Write With Adora

Right now I'm reading a spate of novels and non-fiction; on the non-fiction end, "Sex and Social Justice" is an incredible read (if you're into ethics and feminism), and on the fiction end, I loved the Game of Thrones first three books (it got a little too weird toward the end of the third haha) and Amor Towles' NYTimes bestselling novel "The Rules of Civility." How to keep writing...I like using crowdsourced accountability! That is, make a promise on a blog or on Facebook to write everyday and have people who keep tabs on it. It works wonders. :) 

Don’t put your hands in your mouth. There are so many germs that live under your nails. They have big long ears and short skinny tails. They live on your hands and on your fingers too. They like to travel around; those little critters do. They go to your head through your mouth and your nose. They travel with other germs that can live in your stomach and toes. Biting your nails invites those germs in. They know it’s an invitation to come in and swim. So, don’t bite your nails and don’t pick your cute nose. You never know when those germs will come and bring a big hose. They think it’s a swim party and so in the mucus they play. They’ll squirt more germs down your throat until your ears plug away. You think you’re sick now, and feel like crying big tears. So you tell your Mom about those germs in your nose and your ears. Mom tells you to sleep as she sends you to bed. All those germs have a big party while you rest your sweet head. Then they decide, they had better not stay, because they heard the doctor is coming their way. They don’t like his medicine; “It Tastes Horrible” they say! As you rest and be still, the germs start to leave. They run out onto your tissues and sometimes your sleeves. So don’t put your hands in your mouth or let those germs get too near. Let them run down the drain while hand washing my dear.

Some things are the same and some things not at all. The things that make us different are the things that we must show. The beauty of God’s children is what lives inside us all. We’re all beautiful though, just different don’t you know.

My brush would seize more meaning Your senses would beseech Much much more of me Not a common man I’d be

And I know, that whatever the journey, I will have found my missing truth.

Yup, I love Sherlock too! And a lot of other shows. The skillful writing evident in everything from plays to games is great support for your point. :)

the forever hush of december air a choir of doves weaves flowers through my hair and the softness of silence still and alone the hush of the soul right down to the bone the words of a poet on the back of my eyes droplets of ink slowly blot out the skies and the whisper of stillness fresh and alive when your body is weak but your essences survives the faeries of summer can build my bones up binding the sinews with honey from a golden cup and the forest of demons traps lives in his hands the lights flicker out and darken these lands

            The girl pulled herself out of the slit with her last bit of strength and collapsed onto the crunchy leaves. As she world began to fade into inky darkness, she could hear, “We found her!” And maybe, just maybe, she might’ve heard a solemn parting howl. 

Open. Close.  Better yet, hang it on the door. I'll wait until no one is around, So I can freely stick my head out, Grab between my fingers, hold tight, Take command, break night; And then, slowly, unbutton, unzip, untie, Uninhibited simulations of what it holds To get a glimpse of what could come to be.   On. Off. Or perhaps, a fixed blank stare; that,  Leaves me unable to read  What your eyes now eagerly try to disclose. I can't understand them for mine remain Distant in that blank stare you first gave When you shook my hands, and politely tried to Fake delight, when it actually resided elsewhere.   In. Out.  Or right in between. Stuck in the middle. Too afraid to move Up or down;      a definite position is terrifying to embrace. Living halfway, just as unbearable. What to do, I ask myself, over burnt toast      and an emptying glass of hope. Wait, replies the draft that escapes from under the door. Same door that hung uninhibited simulations Of what could come to be, but hasn't yet come to pass.   Reset. Wait... Enjoy.    By Ginel Salvador        

That we may live on this earth!

(I would appreciate your critique on this) Queen of Concealment. And, Queen of acetate White. The wind does not discriminate When it dances with their hair; Yet luck has kissed Concealment's fleshy cheeks And teases the other with a song of promised favor. In Whiteness, all colors can shine through, But Black keeps the eye comfortably unaware... Too much of a good thing can overwhelm, and too much of a bad thing numbs. Such intoxicating stupefaction has the starved and thirsty peasantry feeding off of poisoned dishes and salted water. Foods that, in the darkness of their senses, they can't tell is killing them…  Translucent queen can only offer reality: A basket with a few rotten apples, almost stale bread, and forgettable meals; blended ups and downs, balanced joy and sorrow, a melancholic smile with bright, beaming eyes, sharp words laced with the softest whisper of good will, The beauty of variety entwined with the calming consolation of imperfection… This Raw queen's heart longs for an embrace that won't break at the sight of tantrums or demands of affection, and This queen weeps because no one can withstand the clarity. Capricious, sweet queen; and, Tempestuous, genuine queen. Hidden trash is better than exposed truths, it seems. Pretense has become the Capricious queen's favorite perfume, and she wears it under the sheets and when she speaks to God.   Pretense has become the Explosive queen's most hated scent, yet she is forced to breathe in its stench. However, in the end, light swallows the shadows and truth triumphs over the best construed lies. The queens are left to mend themselves: one for murdering all who loved her, and the other one to clean up the carcasses.  Ginel Salvador