Lies.

Your voice: Scratchy like sandpaper, calloused.
That's what is etched in my brain.
Hooked to each dark cavern of memories.
It's the most noticeable.

More shocking than any sight.
More repulsive than any taste.
More poignant than any smell.
More hurtful than any touch.
Anything I've ever experienced.

Because your voice tells the truth.
Even when your words don't.
And I know... that you're lying.
Just like you like always have.

Just like you always will.

Bri.

Paris.

I've flipped through those crisp white pages.
Allowing the intoxicating imagery to satisfy me.
The scent of fresh baguettes, the feel of cobblestone streets.
The special sparkling lights of the Eiffel Tower.

I've surrounded myself in its art.
My room full to its brim.
A vintage Parisian picture, a metal Eiffel Tower statue.
A black and white photo of the Moulin Rouge.

I've dreamt of my inevitable, someday journey there.
Those hopes, wishes, and dreams quickly becoming goals  I must fulfill.
To take dozens of artsy pictures, to see the view from the top of the Eiffel Tower.
To live and experience.

France.
The Eiffel Tower.
The Moulin Rouge.
The Seine River.
The Louvre.
Montmartre.
Notre Dame.

Paris.
The city of lights.
The city of love.
The city of me.

Bri.

Writer.

"You know you’re a writer if your work clothes are mostly sweat pants and pajamas."-Kathryn Smith


"You know you are a writer if everyone has told you that you’ll never get published and you keep writing."-Julian Padowicz

"You know you’re a writer if you can’t remember some of the plot details of the book you just released because you’re so engrossed in writing the next one."-Chris Knopf

"You know you’re a writer when you walk around in the zone, open to believing that every person is a potential character, and every object suggests a metaphor."-Pegi Deitz Shea

"You know you’re a writer when you are not writing with pen to paper or with fingers to keys, you are writing twenty-four /seven in your brain because everything around you becomes a story."-Donna-Marie Cooper O’Boyle

"You know you’re a writer if your friend tells you a heartbreaking story and your first reaction is – wow, that would make an incredible plot for a novel. You know you’re a smart writer if you manage to keep that reaction to yourself."-MJ Rose

"You know you’re a writer when every moment of every day you turn whatever you are facing at the moment into a short spurt of prose or poetry in your head, including your dreams, and it has become so commonplace that you have stopped writing things down and bemoan the loss of them later as the story or poem idea that would have wowed your readership, as if you had a readership because you are, after all, a writer."-Faith Vicinanza

"You know you are a writer if every overheard remark becomes a beginning of a story, if  what you glimpse from the corner of your eye triggers a vignette, if you awake in the morning wondering what the characters in your novel are going to do today, if something you read  evokes a memory you can use in your writing, if all of life is about making connections that help you understand who you are, well then, indeed you are a writer!"-Claire Vreeland

Bri.

Insecurities.

   Impure. Tainted by filthy hands. By harsh words. By the world.
                        You're not you anymore.

   Molded into this clay creation. Shape shifter of body & mind.
                    Porcelain doll threatening to crack.
                
   Insecurities running deep in you like a river.
                Wild, strong, never faltering.

   All the way down to the roots.
           The very core of you.

   That's where you're trapped, stuck.
      Asleep inside this tomb of  a life.

   Wake up from this fantasy.
         Wake up...



Bri.

Healed.

Fixed.
It's fixed.
Not broken.
I feel repaired.
I'm once again whole.
The pain has subsided.
The wound has finally healed.
Left just a scar of yesterday.
A faint and unnoticeable scratch.
The injury ran so deep, now it's gone.
You took it's place, now you're here, once again.
I smile a truly true smile.
The old mask now collecting dust.
Now I'm happy, I promise.
I am now complete.
I feel better.
Finally.
I am.
Healed.

Never.

We all have stories we'll never tell.
Lessons we'll never learn.
People we'll never forget.
People we'll never forgive.
Love we'll never receive.
Love we'll never lose.
Heartaches we'll never heal.
People we'll never get to be.
And lives we'll never, ever get to live.

Bri.

December.

When everything else perishes, I come to life.
When the world outside freezes, I begin to thaw.
When December arrives, so do I.

Bitter winds slice through empty branches.
Frost blankets every reflective surface.
Snowflakes swirl silently.

Christmas lights twinkle merrily in the pitch black night.
Fresh emerald trees tower over our heads.
Winter wonderlands welcome.

When flowers crumble, I bloom.
When skies become grey, I glow.
When December arrives, so do I.