Glue Experiment Your colour palette glues me to you Experiment with me and find my truth My meaning is yours so tangle me In your hands and catch my glitter Statuesque Politicise these curves Drag me screaming Your cause is not mine Go create your storm That teacup is calling you
Today I am being and doing all the things in the title a little more than I did yesterday. These are not ground breaking statements, in fact they are what I jotted down from a Wordle poster I was spending more time reading than I should have done during a tedious meeting the other day. But they stuck with me, and as I usually remember very little, being cursed with a memory like that kitchen implement with very small holes in it, I feel that this imbues them with a certain 'specialness', a truthfulness if you will. Now I honestly believe that I have a very good life, I am happy and I want for nothing that is necessary to keep body and soul together. Okay, so I don't have that pony I've wanted since I was seven and neither am I Mrs Jake Gyllanhall, but those gripes aside, I am very lucky. Of course, it is human nature to not recognise this (by choice or happenstance) most of the time. There are so many things to divert the mind after all... from the big...
Kettle Polly puts the kettle on when she is fed up. This is a mistake because as she slams the dented red metal down on the kitchen table, hot water takes its cue and leaps out. She watches as the scalding stream hisses towards her arm, bare to the elbow and waits for the bite. She could have moved but she chose not to. She could have screamed but she chose not to. The mistress looked on fast movements and loud noises with little enthusiasm although she was four floors up. When you least expected it, she would make a comment about the running of the house and you would lose your monthly afternoon off. Polly spends the rest of the morning with a sore arm and worsening temper. She needs that afternoon off this week. I decided to try prose today. It might lead to something. Or not.
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