Another Writer's Digest Prompt
Back in High School when teenage angst was what I went through daily but didn't know there was a specific phrase for it (I graduated in 1985. I'm old), I used to write poems based on my crush of the week's name spelled out. So if his name was John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt, each line would start with the next letter of his name*. I wrote my best poetry in High School. In other words, my best poetry was written when I was deep in the depths of depression. I once wrote a poem where it was a discussion between a teenage girl and Death about whether He should come get her while she was bleeding out from slicing her wrists. Not one of my best poems, by any stretch of the imagination, but darkly imaginative.
And if you were to ask me if I would want that creativity back again, if I would trade my happiness now for what I once had? I would say Hell No! While I miss school (the learning, not the uncertainty and the bullies), I don't miss the depressions or the hours spent sobbing into my pillow case (or once my cat Kitty's fur (she was named Buttons but we never called her that)). I am thankful daily for Effexor.
Anyway, it is day 11 of the month and I needed to come up with something. Sure, I could post yet another picture of Kalli and talk about how she is secretly trying to kill us (okay, probably not) or how her newest obsession is with ice cubes (Seriously. She will try to dive into our glasses for them. I dropped an ice cube on the floor and she played with it for two minutes (and probably would keep playing if she hadn't knocked it underneath the dishwasher) but I thought I would try another prompt from Writer's Digest.
Today's prompt is this:
Write a 26-word story where every word begins with a different letter of the alphabet.
I'm not sure exactly why Boris turned out to be suffering from panic attacks and anxiety but hey, that's how it worked.
Plus, this was a lot harder than I thought it would be.
*One's first name was Scott. This is how the poem started. Good Lord, was I weird (okay, still am but so not the point)!
Sand and sunshine were promised in the ocean of your eyes.
Crying was not known, the crying I was soon to know.
Oceans have destroyed many, who, searching for sanity
traveled, lost in the depths. I,
Too, am lost.
I really don't remember it that well. The first two lines came easily and then it was
Oceans have something or another many, who searching for something
traveled, lost because or in something. I,
Too, am lost, lost in the something.
So not my best work. I think tomorrow I'll tell the story of my favorite poem I ever wrote. That should be interesting. And, oh, yeah, kind of depressing as well.
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