*thump, thump, thump*

“Stop it!”

I command my beating heart

Frowning heavily as I continue walking

*thud-thud-thud-thud-thud*

It pulsates louder and faster

“Do you want the world to hear that?”

I snap at the rhythm, before rounding the corner

*THUD, THUD, THUD*

The cacophony explodes inside of me

“Come on, it’s not the first time you see-”

I bite down hard on my lip as I am waved over

*THUMP, THUMP, THUMP*

It drums inside of me

It takes all of my self-control

To not turn and run

“Do you want to tell your secret to the world?

Do you want everybody to know how much you are in love?”

I seethe under my breath

We both bloom into smiles as we finally meet

“Come on; let’s paint the town red tonight!”

You say, before grabbing my hand enthusiastically

You and Me

Both so in love

(I just know you feel the same way about me)

We're both rushing on,

Testing how far we can go

Before the web tangles us up so tightly

That we cannot hide it any longer.

Love is a funny thing

People tell you that love means

to give yourself to others

regardless of how you feel or

whether they deserve it

Love is unconditional

It’s not dependent on your opinion

Well, people would be right except...

backup for a minute

’Cause how can you truly love others

when you don’t even love yourself?

How can you give your love away

when you haven’t found it yet?

Love starts

within

Only once you have fully grasped

the wonder of the glorious

divinely-wrought creature

that is you

can you start to see the wonder

of your human brothers and sisters

Only once you know how

utterly

worthy of love

you are

will you know the

innate worth of every

living creature

Love is unconditional, yes

bestowed without regard for

feelings or fairness or

“do they deserve it or not”

Sometimes it’s hard,

but we do it, because it’s not about

their actions, it’s about

who they are to us

Then, why do we so easily

forget that

those rules also apply to

ourselves?

Have you ever seen the poster in English rooms:

Lets eat, Grandma.

Lets eat Grandma.

This is supposed to be a way to show how important commas are.

But I think commas are the dumbest thing in the english language

Wouldn't everything

be so much more beautiful

if we just said what we had to say

without taking a pause?

If we didn't have to take that breath

and we didn't need the dramatic effect

to make the words have meaning?

If we just talked and talked and talked

and didn't take a break?

What if life wasn't about holding back

and stopping

and breathing

and pausing?

If it wasnt about planning

and grammar

and perfection?

If it wasn't about some rules someone wrote about the language we speak

hundreds of use ago?

What if it was about

speaking and speaking and speaking?

And wishing

and exclaiming

and writing?

And if we cannot understand

what the author meant to say

I think

that's ok.

Why should everything be about understanding

and thinking the same way as someone else?

Why do we read

books the same way

and listen to commas

to tell us what to think?

But of course, it is, very well, a personal opinion.

My mind is like an open book

Each page a new discovery

Writing is the only thing

That's helped with my recovery

So long in a darkened place

Escape is necessary

It took so long to find myself

The ego was contrary

I am happy now to say

That I have found contentment

Able to move on and live

There's no room for resentment

I hope that everybody

Can find the peace within

A brightened face upon the mirror

A new life can begin

Barren. It is as though the ground has turned to dust. Golden and powdery, it sifts through his fingers as he kneels there on the ground, his tears dried up in the heat, eyes void of expression. He cannot summon the strength to rise. He has said his brothers’ names so many times, calling through a whirlwind of sand and helpless, wild screams. He does not know where they come from or who is calling for help. Perhaps no one. Perhaps it is merely the wind howling around him. Sometimes he thinks it is a child wailing, or others the familiar voices of old friends, long dead; but it cannot be them, he tells himself, clenching his fists and biting his dry lips. He yells again with all the force he can muster, planting his staff into the soft ground and using it to get to his feet again, pulling a cloth over his face as a wind begins to blow up, weakly at first, but growing in strength by the moment.

Barren.

Trudging slowly and painfully, step by step, he makes his way along the dunes where once his home lay lush and full of eager, growing life, fed by the lakes of Torrens. He knows that buried beneath the dry sand lie bodies and pillaged huts, skeletons of old fishing boats and the little children who once played on the shores and waded in crystal water. With each step he feels greater agony in his heart, weighing him down until he can barely move, barely think. His mind is tired of trying to understand. His body is exhausted from walking. His heart is broken with loneliness. Pictures flick through his head, nearly forgotten memories of women washing their clothes at the water’s edge, carrying their babies in slings across their breasts, humming songs in the evening or sharing stories in the morning. Of boys kicking a ball in the midst of the village, men ploughing with the perspiration of work on their brows, elderly men and women sitting and looking out at the water that had once inspired their youth and carried them on its waves in their little wooden boats.

And a girl.

One girl. She had poppies carried in from the fields that lay behind the sea, one pushed behind her ear, others gathered in her apron. A blue apron. Why would he remember that, he wonders, his eyes closing against the wind. Just an ordinary girl. Oh, but she was beautiful. He knows that. He seems to hear her laugh ringing in his ears and feel her hand slip into his, her golden head leaning on his shoulder. She seems to call his name from afar and then whisper it in his ear, and though he tries to answer, his throat is too dry. He is tired, so tired. He does not feel himself stumble and fall, does not hear the wind whipping about his head. The sand stings his face but he does not notice. He hears her laugh one more time.

And then he sleeps.

Sitting in my dressing room, fully dressed, I flexed in my mirror. “Yeah, Maya, I’ve been working out. Could you tell? Oh, yeah, just a thing I picked up for no reason,” I said with another flex. “Wanna maybe, y’know, eat food?”

Knock, knock, knock!

I stood up and ran to the door. “Hey, cute--I mean--Maya!”

“Hey, Caleb,” she said, blushing a little. “Still need me to do your bow tie?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“You look extra nice today,” she said as she finished tying my bow tie.

“Thank you,” I said, quickly turning as red as a tomato. “You--you look nice too.”

She smiled. “Sit down. Your hair’s a mess.”

I sat down without objection. She could tell me to jump off of a cliff and I… would not do it because then I would have no chance with her. Point is, I would do anything for her.

Her phone buzzed as she finished fixing my hair. “Ope, everyone’s here. Better get on out there,” she said.

“Yep,” I said as I stood up. KISS HER ALREADY!

I left the dressing room and walked onto stage. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! IT’S BACK AND BIGGER THAN EVER! PEN TO THE PAPER 5 HAS ARRIVED! Ooo, that rhymes…”

A Spanish matador worked his tight-set jaw. With dark, burning eyes and long, jet black sideburns he dueled with an invisible bull around an abandoned arena. Between his gold embroidered leggings scampered a white and red spotted hound, eager to help chase and frustrate the invisible beast.

At one end of the arena, stoically observing all the goings on between the matador, dog and invisible bull, reclined an Aztec colossus chiseled from porous stone, basking under the scorching afternoon sun.

Two lopsided, handmade toy dolls strolled into the dusty arena and stood next to the Aztec, fascinated by the chaotic scene. Each doll was less than twelve inches tall. One a naked male figurine, accompanied by a jointed female wearing a brightly colored, striped dress. Huddling together, as paternal twin siblings might, they chose to spectate at a safe distance. Both dolls privately wished they owned a camera to capture the mad, dramatic play enacted before them in the bullring.

Abruptly the bull fighter stopped. Salty sweat ran from under his cap, down his neck, soaking the high, embroidered collar of his tailored satin waist jacket. His brilliant red cape hung from his shoulder, hiding one arm. He approached the sunbathing Aztec colossus with confident, bold strides. An ostrich egg magically appeared on a gold plate resting on its stomach. The matador fished around in his jacket for a gilt fountain pen and signed the eggshell, creating each letter using gallant serif flourishes. The pen’s indigo ink soaked into the shell and blurred. The last letter of his signature dripped around the curve of the giant egg.

The male and female dolls spread a cross-stitch smile up at the intense Spaniard’s proud face. They rolled their eyes back and forth, silently hoping to receive his autograph as well. The hunting dog flopped down next to them and panted, letting his swollen tongue almost touch the ground.

The matador replaced the egg on the plate and snapped a soldier’s quick heel-turn. The Aztec statue remained mute and expressionless as the Spaniard executed magician flourishes with his blazing cape. He then squared his shoulders, and sniffed at the air with flared nostrils. "Toro, Toro" he taunted, and once again engaged in mortal combat with his invisible nemesis.

#pentopaper5challenge

Everyone has something that has changed their life drasticallly. Either it changes for the better or for the worse. The thing that changed my life, was probably for the better. Although it wasn't really a thing, it was a who. Walking down a dark alley trying to get home from work wasn't really my plan. But neither was my boyfriend of 6 years dumping me, my car breaking down, or my unqualified coworker getting the promotion that I have been wanting for 3 years now. As a twenty-nine year old, all of these things happening to me at the same time really brought my spirits down. I was depressed, barely getting up in the morning to go to work, only to come back home and lay in bed. When I first seen the young child staring at me, it startled me. I couldn't really tell if the kid was a boy or girl in this light, or lack thereof.

"Hey, are you okay? Where are you parents?" I asked the child in a soothing voice. The child just hid more behind the stack of boxes. I turned my phone flashlight on and walked over to the child. It seemed to be a little boy with longer hair, like it has never been cut. "Are your parents around?" I asked the kid again. The boy then shook his head no. "How old are you?" I questioned. The kid held up five fingers. "You're five?" The boy then shook his head yes. I got into my purse and pulled out a bag of skittles. They were my favorite so I always had some on me. "Would you like some?" I asked the boy showing him the bag of skittles. He nodded his head with a smile on his face. I opened the bag for him and handed it to him. "What is your name?" I asked.

"Joseph" said the boy with a mouth full of skittles.

"Well Joseph, I am going to contact the police so maybe they can find out were you belong." I said while pulling out my phone. Joseph continues on eating the skittles while I called the police.

"911, how can I help you?" Asked the operator.

"Hello, I am in the alley just off of 1st Street and Kennedy Avenue and I found a boy about age five alone in the dark. It seems that no adults are around and he will barely talk."

"Okay, I have a squad car about three minutes away from you, I'll send them your way. Do you mind staying there?'

"That will be no problem." I said and hung up. "Well, it looks like we are going to get you home." I said to Joseph. But as soon as the police car pulled up and the two cops got out of the vehicle, Joseph jumped into my arms. I held onto him whiling repeating to the police what I told the operator.

"We will take it from here." said officer Hamilton. When he reached for Joseph, he held onto my neck tighter and wouldn't let go. No matter what we did, he would not let go of me.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry to ask but do you mind riding with us down to the station, since he feels more comfortable with you?" Officer James asked. I nodded my head and got into the back seat. By the time we got to the station, Joseph was asleep but his arms we still tight around me. Once we got inside, I gave my whole little speech again and a social worker came. The social worker was able to get Joseph to take a little break from being around my neck. A couple hours later, the took Joseph away to wear he would be staying until they found his parents and I went home. I got home and tried to go to sleep, but I couldn't. All I could think about was Joseph and hoped that he was okay. The next day after work, I called the number of the social worker to see how Joseph was doing. They found his parents pretty quickly but they were in no shape to take care of him so he was going into the foster system. My heart was broken for him and I had this feeling of missing him. I knew Joseph needed a home and I felt like that home was with me. So, I started the process of trying to adopt him. About two years later, he was offically my son. I think about that moment all the time and because of him, I have an amazing son who has done great things with his life, and I met my husband, officer Hamilton. Joseph was the thing that changed my life drastically and I could not be happier with the way my life went from terrible to great.

"Hey Joseph, are you okay?" Lily, my wife, asked me. I nodded wiping the tears from my eyes.

"Yeah, I just found this letter that my mom wrote. She never really went into details of how she adopted me." I said while folding the letter back up. My mother died three weeks ago and we were going through her house. My dad, had passed about 2 years ago and I know that she missed him.

"Although I don't remeber this happening, she was also my dractic changed and it was for the better also. I love her and miss her so much." I said looking into the sky.

I like to go to thrift stores

and look at discarded decorations.

I like to see what their new price tags say.

Who decided

that the 2000 limited edition ornament

was worthy of 99 cents

or the out of tune Santa music box

warranted a sum of 3 dollars?

I like to go to thrift stores

and look at discarded decorations.

I like to imagine where they used to live.

Who decided

that the plastic, faded holly wreath

no longer graced the front door

or the chipped snowman cookie jar

served its last set of sweet delights?

I like to go to thrift stores

and look at discarded decorations.

I like to select one item each year.

I decided

that the naughty or nice coffee mug

would serve a steaming, fresh cup

and the brass reindeer statue

would majestically sit on the mantle.

I decided.

It was a steady mid-afternoon at the Bakersbury's; Tom was sitting on the deck as usual, rocking back and forth in his chair, pulling on his pipe. The kids were playing in the yard. Little Charlie was running around with a stick pony, eyeing the big pile of leaves mommy had raked up earlier, while Lucy (who, despite being a year and a half younger, stood a few inches taller than him) trailed close behind, trying to catch him.

"Don't mess with the leaves, Charlie", Tom said, with white puffs of tobacco smoke emphasizing his gravelly words as he spoke them. Charlie didn't respond, as that would interrupt him teasing Lucy, but his wild path took a turn away from the tempting mound. Tom smirked, "And go easy on your sister!".

"Papa! Charlie won't share the pony!" - Lucy, who was so frustrated trying to catch her brother that she had almost burst into tears, decided to switch tactics.

"Nuh uh!" Charlie exclaimed, "She had it before me, it's my turn!"

Here we go again. "Charlie, give your sister the pony. You can have it back later."

"But dad, it's not Lucy's turn yet!"

Tom wasn't ecstatic about discussing the politics of the situation, though, "You'll get it back later! Let your sister play with it."

"Fiiine", Charlie sighed, handing over the toy. Lucy beamed, smug in her apparent victory. She ran around the yard giggling, no doubt competing in some imaginary derby, while Charlie sulked back to the house - head hanging low. Tom didn't see a reason to stop him, but then again, he didn't realize why Charlie was going inside.

A few moments later, the porch door opened again. This time, Charlie had backup. "Sweetie, what's going on?" Theresa asked, dripping irritation. Charlie, clasping her half-dirtied apron, was hiccupping through crocodile tears. Tom always struggled to explain these things, and this time was no different, as he stammered through the events of the last few minutes to his unamused wife. Lucy had noticed the discussion, but didn't care what it was about, preoccupied instead with the landscape of her fantasy. She did feel, however, that this would be a good opportunity to pay the leaf-pile a visit, since its guardian was now distracted. With a shout of glee, an explosion of leaves littered the yard. Lucy temporarily vanished in a flurry of hazel confetti, only to emerge again from the chaos.

Tom, who was secretly relieved his clumsy monologue had been interrupted, shifted his attention to the mess in his yard - "Lucy, I told you to stay away from the leaves!". Lucy, however, no longer carried the smug impression she bore before, nor the toy she had conned from her brother. She was silently limping towards the house, sobbing softly. Theresa now sensed there was something wrong besides Tom's harsh words, and quickly made her way over to scoop up Lucy.

"What's wrong, dear?" She asked.

"My foot hurts", Lucy sobbed. But before she reached her mother, a rustle among the mess and some movement caught Tom's eye. The checkered hide of a rattlesnake appeared - slithering quickly to escape its destroyed encampment. It wasn't headed for the girls, but Tom shot up from his chair.

"Snake!" He exclaimed, almost falling forward as he bounded down the staircase, pointing. Theresa grabbed Lucy, and both made it into the house safely as Tom and Charlie followed. Theresa put Lucy down on the dining-room table, and yanked the pink and white trainers off her feet, acting on instinct. Two crimson rivulets emerged above her left ankle.

"Tom, get the car."

The ride to the hospital was tense, with Theresa in the back with the kids, doing her best to comfort them. Charlie was crying for real, now, and struggled to speak, "is... hic... is she going to be okay?"

"Yes, she'll be okay", his mother assured him quietly, but the fear in her own eyes conveyed a more uncertain message.

"Dad, I'm scared," Lucy said.

"Everything is going to be okay, sweetheart."

They arrived at the hospital a few minutes later, and Lucy was quickly treated with antivenom. She would have to stay and be monitored for a while, but the doctors let the Bakersbury's know that Lucy was likely going to be okay. Tom nodded, "thank you."

"I'm sorry I jumped in the leaves, dad," said Lucy, solemnly, "I should have listened." Her chin was pressed against her chest, sniffing away tears of guilt.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Theresa responded.

Tom paused, admiring his brave young daughter - who had handled the ordeal surprisingly well. "You sure gave that snake a fright, kiddo."

She giggled, wiping her face, "yeah."

"If you want," Charlie said, "when we get back home, I'll let you play with my Legos."

"Really?" she asked excitedly, almost forgetting the IV in her arm, and the bleak walls of the hospital room.

"Yeah!" Charlie continued, "And you can have as many turns with the pony as you like!"

Maybe snakes aren't so bad, Lucy thought.