Here I stand (A Monologue)

by tiffanymonologue, my creative selfPosted on No Comments

writing

Here I stand. I stand on my own two feet, wishing that they were not attached, so that I could move around them and see where exactly I am. What am I doing? Where am I actually standing? And why am I standing? Still, at least I am indeed standing on my own two feet. I have the world ahead of me and I am making it on my own. Yes, look at me doing my own thing. I am living my very own adult life, alone. I have many questions and never too sure if I’m doing everything right. Most days I know I’ve done at least one major thing wrong, but still I am making it on my own. I am living this adult life, standing on my own two feet. But you know what? Some time, well most of the time I wish I wasn’t. I wish there was some sort of clear arrow pointing one way or the other. Still I guess that’s not entirely how this adult life thing works, so here I stand. I am here standing on my own two feet.

UPDATE

In November 2014 I did a recording of this monologue. I would like to share that with you know.

Fingers

by tiffanymy creative self, other updatesPosted on No Comments

writing

My fingers want to dance on the keyboard and feel the story or poem pour out. They want to touch the words and sense the love that can be found within. Within each word there is love and there is hate. It is a battle that rages in each word. How do I use it right? What is the best word to use? How should I write? I must write the right way with the write words, but my fingers they just want to dance. They perform a ballet and then a waltz across the keyboard in the rhythm of my music.

Oh dance fingers dance and let my mind explore and explode with the background music. Show me what I think and how I feel. Shed light to the dark areas of my soul. Where I do not dare to go. Yes, fingers dance on and press the keys to write my own heart’s song with the notes being words  of the wordless song.

How I do enjoy when my fingers dance along  with the music that I hear. They become fairies beckoning me to a new world, or a familiar home.They show me a story that was locked in my mind, unless they decide to write a poem or a new melody. AS I sit they shine love like a n old friend and converse with my mind like a counselor.

Yes, I love when my fingers dance.

If you haven’t tried closing your eyes and writing whatever comes to mind as you listen to music with no vocals you should. That is what I did with this.

Let me know what you think.

Sale (creative rant)

by tiffanymy creative self, other updatesPosted on No Comments

writing

 

I am not for sale but you can by small pieces  of me. My body, heart, and soul are only mine. You can not buy or bid on them. Yet, I will bleed for you. I will bleed out all my creativity. I will happily give you all of my mind as long as I know where to find it at the end of the night.

Yes, I will give my all to give my art, but you will never buy my heart. I will bleed for you because my love will never end. Still no money and no treasure will be set to claim my very self. I will give you every piece of me and some times those pieces will be free. However, those pieces are the things I can spare, those bits are what needs to come out.

So thank you for collecting the things that I shed, but please know I am not for sale.

 

What do you artistic people think? Is that how you see selling your art? It was a random creative rant, so I don’t even know what I think.

For a Second Time I am A Bagel (short story)

by tiffanyshort storiesPosted on No Comments

writing

 

I am still a bagel living my bagel life. I wake up and go to work. I come home and some night I hang out with friends.

While sharing conversation and company with my closest friend a question about pain came up. My friend did not ask about sorrow or the pain that came from hardship. His question was more simple. “Can bagels feel pain?” He pondered out loud to the group.

I was off put a little by the idea that the thought even arose in his head. Of course bagel felt pain. Every living thing can feel pain in one way or another. I being a bagel physical feels pain when some one pokes me, squeezes me too tightly in their hands and when they start to cut into my sides. Every time a knife comes near I must declare that I am still living and beg them not to cut me open.

I also feel great emotional pain. I feel this deep sorrow when I see my people sold as slaves to become someone’s breakfast. My heart breaks when I see the joy of a monster biting down on an unfortunate bagel. As that monster bites down on their bagel my soul crumbles as it can feel the mashing and breaking of a fellow bagel.

I am lost in my thoughts of pain as my friends continue to ponder and had almost come to the conclusion that bagel could not feel any type of pain. It was at the conversation’s end that I told them that bagels could feel pain.

The did not believe me and one of the others changed the topic before much more could be said. I did not mind the change in conversation, since I did not want to explain to people who should have known that bagels feel pain.

It appears that this whole “I am a bagel” is starting to be a thing within my group of friends.  I am not fighting it and actually may start a video series about being a bagel. I just need to make/ get a bagel puppet. I say get because it’s just going to be a bagel with olive eyes and pretzel sticks for legs and arms. The friends of a bagel may be difficult to do though.

We shall see what happens with this. I am enjoying writing the short stories at least.

I Am A Bagel

by tiffanymy creative self, short storiesPosted on No Comments

writing

I have weird friends and I hope this will make them smile.

I am a bagel. My eyes are black olive stuck by toothpicks into my bagel head. My tongue is cream cheese. My legs and arms are pretzels.

“How do you talk?” “How can you type?” “How can you write?” “Why do you talk so very much?” “What is life like for a bagel like you?” These are the questions that I am continuously asked as I walk around with herbs for my hair.

I was riding in the car talking, enjoying the conversation between me and my friends when out of the blue for no reason I could tell the one in the passenger seat yelled, “Shut up! You’re a bagel.”

I was quite shocked and did not know how to react. I indeed was a bagel, but that had not stopped me from talking before. “Why?” I quietly asking hoping that I would not anger him more.

He simply laughed and laughed. Soon he was able to speak. “You’re a talking bagel.” He spoke as if he did not realize for the years we were friends that I was bagel who could not only talk but also walk and live an almost normal life.

“Yes, and,” was my reply all the while the drive sat quiet listening in on the short conversation.

He was amused by the realization that a bagel was talking to him, “How do you talk?”

I could not help but smirk as I answered, “With my mouth and with my tongue.”

“You are a bagel, though.”

“Yes, and you are human.”

The driver finally chirped in and said, “Seriously just shut up. You’re a bagel.”

With that last statement I kept my mouth shut and allowed the humans to talk as I sat in the back simply being a bagel.

A Creative Writing Experiment About Nothing

by tiffanymy creative selfPosted on No Comments

writing

I will write about nothing. Nothing is what I will write about, but what is nothing except the lack of what you want to be. Perhaps I will write about everything instead of the nothingness that I run from.  The nothing that is dark and cold from lack of heat and light. Why would I write about the things that could be considered nothing. Nothing is in fact nothing that I want to write. I will not write about nothing. Nothing is not what I will write about, but I will write about everything instead.

Yes, I will write about everything in my mind. I will jot down notes about  my phone turning off, if only for the night, about conversations with groups of friends, and about people being bagels in a tired mind’s dreams.  I will think about what I write as the words are typed, not wishing to edit the words on the screen. I will only write and write I will. Yes, I will write about everything in my mind.

Let me fly away on the great big plane that is called my mine, so that I can dream about all the lovely things that come from the nothing being left behind. Who left this nothing, this hole for me to find and can I fill it up again with all the things that it lacks. I will shine the light of consciousness in the dark corners to go exploring into the depths of the unknown, like caves in a familiar mountain that was always left alone. I will fill the holes up with my thoughts, with ideas of love and of what I believe about being home.

I will write about nothing. Yes, I will write about everything in my mind, so let me fly away on the great big plane that is called my mind.

My Future

by tiffanymy creative self, PoetryPosted on No Comments

writing

I can see my future in gold, rising to platinum. I see the waves always at my door step, but never coming in. With peaceful chaos I live my perfectly crazy life, remembering to love and laugh even in the stressful hours, even when there is a storm outside. Because, there can be a hurricane outside, but my soul can find rest within the loving arms of the one who hung on the cross.

Yes I can see my future in gold, rising far above anything I have imagined. In my future I am draped with love and clothed with joy, wiping off fear and sorrow like mud that is flung. I know that all the pain, sorrow and fears that I may feel can be washed away and I will be made clean with love again.

I may not see my future with details and clarity, but I do see my future in gold and love.

 

This is another top search inspired writing thing. I really enjoyed a few of the top searches listed this past week, but was only able to jot them down as notes. The exact search was, “I can see my future in gold.”

Let me know what you think.

Beach Walk (A Poem)

by tiffanymy creative self, PoetryPosted on No Comments

poetry

I walk with sand on my feet
with water rushing my toes.
My eyes point down
I lose reality
picturing a warm hand to hold
contradicting the cold ocean water
happy smiles on his face
as we silently walk in companionship
joining our hearts with friendship
and learning love through our eyes.

I walk with sand on my feet
with water brushing my toes
and dream a dream
I never really wanted to be mine.

To Do: (A Poem)

by tiffanyPoetryPosted on No Comments

poetry

I have this to do
now that must be done,
sitting still is not doable.
The laundry needs to be done,
my room needs to be clean,
the mess is taking over.
I must do all the things around.
Can you not see the list in my brain.

I have to do this
and that cannot wait.
The list is growing
even as I sit,
even as I think,
I see it growing
like a monster in the swamp
I have too many things to do,
too many ways I must run.
Sitting should be unheard of
and writing should be put away,
this to do list is growing and growing,
consuming my mind.
It’s taking over my life.

I need to do this
and that is so very important.
Creativity needs to be put on pause
and my goals should run and hide.
I need to do all I need to do,
because I have this and that
both need to be done.
The universe will implode
if I do not do what is on the list.

Or maybe this and that can be put on pause,
perhaps my creativity needs to come out and play.
I can put my list away
and meet my goals instead.
The laundry can wait
and the mess can stay.
I need to sit
and create.

Puzzle Pieces

by tiffanymy creative self, PoetryPosted on No Comments

writing

If we are all puzzle pieces fitting together to make a beautifully detailed picture can you be the one connected next to me. I want to force your gold and silver to connect with my puzzle piece, but I am cardboard. I am just a cardboard piece and you are metal. Perhaps you belong to another picture one perfectly planned for the materials you are made up of.

I do see another puzzle piece off and forgotten. He is not a shiny metal that looks out-of-place. This lone puzzle piece is also cardboard, just like me but his picture is being pulled apart as if life lifted the layers off. I know though, glue and love will mend any bends or pulled picture pieces. This other lone puzzle piece does look to be in the same picture with brilliant bright colors creating a beautiful part. Perhaps this pretty puzzle piece is part of the picture, but he may not be so tightly connected to mine.

My paint is not as bright or beautiful. I do not shine with beauty as the lone puzzle piece, still I will investigate. I will search every configuration. I will try to force the pieces that may not fit together. I will try even if the other piece remains unaware or uninterested in fitting together. I will figure out for myself by gluing down the pulled apart paint with love and glue until I know either way the puzzle is put together.