My childhood

I’m the girl who collected music boxes.  Each one was delicately carved and crafted as if they were made just for me.  I remember losing myself in each heart soaring note while the fragile little figures twisted and twirled, delicately dancing to the sighs of my youth.  Watching those tiny dancers was one of the only ways I could pass the time while locked away inside my dingy little room.  I remember the thin, mustard-yellow bedspread and the thread-bare golden colored carpet.  The uninspiring small room couldn’t have been more unappealing, and my imagination was my only saving grace.  There was always a book resting on my knee and a flashlight hidden beneath my pillow.  Those two items were critical to my overall health and well-being.  Although to be found reading at bedtime often meant facing a fate worse than death, but I still took my chances because reading was my only escape.  

The window above my bed was out of reach, too high to see anything except the smog-filled sky, and that dreary view seemed to envelop everything, even me. There were many occasions when I was ordered to stay confined to my bed, so I would perch on the edge of my pillow, setting the gauge on the quarter-sized timer that I’d bought for ten cents at the swap meet.  The dial was hard to turn and always hurt my hand whenever I tried.  But somehow, the ticking noise that abruptly followed after spinning the dial made it all worth it.  My spirit was somehow calmed and comforted by the tic, tic, tic.  The tiny treasure gave me hope that one day I wouldn’t be forgotten, and I thought perhaps someone would come and rescue me before the buzzer sounded.  Sadly, most days, I was just shushed back into silence once the dial made its final round.  I always wished the familiar chime would mean certain freedom, but that was just another lie I kept choosing to believe.

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/rain-water-window-dark-night-room-2589417/

It was the year 2117…

It was the year 2117, and a brand new shiny city had been built in the middle of the rain forest.  Strangely enough, there were hardly any trees left, just a few scattered vines growing haphazardly on some of the buildings.  The Amazon River wound its way through the spacious city, and man-made islands could be seen throughout.  Streets were a thing of the past, and boats and airplanes were too.  Those who were mentally strong enough could travel instantaneously through mind control.  Others who lacked this ability were at the mercy of those who could. 

Most of the buildings sat atop wide pedestals and were sporadically spaced throughout the city.  Some were shaped like huge cigars standing on end, while others were shaped like flying saucers atop narrower single columned structures.  There were only a few ordinary looking buildings, and even those were all elevated off the ground.  A maze of passageways existed underneath the crowded city.  Vines crept and clung to the buildings’ undersides, and the majority of the passages were dark and vacant. 

Most people walked along netted bridges, which had been built high above the city.  These bridges seemed to connect most of the buildings so that people never really had to set foot on the ground.  The majority of people were very free with their bodies.  Little clothing was worn, and most of the people seemed intoxicated and grungy looking.  There were quite a few structures built of woven bamboo.  These places were used mainly by the lower class citizens.  Many of the buildings did not even have rooftops and were instead completely open to the elements.  The upper-class citizens were mostly found in the taller buildings, which were all constructed of polished metal.  

In the heart of the city was a large open pavilion, and the view from this vantage point was breathtaking.  The pavilion was divided into sections by bamboo woven walls.  Each separate area held feasting tables, which ran the length of the open rooms.  The rooms were crowded, and extra seats were nonexistent.  Food was not available for purchase; instead, neon-colored alcoholic beverages were served in shot glasses.  These colored concoctions littered the tables from one end to the next. 

The rooms were filled with people who appeared expressionless and incoherent.  One woman even had her newborn baby lying in front of her on the table.  The baby was malnourished and naked, untouched and unloved, with its umbilical cord still attached.  One of the woman’s breasts rested along the edge of the table, allowing her baby to suckle while she proceeded to get wasted.  A sign above her read, “Viewer Discretion Advised.” 

This story is based on a dream I had, February 2, 2017. I wanted to share this dream again because I’m starting to wonder if this is a reality we could one day be facing.

Originally posted February 4, 2017 on my other blog, which can be found here.

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: Pixabay.com

Inner battles

People come
and people go,
like the weather
is it all for show?

My deepest desire
is to see someone stay,
to keep a promise
and never go away.

Maybe I’m just needy
and want it all,
I tend to dream
of the impossible.

Regardless of everything
I want the love of a close friend,
one in which
I can always depend.

I believe that life
gives us what we give,
this is what allows us
to fully live.

So I try to relinquish
the tender parts of my heart,
I’ve always done this
from the very start.

But I know deep down,
I’ll never be the only one,
for I am merely
a fraction of the sum.

And yet sometimes I still forget
there isn’t just a “me,”
the equation is more
than what I can see.

Plain as day
and black as night,
this dose of reality
is my darkest plight.

I remind myself to accept
all that I can’t change,
even when life seeks
to rearrange.

There is nothing else
I can possibly do,
I can’t hold on
without the glue.

I’ve become accustomed
to letting life move past,
for I know dreams
they often don’t last.

I only wilt further
when I choose to hold too tight.
These are the battles
I continue to fight.

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/tulip-wilted-dying-wilting-flower-3459282/

This is my chosen place

This is my chosen place
here in this footloose space.
My niche where anything goes
cause nobody really knows
.

I can be happy, or I can be sad;
I can be the good girl or even be bad.
And people can only ever wonder
what kind of spell I’m under.

Nobody ever really knows
my story and how it all goes.
I love this unconfined space.
This is my happy place.

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/book-landscape-nature-wind-weather-2929646/

Unacceptable

His words fester beneath the surface,
weary words of disdain and ill repute.
But what can I do,
and how can I be anything more?
For I am just another daughter,
a regret still in the making.
And my existence is a constant reminder
of all he’s ever done wrong.

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/woman-mysterious-traveler-journey-5718089/