Heartburn

Everywhere I looked today I saw rejection.

 

Every hello was preface to “good-bye,”

Every smile, a scheme in disguise.

Every frown was meant for me.

Every possible could not be.

Every eye, hollow

Every friend, shallow

Every brow, furrowed

Every hand, burrowed

in a pocket.

 

Backs turned,

“bread” burned,

 

indigestion.

Because life can be hard to swallow.

SignatureMed

 

Cover photo credit: pixabay.com

#DailyPost

 

Audience of ONE

We’re little children toiling like architects in our sandboxes crafting temporary structures, scratching and scraping all day,

pouring out our hearts with blood and

sweating out our souls into this work until it’s perfect

or until there’s nothing left in us.

Then, when there’s nothing left, we step back with pride to see what our love has made

and we’re glad to see the finished product soaring before us!

It’s something!

Despite its imperfections, we’re proud

and  anxious to share it

so we run, barefoot in the streets, calling out to you—wherever you are

“come and see what we made!”

“Come and see what we created out of the dirt!”

It was nothing before, just sand, bits of paint, scraps of words…

it wasn’t pretty at all, but look at it now!

Now, it’s something.

We made something where there was nothing before and we want you to see. We want you to like—no, we want you to love it.

It is our work, our blood, our soul…

our work…

but it is incomplete without your approval.

The artist needs an audience–

even if it’s just ONE.

 

SignatureMed

Cover Photo credit: pixabay.com

Mr. Nice Guy

Mr. Nice Guy

She’s says he’s a “nice guy”

but his smile is too sweet.

Like saccharin. It leaves a bad taste.

He wears a nice suit

Says all the right things

How do you do?

Yes ma’am

Right away!

But when he thinks I’m not looking

I see something evil lurking

His gaze glosses over as we discuss the weather.

His eyes drift down my thigh…

He checks himself when I say his name

and the saccharin smile returns

plastered like a Las Vegas billboard

false advertising

My daughter bounces back

like a brightly-colored beach ball.

“I’m ready!” She announces.

And I know she isn’t.