For my unrest, insomnia? Persistent fear Elbows me, embedded deeply here In an outgrown bed (Narrow, but no narrower Than the single bed we sometimes share). On every side you grin gilt edged from long-discarded selves (But where do I fit into the picture?) Your bookshelves Are crowded with previous prizes, a selection Of plots grown thin.…
What can I say, I long only to sleep without dreams. I have only my weed and my beer to console me. I am tired of all this war stuff swirling around me. How I wish I could find a woman to sleep with. I wish I could look into her eyes as sleep overtook her and her eyelids became heavy. I wish I could watch her as her head sank into her pillow.…
The bed is a worm, the droughts are cold, yet my feet swing outward into the chill. Sleep drags me backward until a new thought penetrates, I have a chance to achieve more than yesterday if I move now. I then got ready for a new day at school. I get to school, and immediately my best friend spots me, surprising me as she ran over and jumped on me. As always she starts…
I arrived home and start preparing. The warm water of my shower feels silky against my skin, forcing all the stress and unpleasantries of work off my body, washing it all down the drain. Washing myself with the soapy, scratchy loofa, a familiar smell, of Plumeria flowers after a nice Hawaiian rain, fills the room, allowing peace to fully engulf me. I dress in a brown and black paisley shirt with long see through sleeves and a sweetheart neck line, , that flattered my bosom perfectly, along with a silky, stretchy, pair of boot cut black pants and some modest 3 inch…
I sit in bed all day hoping that a wave of motivation will circum me and I’ll finally get up and enter the world of normal, working human beings. I’ve basically memorised everything in my room from the blue bar stools next to my bed, the tinted orange lamps hanging from the ceiling and even the scent of my lavender candle that I light every night religiously. Night after night I drift off into a deep unconscious dream, where for once it’s peaceful and I can exist without the pressures of everyday things, going to sleep is my favourite time of day and waking up is my most dreaded.…
I lay patiently on the cracked leather chaise longue. The modest room was a fading cream colour, books line the wall near my feet in an ornate shelf, a small desk and chair sit by the wall opposite me next to the iron door, there is a single swinging light in the middle of the room which casts a golden glow over everything and a painting of a sailing ship hangs above me.…
Growing up I was lucky enough to have two parents that worked their tails off at giving me everything I ever needed, and even most of what I ever wanted. I was blinded by that and only saw the final product of their labor. However, they did try to teach me the meaning of work by having me get the normal high school jobs like lifeguarding and shelf stalker at a local Gibson’s. However, I still found ways to get around the actual work and get the most out of the least amount of work possible. Not until I joined the Navy, did I truly learn what real work felt like. With work days that seemed to last weeks and vacation time at virtually nil, I somehow fell into the life as a sailor, and truly learned to love the work itself. When I got out of the service I got married, and continued to not only work my hardest, but did whatever it took to make more money. On December 16, 2008, I got too comfortable in a semi truck and ended up going to fast down a dirt road. I ended up laid out on a hospital bed with a totaled truck, a broken collar bone, fractured ribs, a broken back, and one hell of a busted ego. Just when I thought my personal definition of work had been perfected, I discovered that I still had a lot of lessons to learn.…
The war on drugs whether wrong, right, or indifferent, has yielded a plethora of life changing outcomes for many United States citizens. Both the plaintiff and the defendant have their own side of the dispute, and yet somehow the plaintiff in the non-stop ‘cash grab’ that’s so conveniently nicknamed the “War on Drugs” gets the benefit of zero-tolerance, or minimum sentencing. In most cases the defendants simply are doomed from the beginning due to horrible living conditions and lack of jobs in the area. Coupled with police brutality and prejudice pointed toward the African-American community as a whole, it should come as no surprise that in 2011 there were more African-Americans in prison or “under the watch” of the justice system than were enslaved in the United States in 1850. This is not any more a war on drugs than the Iraqi Conflict was a war on the seizure of weapons of mass destruction.…
We drove over the tall, intense swells of Lake Pontchartrain on the longest bridge in the United States, to get to our new humble abode in Madisonville, LA. As we pulled into our new subdivision filled with forest, wildlife, and ponds, I began to think of all the new and excited possibilities I had in store for me. My new house was an updated, beige stucco, one story with a bonus room above the garage. The bonus room was my new room; painted light, sky blue with one big window on the wall and the roof going to a point at the top. I had customized my new room to make it fit my outgoing, bright personality with printed pictures of my friends and I and white sparkling Christmas lights on the left wall and my initials in wood on the right wall. The downstairs is spacious with a black tile fireplace in the left hand corner of the living room which ran into the black granite kitchen. There was two bedrooms facing each other with a bathroom in the middle of them on the right side of my house. On the left side of the house was my parents cozy bedroom across from the soft beige carpet stairs leading up to my room. I knew from the point of unloading the boxes that this was a start to a brand new life in the nine eight…
I wake up to the sound of laughter downstairs, and the smell of fresh hot biscuits in the oven. I sit up drowsily in bed; the sun is shining through the window, making little patterns of light on my sheets. I rise, feeling the coolness of the wood floor against my feet as they touch the ground. I walk to the closet and grab my faded old jeans; I slip them on, buttoning the snap in one fluid movement. I pull open the top drawer, grabbing a soft cotton tank top and slipping it over my head. I grab my bag and a hair-tie from the vanity on my way out the door, tying my waist-length brown hair in a knot as I hurry down the stairs.…
I am currently sitting in my bedroom, on a cold winter day. My feet touching the rough surface of my ancient Persian carpet, walls of orangey orange stare at me through the pictures on them, and the mountains of dirty clothes falling over me as if there was an avalanche going on. Today is not going well as I feel stressed from all the chores that I have, plus the cleaning of my over infected room. Even though every visitor that gets to see my room may suffer blindness from seeing the mess, I love this room because it has a certain warmth and glow that allows my mind to rest in peaceful bliss. Yes, maybe there is a smell of wet dog and there are pets that I never brought home crawling around every corner of this room but it is the place where I grew up and feel safe to be when I am down. There are so many great treasures hidden in this room that as soon as I clean, I feel water drops fall from my dark brown eyes and run across my cheeks until they fall from my chin and hit the floor. Out of a 24 hour day I may only take 7 hours to get this place spotless and be able to observe the wonders hidden inside of the black door that covers the entrance.…
Never wanting to leave my lax position I stretch and sigh. I tiredly drag myself away from the silken zebra printed comforter and fall out into the living room. The black leather style couch flashes boldly against the deep cobalt blue of the opposing walls, calling me to it. Of course I oblige the billowy haven, crudely plopping down and curling into a ball.…
There is nothing that is more comforting to me than a cozy bed with crisp, clean sheets. My bed has always been my place for rest and relaxation. The only thing that could come close to comparison would be a shower. Both my bed and a shower seem to help me wash my problems away. On my days off, I love to stay in bed as late as I possibly can; I can also, sit in the shower until my fingers and toes are pruned, leaving me without any hot water. The shower is there to help me start a refreshing day, and my bed is my haven at the end of the day. Lying in bed I feel the same as being in the shower; while in both I feel peace and serenity.…
The bedroom is on the ground floor and connects with the main room of the house. The door between the two is kept ajar by a heavy volume listing and describing The World’s Aircraft Engines. The bedroom is large, sunny, the windows facing east and south letting in the day’s light on white walls and a yellow-tinged tile floor.…
Four Poster Bed – A wooden bed and it looks nice but outdated, it has a dress lying on it and it also smelled like a ancient wood.…