EyesWideShut

Some things are best left undefined

Never Smooch A Brooch — March 23, 2015

Never Smooch A Brooch

Elan Mudrow

Nancy Cunard Nancy Cunard

Always walk arm and arm

With a purse. They’re insecure

And get addicted to junk

Don’t listen to babbling bracelets

They get caught up in the apparel

Never hang out with a trashy trinket

Necklaces will fool you

With spoiled-ass sweet talk

Keep them behind buttons

Or they’ll wink at any old dog tag

Don’t let a ring control things

Anklets can be footloose

Make sure they wear bells while jingling

Earrings think they’re trapeze artists

Dangling high, unless their studs

Then one’s fine, two’s ok

Three or more is an orgy

Toe rings stink

Don’t give into those

Snotty little nose rings

Divulge nothing to pinky rings

They’re not mature enough

For indiscriminate indexing

Can you believe the gall of the tiara?

Never let a choker get its hands on you

Bangles are for bums and beehives

Rosaries want to wait until they’re married

Then all hell…

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Love, Elsa —

Love, Elsa

I know it’s too late. You don’t have to tell me. I messed up, I did. I know it’s all my fault. But here’s where I have a little problem. My love, I clearly remember. You held my hand, one cold night in September. And told me that everyone deserves a second chance. Sometimes even a third. This was my first mistake. I know it hurt. I said I was sorry. I pleaded. I begged. Heck, I grovelled. I knelt before you. But you still don’t believe in my love for you. That day when you left, you didn’t let me explain. I won’t say it wasn’t what it looked like. Because that would really be a lie. But I’d still like to let you know exactly what happened. So that I’ll be at ease. And we’ll both know what this means. For us. For our love. For our dreams. For our forever. For our dreams of love and our dreams of forever.

We both know you weren’t always there. Not that it’s an excuse. But here’s the problem: it was just me in that big empty house. I was all alone. Just me in the couch. And when the lights would go out, my heart would beat. And every time the floorboards creaked, I would scream. I was scared. And here’s the case where I needed a friendly face. I was desperate, please try and understand me.

When he walked through that door, he came bearing gifts. A little rum and a little coke. Harmless, or no? Soon, inebriation engulfed me. And the room swam before me. It was only natural that he bent down and kissed me. Right beneath the mistletoe. Unfortunately for us, it was nowhere near Christmas.

But fate was mean. And just then you walked in. To meet your best friend kissing me. Beneath that nonexistent evergreen leaf. There was such silence as was deafening. With downcast eyes and crestfallen expression, he walked out past your stormy demeanor, and left me to your volatile anger. Suddenly, I was stone cold sober. But not a word did you utter. You walked right by me. Upstairs and into our room. Closing the door loudly behind you. And there I was, back to being alone. My heart shattered, cause i knew I’d betrayed you. And as tears ran down my face, there grew in me a deep seated hate of the words love and loyalty. Those words that hit me right where it hurt. And of the word friendship. Whose true meaning he never discovered. Not that I’m trying to play the blame game….sigh.

But what hurt the most was when you came down the stairs. And the look in your eyes said it all. We were done. Over. Finit. I opened my mouth but no words would come out. And you left. Taking my heart with you. For weeks I called but you didn’t answer. Till three weeks later I called and she picked up. She told me to forget you. She told me to move on. She told me she was your new boo. She told me you were done with me. When I found you I apologized…or at least I tried to. Because you wouldn’t even listen. You just walked by.

So what happened to the undying love you pledged to me? I’d really like to know. I’m not saying I wasn’t wrong. But love, where’s my second chance?

Love,

Elsa.

Why I Write… — March 11, 2015

Why I Write…

Some might ask, why do we write?

Well, I write because I can’t not write

I write because it’s the only way I know to deal with the aches in my heart

I write because it sets my soul free

I write because it’s the only way I can express all the things I see

I write because it proves that I can do something

That I’m not a complete failure

I love to write because I know writing is the only thing I know will love me back

I write because my pen can change lives

My pen can put a smile on someone’s face

Can bring a bright sun into someone else’s rainy day

I write because writing represents all that I am

And all that I can be

I write because writing gives me no limitations

Writing breaks all the barriers, defies all the rules

Writing gives me a chance to prove;

That I can do it too

Writing says; forget what they say!

Writing says; yes you can!

I write because writing makes me real

I write because it proves that my existence is not a fluke

I write because writing makes me feel

That finally!!!

Here’s something I can do…

Glass Walls — March 4, 2015

Glass Walls

Have you ever watched something from behind glass walls? For a second you can almost believe that there’s nothing there. That if you keep walking, you’ll walk right through. And the molecules that make up matter won’t be able to stop you.

Truth is, no matter how thin it is, it’s still a glass wall. It’s still a barrier that won’t let you pass. It doesn’t matter that you can see through it. Or that you can ALMOST walk through it. No matter how much of a farce this seems. A glass wall will always be just that. A wall.

The Other Woman — March 2, 2015

The Other Woman

Hold back the sunrise

Let the night last forever

Because when the night’s over

You’ll leave…

You’ll go back to the other woman

The one with the ring on her finger

The one who walked down the altar

The one who doesn’t know

That you have another lover

To her, I’m the other woman

The reason her husband sneaks out at night

I’m the reason she wakes up to an empty bed

The reason her husband doesn’t touch her

The reason he doesn’t care

To her, I’m a phantom that haunts her

I’m not tangible, no way to be certain if I’m real

To her, I’m the most selfish woman in the world

And hell, it may be true

But to me, she’s everything I wish for

And everything I can never be

She’s the epitome of my fantasies

A woman of substance, a woman of worth

She has everything

Why then should she deny me my little pleasures?

So I’ll keep you

Till the sky turns pink

Till the sun’s first rays shine upon our tangled bodies

I’ll hold you

Till your cellphone beeps

Till it’s time for you to leave

Till it’s time for you to go back

To the arms of your other woman

Some Roses Have No Thorns —

Some Roses Have No Thorns

Friendship is like a rose. They say every rose has thorns. The thorns are the painful parts. The tears you’ll shed. The fights you can’t avoid.

When you grab a rose, you’ll eventually get pricked. But the fact that you’ve been pricked doesn’t mean you let go. You hold on tight. And yes you’ll still get pricked.

But after a while, you don’t feel the thorns anymore. You become immune to their painful stings. And then to you:

That rose has no thorns.