beneath Her canvas

The Artist herself is dual-natured. She has two distinct souls and thus, two different pairs of windows into them. She speaks with one and thinks with the other, sees with one and looks with the other. One can never tell where she begins and ends, or even which she she truly is. The hers are both hers. Continue reading “beneath Her canvas”

In Response to Why She Can’t

This is a continuation of sorts. A quick, fragmented thought (reaction?).

Bright, white wings. The little girl’s biggest dream was to fly. She pinned a new white feather each day.
Bright, white wings. She was ready to grow up.
Then one day, she dyed them bright pink. It was surely just a fad. She wanted them to stand out. After all, they were still wings, just full of color to boot.
Bright, pink wings. Outstretched to cover her double. Continue reading “In Response to Why She Can’t”

Flying kites

“Failure is not in my dictionary,” I began in a defiant tone, “because I am a ¬†flyer of kites. In my hands, I hold the strings to hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions of kites. In all different colors. They dance around in the sky, soaring higher and higher without limits.

Sometimes though, the wind blows too hard, the kite goes the wrong way or perhaps someone cuts the string. That’s what you call ‘failure’. And this kite falls down, slowly. Slowly, ever so slowly, it falls from the sky and comes to rest on a lone tree. More of these ‘failures’ follow. More kites. Blue. Yellow. Orange. Purple. Shiny. Plain. Glittery. Bright. Pale. Continue reading “Flying kites”