(19) handpicked: non-fiction

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:bulletblue: :iconhello1plz::iconhello2plz: happy holidays to everyone! :santa:

:bulletblue:  here is a journal page for pieces of art that might inspire you the way they inspire me. 
 thank you for taking the time to bask in their beauty.

handpicked updated version by wispy-blue


non-fiction


:bulletblue:  i suggested these eight beautiful writings to Souljournalists in the hope to support the group, encourage more readers and writers to join.



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Mature Content



birds on a wire.today i saw two birds sitting on a telephone wire and i wondered if maybe they were on a date.  i wondered if i were a bird, if i would have lots of dates that we spent sitting on a telephone wire watching the clouds shape shift and watching the cars roll by, with little kids pointing out the window saying, "look mom, those two birds are sipping coffee in a cute little cafe on the telephone wire!"
of course, the wire would never be able to hold a cafe.
but i'm still stuck wondering if i will ever have a date, whether i'm a bird or not.
i wish i could tell you that i don't miss you in the type of way that makes my stomach churn, but i do. i really really do.
i miss hugging you from behind, even if you would just stand there and even if the backpack you never put in your locker got in the way. i liked being able to say i hugged you, even if you didn't like it and even if i didn't know how i felt and even if we weren't two birds sitting on a telephone wire sipping lattes at a sm
Elyssami Faith and Mykelti Noah (TRIGGER)When my first pregnancy occured, I was 13 years old and terrified. This baby had not come about consensually and I didn't have a clue what to do about it all. I'm ashamed to say I hated and resented the baby growing inside me because I was so afraid. I believed/felt that the baby was a boy, but I didn't care to name him. Out of fear and hope, I told my father I was pregnant, knowing what he'd do. My father arranged things, and in a horrific ceremony, my son died. The whole thing was so traumatic that I repressed it all for many years. When it returned, I began to sort through my emotions and experiences. I named my son Mykelti Noah. His first name is an African name meaning close to God, and Noah traditionally means peace or comfort. Together, I interpret his name as "at peace with God", which gives me comfort. Although I recognise that I could not have given him a safe family life, I still grieve his loss and have come to love the innocent baby he could have been.
In the meantime, I g
<da:thumb id="408762979"/> JournoFriday night, half past seven. Or is that evening?
Washing up the last few dishes from a lovingly prepared but simple dinner, I stare out into the rainy dusk. This is what my life is - days full of obligations, the object of my life to love and to do some good. She, on the other hand, is at some gala dinner in London, hobnobbing with journos and bloggers, dreaming of fame. I don’t know her well enough to say for sure what the objects of her life might be, but at a guess, to be loved and to be famous probably feature in the top five. She claims to want a family some day, but shows no sign of settling down in the way I, who eschew any notion of having children, somehow have.
We’ve been in our respective relationships with tall, handsome, nice men for a similar length of time, although hers was punctuated by a dramatic separation period a few years back. Like something she no doubt saw in a film or read about on the pages of a glossy celeb gossip rag, right? I forget whose ide




:bulletblue: also featured in: 
weekly blab journal #2
:bulletblue: previous feature:
(18) handpicked: the moon

:bulletblue: for your most :+fav: pieces of art, write me a note or link me to your own creations.
i might have been missing out on them and i would appreciate that you share them with me.
© 2013 - 2024 wispy-blue
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childwoman's avatar
Thank you for the feature, Cristine!