Solemnly the boy walked alone wanting to know how memories could sing. He passed himself, his grave, his smile, his teeth grinding. Is it not nice following what we once never knew. A tree shivered off itself to become more, having seen the boy. ‘Wish to know about memories?’ asked the tree. ‘I do.’ replied the boy. ‘Come here. I’ve just ruined myself for you.’ the boy walked on.
What’s your favorite word? I don’t have a favorite word. Everyone has a favorite word. I’m not an everyone. The boy retraced his mind. Who’s everyone. The grayness closed in. There was no sun. There never was.
Nice is an overachievers nightmare. Pleading to be loved and never understood. Along with the rest of the world, it can wait for a turn. -The old man shoved his way out the door. The milk was heavy in his left hand. It was once never heavy. His keys were tucked deeply in his front pocket. He’d picked the wrong hand to carry the milk and now needed to place the milk onto the parking lot pavement to retrieve his keys.
copyright 2016 -M. Taggart
If we don’t think like you this makes us a degenerate, or slave. What’s next. I’m imagining your campaign. It’s already ugly. Grow the apple farthest from this tree and please let’s not forget where it came from. A young girl hung her head in shame. She walked along the beach alone. Hurt. She happened upon the frog. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked. ‘I’m doing everything in my moment to be exactly me. What are you doing?’ asked the frog. The young girl studied the frog. ‘I’m being sad because I’m a degenerate.’ ‘And who called you a degenerate?’ ‘The man who didn’t like my dress. I told him I wore it for the sharks and that I wanted to grow up and swim with them and know them. That’s when the man told me I was a degenerate.’ ‘It’s best to never know that man. That man has forgotten where his dress swam.’ said the frog.
Cloudy whispers sank near the window asking for more. We held our mind under steam filled moments screaming. No more doors without locks. No more drawers to be pulled. The brushes and combs were dead while everything else looked on.
Hopelessness is no reason for more hopelessness. It’s a self inflicted mood absorbed in selfishness. The boy walked on splintered glass to view pain. He wanted to understand. The frog was not here and he collected his breath to continue. He spoke out loud what he’d heard, ‘We can be the most hurt we’ve ever been and go to sleep smiling and wake up laughing.’
For more M. Taggart Odd Walking Thoughts-
Our throat is filled with unending pressure. Each swallow becomes more difficult. We watch the wall to end us and then remember a boy with brazen glances. His hair is unruly and he’s climbing a tree. He said he wants to climb to the very top and then sway to the next before climbing down. We ask, can we be this wild boy?.
It goes over most. The wall is so tall, so very tall. Brotherhood isn’t only a word it’s especially not. The wall isn’t so tall to not topple, yet we don’t let one another see past it. Stone mixed with cement and more sand and water builds deeper in our minds than the construction. Some though, harness their everything and see through without ever climbing.
A rock we stepped on wanted us to know something. Clouds pushed on and exuded bright sunlight. We searched for the message and found nothing. Sadly we hurdled inward picking ourselves apart to know fully about the rock.
Even if a sprint took place what else does the shouter expect other than an immediate response. When the immediate response takes place, which never happened, even the imagination ought to understand its mistake.