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Lessons

Tryfire5

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The Faith of a writer

         I keep opening doors one by one, but nothing leads outside.

                     There is no destination before me, so I turn back.

            In the middle of the room, a typewriter sits on a table with sheets of paper and corrective tape.

           I sit down, clicking away hoping that if I write the correct story one of those doors will open.

                     If I use the right keywords to engage the readers, they won’t put the book down.

                That someone will open it, and it will speak to them.

                 That is what it takes to open someone’s eyes, to give them hope is to write in a way that it tugs at the soul.

It’s what all writers are reaching for.

Each one of us hopes for so that a door will open, and we won’t be stuck in the middle of the room with all the doors leading out-blocked by so many things: Doubt, writers’ block, the perception of others views of us.                              These ideas must be pitched in the trash like a manuscript you were unhappy with.

 Angela K. Crandall
©4/13/19

Mid-Day Ramblings

Everything feels the same
No forward momentum
There is no change
But everything is changing
Moving
Going
Growing
Even I am moving further into my life
Each step leading to aging
I am writing, serving what I feel is my purpose
Still, it is stagnant
Not, ripening like an apple
But I will rot
We all die
I attempt to live in each moment
And when I’ve risen
Someone pulls me down
Their words, thoughts actions I’m told to ignore
And when I rise above them, the hope lasts maybe a month
If I’m lucky I can brush their thoughts or views aside
Exhale and try to make things matter
This voice that screams for you to listen
And then you’re told you want attention
We all want attention, to be heard
Or would we rather
Sit back and turn on the television
Ignore the things turning around us
It’s hate, beauty, and the uniform we are forced to wear
Society’s standards are not mine
And I type on my machine
I’m in no race
Click, click, click
Words with meaning to sometimes only me
And I wonder if they glimpse at all, peak at what is underneath this skin
Of a beating heart that would bleed
For those who wish to speak
I know what it’s like to linger in the sidelines
To stop, not speaking, to not interrupt, to be polite
Because if you stumble over them, push them, or try
You have no manners
While neither will I.
Angela K. Crandall
©4/2/19

Deep within

“And the beauty, she saw were in the tears they told her not to cry.

The pain that helped her withered flowers grow. When they threw her out of the garden, she found new soil.

It was richer, and she dug that ditch they wanted to throw her in.

She didn’t suffocate, no she took what the earth gave her, sucked its nutrients into her soul and rose!”
Angela K. Crandall
©2/28/19

An evening in…

Moonbeams reflect rays off my window.

 I open it then lean through it looking down as it glistens on the pond below.

Crickets chirp, frogs croak, and for a moment there is serene tranquility.

 I breathe it in enjoying moments passing as the wind tosses my hair at my face.

 Then lean back in, turning away, stumbling to slumber before the sun wakes me.

Angela K. Crandall
©2/12/19

Serenity

The princess knows reality, see’s the truth and endures her struggles. She is precisely herself lifted by light as they attempt to pull her into the darkness, she struggles to break free knowing there are things to be accomplished, dead skin to shed, and doubts to overcome. And what a princess is, is up to you. Hold strong the soul you’ve been given, fight for your truth not with a sword but with reason. Love but do not force, and allow others freedom.
Angela K. Crandall
©1/10/18

Your heart

Have you surrendered?
Did you give them everything?
How far did you go?

Was she a friend, who is he?
And I hear it, from afar, as I sip my tea.
Turning back to my book trying to ignore them.
I find my napkin randomly ripping it apart,
Then consider talking to them,
Telling them all I know.
That this love shall pass.
And if it doesn’t well
That’s luck
Or growth;
Whatever perspective I suppose you see.
Me, it was poison I drank.
But it was friendship, not a lover.
Manipulated to think that maybe I could have what once existed.
Then Wham! It seems to always happen,
Oh, not always
But once
And I don’t expect it again or ever.
I get up to move as they discuss where to eat.
I have my other half
That is the argument I’m given.
But there are a few stragglers around my heart.
Ones who see me, the rainbow
Cherish the bright colors.
It feels though only one isn’t fading
And you can’t rely on one person
Smoother them
No
So I take each acquaintance and smile.
Push- myself to believe
That every life I touch counts
And close friends are limited,
Once we’re true to ourselves
And that’s
Just the consequence, of not being fake.

Angela K. Crandall

©9/14/18

Insight

All my life I have struggled with wanting to be accepted and accepting myself.

I am also at times a people pleaser.

However, I’ve grown to learn that you should do what you want to do.

That doesn’t mean not accepting responsibility for your actions.

Rather that, your actions are a responsibility.

-AKC