, and it was the beginning of my transformation and writing journey.
VJ’s prompt this week took me back to a place which was a beginning for me, a demarcation of when I stopped living in the acceptable little package society decreed I wrap myself in. I felt very strongly about the words in that song, it prompted me to get the tattoo below. Now mind you, I’ve always been the “loud” friend (enthusiastic, dancing, and singing when it was inappropriate, laughing at all the good jokes raucously), but the tattoo also represents having finally found the strength in my voice. I wanted people to understand that I won’t shy away from anything anymore, my opinion is OK to share, and we must go through this life boldly.
Thanks for this prompt, VJ! It has me rockin’ in my chair! 😉
“I want to know where Julia is!” screaming frantically in the cloud that was my head, disconnected and ethereal. Slowly, pieces of the crash came into view before my eyes. I felt a sudden dread now. Then panic as I sucked in my breath harshly. Hard to hold on to reality at that moment. A medic said to inhale deeply, and then the room got darker. In the echo of tunnel vision, I could hear the nurse shout, “Damn creep! How can someone think it’s even remotely OK to cause this accident just because lesbians were kissing at a stoplight.
Sailors confused her home with a bottle of their favorite drink, releasing her accidentally. They callously pitched her green housing to the sand upon discovering the error. She decided no wishes would be granted upon seeing the multitude of lecherous and treacherous men. It was wise to remain out of sight. They didn’t deserve her help, nor would she be a slave to them and their filthy, disgusting wishes.
Besides, thinking to herself – Why would I ever go back to that little space when I’m out here in paradise? No,the genie is not getting back in the bottle.
If miners wear cotton-linen beneath their uniform, it can darken like the coal they caress on the job. In dumping the shards into a cart, a raucous cacophony bounces around the mine. They labor strenuously, day after day. Many miners covet a rich man’s lifestyle, call for one less arduous. Sadly, their station in life leaves them coated with a daily cover of dust, the color as black as what comes from the walls. At shift’s end, they hang their filthy pickaxes on the built-in column. The sun’s corona, an unusual sight, greets them at the entrance of the mineshaft.
