Kind despite how much she tries so hard to be threatening.
Aiming to please all her superiors despite how they may treat her.
Much to her utter delight when given orders that must be followed for her to be useful.
In hindsight, Okami is a motherly figure who does anything her masters ask of her.
Hello, Then Goodbye
“Things end and that’s always sad but things begin again too and that’s always happy.”
- 12th Doctor
If you told me that every person I cared about would die before me
and then offered me the option to forget about them,
I would galdly run after those memories
because if I stayed long enough to watch you die before me,
I must have liked you an awful lot.
I think the memories--the good ones--are far more soft
than any blade of sorrow and pain
Soda Bubbles & Grandfather Clocks
Soft bubbles popping in the soda pop to the left.
The loud, boisterous laughter of Brother in the other room.
The toll of 15 minutes past eight.
The soft tapping of computer keys.
The loud yet old breathing of the dog at the foot of the bed.
The on and off pressure of air conditioning.
Fuzzy thoughts swimming behind the mind,
as air hummed in the ears to quiet the silence.
The fainter still ticking of a grandfather clock.
The heavy absence of crickets or wind or rain,
which is normally muffled by a window pane.
The rhythmic breathing continues
with the occasional computer mouse click.
More soda pop bubbles shaking in the metal can
and the lone buzz of a phone going off,
is all that remains in the last 10 minutes.
After enough silence, a gentle hum of piano emits from the left.
Nearly, but not quite, drowning the soda bubbles popping.
The computer mouse clicking from the other room,
covering the faint, faint ticking clock.
The breaths of the dog continue to fade in and out,
of one’s continuous thought.
Sheets from the bed shift as the dog stretches,
releasing a sigh of breath before molding back into rhythm.
More soft piano playing like notes drifting in a river.
Yet the buzzing of air in one’s ear no longer causes such noise,
now that the dog’s breathing has grown into snores
and the typing of keys has grown rapid enough
to drown out popping soda bubbles and ticking grandfather clocks.
I'm unsure if this will reach you because I'm not quite convinced you exist.
But if you did exist, I wonder if you knew what was going to happen?
Did you know how dark it was for me?
Were you looking after those who had it darker?
Did you hear me when I gave benefit of the doubt and asked for help?
Did you know I was going to pull through?
Or did you think that perhaps I wasn't in enough danger to require help?
I like to think that if a savior doesn't arrive, it isn't bad enough.
But I felt bad enough to me.
I needed to drag myself back by myself.
Because I chose to do it.
I wasn't visited by you or one of your angels.
I dragged myself out.
Because the all mighty God didn't reply when I gave benefit of the doubt.
The term success never sat correctly with me. It felt out of place, like a puzzle whose last piece didn’t fit.
Success was always an excuse told to small children as a way to inspire them. As a way of saying: You can do anything. However, I don’t think that success is the correct word.
Manipulative, practice, lies, hardship. These words work better.
Success to me is a trait.
Failure is shameful, that’s what we have been taught for years.
Success is expected of you, that is what we have been taught.
Where soft olive vines coil around abonded monkey bars.
When summer breezes carried soft secrets and childish crushes.
Who blooms large violet flowers with sweet scents.
What has become of my old latibule, I wonder?
Why can I no longer feel the soft childhood it cradeled so long ago?
How can I get those memories back?
Pale blue with harldy a cloud in the expanse.
Held behind tinted windows,
and brick walls locking out the silver sound of leaves.
The once soft sound of wind now muted
and the once clear sky now clouded
with dark thoughts that make tinted windows
hold more shadows and secrets
then they held moments before.