The scraps
Fall from
Your mouth and I
Mound them
Into my
Little mountain,
Conquer
The peak
Of all
You’ve
Discarded. -e.c.
Tag: writing
Ericka’s Quick Tip: Storybird
How to turn a photo into an illustration for your children’s book.
First: This is my first Facebook Live video.
Second: Yes, I know that over-sized army green shirt looks absolutely stunning on me.
Third: Yes, I own a hair brush. I think.
Fourth: Learn more about Prisma here and PicMonkey here.
Fifth: Pick my brain in the comments, and I’ll answer your writing/publishing/marketing questions in my next FB live video.
Evolution
Here’s your
March
Of time
And Evolutionary
Progression
But burning
Your offspring
And tasting
The sharp note
Of blood
When nobody
Loves you
Is like a sweet
Reminder
That your
Death
Is the only
Real truth
You know.
– e.c.
Dear Ava,
DEAR AVA,
I hope
This
Finds
You well and
The kids
And Jack
Are safe
And happy
And set
To swimming
In the beautifully
Blue pool.
The picture
Was lovely.
It looks
Like a long
Shard of glass
And that bird
Reflected,
Hovering up high
Reminded me of the one
That swooped
And ate your
Newborn butterflies
That hatched
From that kit
I bought you.
I should have
Paid more attention
But butterflies
Are a nasty thing
To own.
How’s the cat
And that gerbil
That I’m always
Afraid the cat
Will eat?
Is Lucille
Still eating
Her fingernails
Like you always used
To do and might still?
Funny, the dedication
taken
To shredding
And imbibing ourselves.
I’m well.
The postman
Asked the other
Day
About your father
And I said, “Still Dead,”
But no smile on his face.
What a waste because
He looks a little
Like
Dicaprio in Gatsby
And a smile
Would do him good.
Me, too, I guess.
But not to get down
And out.
Have to keep the spirits
Up.
Have to keep on keeping on.
Sometimes, I talk to God
And dare him to listen.
I have to get on
Now
And I know
You’re busy with the
Glass shard pool
And Jack and the kids
And all the minutes
That feel
Like hours
Until your glass has
Spilled
And all you see
Is your damp
Eye hovering
From
above.
21 Things I’ll Say When I Die
- I cried, too. You just couldn’t see me.
- Being brazenly proud of your Internet history should have been a warning flag.
- It’s awful that I can only sum up the entire contents of your heart into that moment you pressed a cold wash cloth against my head when my nose wouldn’t stop bleeding.
- I used to press my head against your car window, wishing you were anyone but you.
- You are my best friend, and I can’t wait to high five your face in heaven.
- You should stop talking so much so I don’t have to be sad for everyone’s ears.
- You taught me all the worst parts of myself and it only made me see the best in you.
- I wanted to be you when I grew up, but only if you would have grown up, too.
- I am not evil. You aren’t either. Let’s just leave it at that.
- It’s okay. I understand now.
- Wishing it away is like swallowing your own tongue.
- I stopped writing because the words began to break and fall apart and when I tried to pick one up, it bit my hand and called me a fraud.
- You are a whirling dervish on acid.
- It wasn’t fair of me. Not a single moment of it.
- I never wanted to be you. Not really. I just wanted, just one time, for you to want to be me.
- Don’t be me. Don’t ever be me.
- Unless you want to. I don’t blame you. I have nice ankles.
- But seriously, guard your heart, your loins and every tissuey organ that has the potential to give you grief. And when you do give them away, be prepared to never ask for them back.
- I loved you all the most. And perhaps that was my vilest sin.
- One more high five, best friend.
- Okay. I’m ready.
Water
Art
Thankful
