The Shelf

Deep in a secret room, high on the back wall, there is a shelf.

Far from mocking eyes and sticky hands,

this shelf is home to my memories.

Not pictures,

for they are displayed proudly throughout the house.

Not priceless Heirlooms…

no one trusts me with those.

No, these memories are mostly small

and made of plastic.

A Jem and the Holograms barbie,

A Lumiere smiling his cocky smile,

A flaming red haired Chucky.

his happy grin and terrible green shorts making me smile.

A Doug pen, A Spritelet,

Ninja Turtle Action Figures,

3 copies of the Labyrinth,

The list goes on and on.

Wonderful, Amazing, so bad they’re good, so good they’re perfect,

80s and 90s shows, the soundtrack of my childhood,

on a dark and dusty back shelf,

hidden from all,

Waiting for me to turn on the light

and Come Play.

Free Form Fun

Dragons and pumpkins make me happy. The woosh clank bang of swift fingers and sticky keys excites me. the freedom of words and the permanence of paper put together in an indelible way, like the unseen fingerprints on my heart suddenly becoming a tattoo. Some days I can’t possibly stand another second of the ripping, searing pain from the tat gun, most days I couldn’t survive without it right there, my personal colorful needle to the skin of my universe.

Words are an addiction, like ink, and like the fresh tattoo the stories I write are never far from my surface. Aliphonsore is always in the back of my mind, reminding me that his story is not finished and, like an addict, I respond by going back. But one more word is the best addiction to have. It costs nothing for me to write this little free prose page…unlike the tat of Al curled up in the trailing vines of a pumpkin that I wanted to get. That beauty would cost me more than I’m worth just now