crisscross

She worked so hard. Dawn until Dusk, she would sit at that desk. I looked into her closed eyes, and her skin was like leather, stretched over a skull. Her smile lines were worn as they weren't excersised much.

A poem inspired by Maya Angelou's "America" that I wrote

The lives that we lost
      cannot come back

The bullets that were shot 
      triggered without attack 

"Everything is in place! All we need is people to come and yell 'Surprise!'"  The last piece of tape was holding the  Happy Birthday banner up and it swung over Holly's beaming face. 

(This is a sprout of ameliajane's All The Things I Can See. I tried to make it the opposite. This person is an extrovert)

I don't let them stop and question,


My motive or my direction,

Hot. Cold. Laughing. Crying. Light. Deep.
A flickering light.That never shuts off. That's me.

 

The subway rattles and we sit down. 14 stops ahead of us-we have plenty of time. I look up to see a delicate lady with pale skin, long red-brown hair with streaks of gray in it and the bluest eyes.