I, Tiffany Joy, am an author and love to write. I have many different writing styles which depend on what it is I am writing. I write both fiction and non-fiction. I also write poetry.
You can’t hold me down.
No you can’t control this feeling.
My energy is rising up
and it is a glorious feeling.
I can conquer my fears
and maybe even the world.
I can fly to new heights
and bring you along.
See how I soar
because I’m lighter than air.
See how I shine
it’s like day
when it is night.
No, you can’t hold me down
my energy is rising up.
It rises and rises
filling my lungs with air
filling my heart with life.
Today is going to be a wonderful day.
I am in control of my brain. Yes, I am. I control what I think. Hey, did I just wink or was it just a one eye blink? Wait, no I was telling you how I control my brain. I control what I think and how my mind works. It works because I see a cat. He is a cute cat. Hey, no, brain, come on. I control you. Stop, serious, stop being distracted. Stop in the name of love, before you break my heart. Nope, I am not going start singing now, even though it’s fun to do. Well, it can be fun to do. Maybe I should just listen to music. Oh look, YouTube is up. I should check that out.
Come on brain. Focus! I am in control. I will not get distracted and will write about being in control. I will do it. I am in control of what I think and how my brain works.
There I did it. Now, brain you can you back to daydreaming and thinking about the sound a cat makes as he is playing with a toy.
I took a walk today to give myself time to think. I walked down to  the beach, thinking inspiration will find me with my feet in the sand. Yet, even before I stood on the shore I was reminded of my mind and a muse came whispering in my ear. He said, “feel your feet on the rough ground below. The asphalt hurts the soles of your feet, right?” Yes, the road below me was rough and hard to walk on without any shoes being worn. Still, I walked on knowing that the rough road would make the soft sand feel that much better.
I got to the stairs that led to my destination of cooling sand on this wonderfully peaceful evening to find that the night had long-held claim over the steps. The darkness of this alley way was caused by the two homes that blocked any moonlight or street light from entering. Still I felt the each step on my way down knowing that once I turned the corner there would light once more.
Now, at the bottom with my feet in the sand and my eyes taking in the romantic moonlight, the ocean breeze blew cold. For a moment I thought it was too cold, but when my ears opened they heard the breeze creating a melody with the ocean’s waves crashing on the shore and the distant wind chimes singing like bells, I knew that no cold would be too much for this beauty. The breeze then felt fine and reminded me that my body was still hot from the workout at the gym. The wind became a comfort not a burden, calming me instead of shutting my senses down.
I walked along the dark shore keeping my senses aware but my mind was thinking. It realized that although the road was rough relief came. Although times were dark,I light was found around a corner. Finally, my mind realized that although it may seem like the wind is cold if you change your perspective something that seems like a burden can be a comfort.
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.
In November 2014 I did a recording of this monologue. I would like to share that with you know.
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.
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.
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 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.
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. Â 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.
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.