Day 8 ‘Intruder’
A collection of Intruders
My bipolar beast
You’re a constant presence, who’s always near, who likes to cling to me. I try to fight you off, escape, but you grip tighter, digging your claws into me.
Sometimes I can lose you, even shut the door in your face. Yet, you stand outside my window peering in, misting up my glass. We have a staring match, but you always win with those hollow black eyes. For hours you stand outside, even in the rain, just, biding your time.
I ignore you, and go to bed, then, I feel a rough paw stroking my cheek. I know it’s you, it always is. Your wide grin is inches away from my face as you lick my cheek.
No matter how strong I get, you always find a way to sneak back in. I’ve tried to control you, even train you. Sometimes, I’ll succeed. Yet, when I sleep, you scratch my back wanting more attention.
Now, I’ve learnt to love you, accept you in my life. I even try to make you happy, soothe you, with quality time, but we still fight, and that’s ok.
You are my darker side, part of me, My bipolar beast.
The humble Dandelion
A persistent intruder slithers through your soil, appearing in the cracks of your pavement. There it bathes in the sunlight, soaking up the nourishing rays, and takes the goodness out of the soil, starving your flowers of a much-needed feed.
This resourceful weed only wants to thrive, to show off its yellow head. But You don’t want it to be happy. You think it’s an insignificant nuisance. So, go ahead, use your toxic spray, and make your garden neat and proper. But understand this, our sun kissed Dandelion will return time and time again.
Memories imprinted on the walls
A tatty feathered crow whacks into the upstairs window over and over, and over again. The noise echo’s through the rooms of a house stripped bare of love.
The noise startles a family of mice from their slumber inside a cardboard box labelled ‘kitchen’, with a felt tip pen. For now, they will feed from the crumbs the fridge has left behind.
The back door has been left ajar, the rusty hinges squeak in the wind. The gardens unkept grass, offers a haven for slow worms and cats, who have taken up refuge in the garden shed.
In the living room, a paper lightshade hangs off a broken light, torn and tainted brown from the sun. Ripped up carpets expose naked floorboards, and wispy webs form patterns in the corners of the celling.
A mouldy stench comes from the bedroom, where peeling wallpaper tries to escape the walls. A stain rubbed raw, leaves a beetroot colour on the carpet, that contrasts the black spots, that have formed on the celling. A dainty diamond ring, once promised to another, lies on the bedroom floor. The sun makes the ring sparkle, a beacon, that attracts the eye of a tattered feathered crow.
I am challenging myself to write a 500-word post a day for 30 days. I will choose a random word from the dictionary and to make this challenge more complicated; I will use the same word to create posts on Twitter and Instagram. I will create a haiku for twitter and post a photo on Instagram. If the word I choose is too obscure to make a post, I will choose another word.