I'm an excellent liar.

So much so, that I believe myself

Believe the lie.

I'm fine.

Two words, one lie.

We say it all the time.

As if those words, a valid answer

To "How are you feeling?"

Fine is not a feeling.

Fine is thin, a fraying thread.

It's not enough.

Not nearly so expressive

To explain a life

A moment

Or even a fraction of time.

There aren't enough words

In a standard greeting

To express the trueness

of our emotions.

I am not fine.

I've never been.

I'm not always miserable either.

I live in some sort of grey inbetween

Where happiness dwells

And misery follows.

And some days I feel both.

But I'll never say this out loud.

Who has the time for these truths?

We pass like transients

Throughout each other's lives.

The world's too busy.

Go ahead, ask.

My answer will be "I'm fine."

Prose. At last. Prose. At last. How do I thank you for the spankings you’ve handed down.

What did the hand say to the face?

SLAP!!!

Into fruition. My mission to secure a seat at your table. Yes/No? Maybe kiddie? Say it’s so

After a snip it. (You know?) In the Week magazine mentioned the app. (Did it happen like that? Imagine that’ maybe) As similar to a creative writing class.

I thought... What a relief. Because.

Back then. I still had beef with?

Public Speech. And all words used to face the matter. (Teeth Chatter)

And I’d tired at that which once entertained.

Books, beaches, or Babylon etc. etc.

Variety? Yes! Hearing good things. About getting other things of your chest. Remembered twenty five years ago. Writing stories in class as something I did not detest. So the joust of jest. Is/Was for the best.

Imagine That?

Why do people have to be so mean. Is it in their being, in their genes.

Dont say anything if you cant say something nice. Why must I be your vice.

Hatred is gaining most of your control. Watch out girl, next it will be your soul.

You sit back and spew your hatred. You sit there calmly and observe what you created.

Are you happy when you see people cry. I have one question for you, why.

What do you get out of it all. You are so rude, so full of gall.

You dont know me, not one bit. Why dont you something useful with that wit.

Bring someone up instead of taking them down. Put a smile on your face, not a frown.

If you smile, you spead the joy. If you frown, you just annoy.

Im here to tell you should attone. Get off that throne.

In 150 words you can write a whole lot.

Yet somehow it's never enough to say what I want.

I find too many things wrong with society,

and I'm pessimistic about it.

Sometimes I fear the world will never change, even

though I know it will.

But I fear that throughout my lifetime,

the evil will consume me,

in a darkness that I never wanted.

How to control my feelings,

when medication doesn't work?

Sometimes I feel I've seen it all,

sometimes I feel old.

Yet never in my wildest dreams

have I seen true love.

I've seen love, of all kinds,

I've seen two people staying together.

But somehow that's never felt

true to me.

Somehow I wish the world will change,

and I live to see it.

But everyone on earth knows this one truth

you don't always get what you wish for.

Yet, I hope you do.

There’s a ship lying rigged and ready in the harbour.

Not mine, but reminding me it’s nearly time.

Ten weeks that’s all there is to pack up a house and leave.

There’s a bag of books waiting to be dropped off at one friend. A (no longer stray) cat to take to its new home.Winter clothes to be got out of store, washed and repackage, flights to book, shipping to arrange. Decisions to be made over what to keep or not, Notice to be givern to landlord, deposits to claim, and... and..

I’ve no idea where I’m going next

All I know is I will no longer be able to put ‘cast away in the Carribean‘ as my tag line.

Isn’t that a delicious though?

new places, new faces, new adventures

But first anyone want a box of empty jam jars? A pile of yachting magazines, ? A coffee table?

When I see the words "stream of conciousness" it says to me "Dalin, write whatever comes to your head, no censoring, no rewrites, no stopping for five minutes to think about how it sounds." Yet, I rarely ever see anything that looks to me like the person let any old thing that came into their head as they sat at their laptop, notebook, whatever it is they use to write on, leap out of their heads and onto the page. Nope, it looks to me more like something I would have written while thinking too hard but not coming up with anything really good to say. Did I really just write that? God, that wasn't very nice was it. But it was what was in my head. Plush de cush. Plush de cush. That's something me and my girlfriend made up to mean really fancy. See, stream of conciousness people.

I spent all of yesterday lying in bed,

stuck in a nauseous haze. I felt horrible for most of the day, my stomach churning violently. Once again, I was sick because of the daycare kids. It's the same thing, over and over again. Every several months, a sick child

comes over and spreads their awfulness to us. Sometimes, their parents even know they're sick and still send the child over. I'm tired of people being selfish like that. If you know your child is sick, please don't send them out in public to school or daycare; you are potentially endangering many other children and adults. Sure, you don't want to have to deal with your child being sick, and work is important, but no one else wants to be sick, either. Also, don't complain when we inevitably become sick and have to take time off because of your sick kids.

i watch him watch another girl the way the sun chases the moon. he waits each day for that fleeting moment of contact, when they both exist at once, smiles as they walk towards each other and then continue on their different orbits crossingly again only when she decides to shine so he can rest. he worries constantly, about texts back and hidden meanings. when it's been too long since he's seen her he begins to dim.

and i watch him, a mere star among the many, wondering why i compete with a rock when i shine so much brighter. we're made of the same stuff, the brilliant energy of perfectly landed jokes and warm comfort of necessary hugs, yet he lusts for the cold.

maybe one day i'll go supernova, brighter than anything he's ever seen, and he'll wonder what he was thinking passing up the chance with me