You…

You are amazingly beautiful inside and out.

You are the perfect man women dream about.

Your charming good looks and welcoming smile

Opened the door of my heart and stayed awhile.

Your charisma and attention to detail make you one of a kind.

A modern man with old fashion taste make you purely divine.

A special rare one of a kind gem, they don’t make anymore.

Any woman who has lost you, didn’t know what she had in store.

Pardon My Excuses

Pardon my excuses, results of damage, post abuses.

I spent my last dime chasing that fast high.

 My conscience, a goody two shoes.
 
Constant battle, bad temper, short fuse.
 
There’s more than what meets the eye.
 
Years of issue wrapped up nice.
 
Closed eyes grant instant escape.
 
Temporary fix, short getaway.

Alive

Single-heartedly driven

no cure for it prescription.

Out of my mind,

mentally challenged,

but daily persistence.

My universe is different

no Einstein but gifted.

Decipher genetic code,

in my blood it’s imprinted.

Crucify the wicked,

all sin judged, no different.

We throw stones

claiming we’re the

righteously living.

My downfalls forgiven,

clean slate brand new vision.

Fighting not to survive

but to feel more alive.

Writing 101: The Things We Treasure

For our final assignment, tell the tale of your most-prized possession. If you’re up for a twist, go long — experiment with longform and push yourself to write more than usual.

As a child growing up I discovered I had a love for collecting things. Everyone else had similar interests from playing sports, dancing, and going on camping trips. All I wanted to do was build whatever collection peaked my interest at the time. My collections stemmed from my fascination with rocks and gemstones, stuffed animals, porcelain dolls and Barbie dolls, Sanrio character memorabilia, grass hoppers (that didn’t last too long), treasure trolls, and my favorite, glow in the dark jewelry. I had so many prized possessions in all of my collections; I still have some of my collectors’ item dolls and rocks to this day. One year we attended my father’s annual Company Christmas party, which was something we never wanted to miss. The employees usually received complementary stays at various hotels or expensive gifts to thank them for all their hard work. The children would also take part in the gift giving; there was always a station to take pictures with Santa which included a present at the end. That year I was around seven or eight but I received the cutest, softest, and most adorable white fur reindeer stuffed animal. I was so in love with my gift that I took it with me everywhere I went (School was off limits, moms orders).

I called her Isha and wanted to love her forever and keep her as long as I could. Even when my mom thought it was time to hand over some of my toys to my younger sister or donate a few things I never passed on my Isha. When I started junior high I had to clean out my room and get rid of some of my childhood “stuff” as my parents would say. I bagged a lot of old items I didn’t care for anymore and clothes I’d outgrown. I even had to bag my stuffed animal collection including my favorite of all, Isha. My mom told me not to worry that everything would be safe in the attic and that I could always get something down if I needed to. That set my heart at ease and helped me feel better about the transition.

One Saturday morning my mother decided to have a garage sale to free up space in the garage and the attic. I woke up about 10 o’ clock and could see the action going on in our driveway. Boxes that were once full of shoes and handbags were completely emptied out. Some chests and suitcases we filled with party dresses and costumes were now half full and the bins full of my old toys were barren. There was a lady there with her son and young daughter who were buying pretty much everything. The young girl was probably three or four years old and had the cutest, softest, and most adorable white fur reindeer stuffed animal tucked under her left arm.

“Isha!” I yelled running towards the little girl and her mother, “I’m sorry but this one is not for sale.”

“Oh no, well it was in the box.” The woman answered.

My mom now walking over to see what was going on.

“Mom why are my stuffed animals down here?” I demanded.

“I’m sorry I thought this was the bag of stuff you didn’t’ want.” She replied.

The little girl was now gripping Isha around her neck while her mother forcefully tried to take it from her. Her eyes lowered as she began sniffling, tears filling her eyes, at the loss of her new found treasure.

“Here you go.” The woman handed Isha back to me, now trying to console her daughter but she wouldn’t let up.

How could I take Isha back now, I felt terrible even demanding her back in the first place.

I gave my prized possession a tight squeeze and kiss.

“Don’t cry it’s all yours,” handing Isha over to the little girl. Her face lit up as she grabbed her new found treasure.

“You promise to take care of her?”

She nodded with a serious face.

“Tell her thank you.” The woman said.

Even though I was sad to see something I treasured now gone, I was happy to know that Isha would bring someone else joy like she brought me.

Writing 101: Don’t Stop the Rockin’

Today is a free writing day. Write at least four-hundred words, and once you start typing, don’t stop. No self-editing, no trash-talking, and no second guessing: just go. Bonus points if you tackle an idea you’ve been playing with but think is too silly to post about.

Daylight had crept through the openings of the curtains giving me a chance to wake before the rooster crowed. Dan’s 80s sing-a-long and thumping throughout the apartment was a sure sign I had overslept. The four hour rest period was more than enough to keep me on my feet and if not the images of Donzilan flashing through my head would do the trick. I forgot how many people I had told in my drunken state and now my phone was lighting up every minute. After responding to the final “did you get pictures?” text there was a normal one asking me out for breakfast this morning. It was Stella, who I had met earlier in the night. She seemed to be a very fun girl and apparently had a sense of humor; there was no way I’d make breakfast but I would do lunch.

“Eww wee, girl what time did you get in last night?” Dan asked.  “Or should I say this morning?”

“It wasn’t that late, almost five, I think,” I answered.

“Child, you kids today and your partying.” He said handing me the glass of water. “Don’t get me wrong you need to have fun, but every night? I couldn’t do it.”

Dan was a flaming Puerto Rican with a chiseled physique and high cheekbones. He moved from Virginia and lived in the city for fifteen years. Besides working on his fitness he was an LGBT camp counselor who had just been laid off a few weeks ago.

“New night, new adventure,” I teased. “I actually met Donzilan last night!”

“Shut up! That must’ve been exciting.”

“It was crazy, I also ran into a former classmate from Atlanta and I’m having lunch with his friend who lives here.”

“Girl that’s the universe for you, but you needs to get on those castings.”

“I promise I will.”

Dan had more interest in my modelling career than I did, he always asked for pictures and if I had castings. He was melodramatic but very thoughtful.

Looking in the mirror didn’t help me, I wasn’t expecting to see my polished self but at least appear halfway decent, eww wee was right. My eyeliner and mascara were smeared all over my under eyes and my false lashes hanging at the end of my lash line. My hair was a big tousled mess, matted into a stringy poof. The left side of my face seemed a bit puffy and I felt exactly how I looked, gross. All in all it was the evidence of a very good night and I would do it again if I had to. A cold shower would rid the zombie like feeling. I wasn’t a big drinker when I went out but some nights I felt the urge to go overboard and always regretted it the morning after. The cool water running down my limp body felt like a surge of energy bringing me back to life, it was just what I needed.

Writing 101: To Whom it May Concern

Pick up the nearest book and flip to page 29. What jumps out at you? Start there, and try a twist: write in the form of a letter.

My word was normal.

Dear Normal,

Who freakin’ is? Well not me that’s for sure and I don’t intend on ever being that way. With that said have a great Friday everyone.

Peace,

Lauren

Writing 101: Serially Found

It was one of the hottest days of summer but perfect enough for a cruise around the city with my two wheels.  I had borrowed my friend’s very expensive mountain bike for a couple of weeks and had loved it. I was able to maneuver the city at my own pace without having to take the usual underground transportation.  Riding up the Hudson from Battery Park was my favorite bike path. I had made plans to have lunch with a friend in the meatpacking and enjoy some cocktails on the roof of the restaurant. We weren’t there for more than a few hours and decided to head to another location. As we exited the restaurant I noticed my bike was no longer attached to the post I had locked it to. Someone had stolen the pricey bike. I was devastated and could not stop crying. I did what anyone would do and went to the W. Village police station to file a report. I phoned my friend with the horrible news and promised to repay him.  He felt sorry for me because he knew how much I enjoyed my few weeks with the bike.

I spent the next couple of days searching for another bike on craigslist and hoping that maybe I could find something similar to the bike my friend had. Exactly one week after losing the bike I saw a posting for a mountain bike that was purchased for $65 but they believed had been stolen and that they would like to find the rightful owner if they could describe the bike. I called the number on the ad and told the gentleman the exact description of the bike along with the cherry lip balm I had in the pouch underneath the seat.  I picked up the bike that evening and gave him the $65 he paid for it. He said that he purchased it from a man on the street and he knew that the bike was stolen because it was worth much more than what he had paid for it. I believed him he had a few bikes of his own and wouldn’t have offered to find the real owner if he was the one that had stolen it. I was so happy to find my bike!