dreamwritesstuff

[dreamwritesstuff]

clay mask

i wear a clay mask and every day i mold it. what face do i need to present to the world today?

when i was little my mask was too wet- i didn't know how to sculpt with clay that stuck to my hands. i didn't even know, for a long time, that i needed to sculpt at all. but eventually i learned that my face wasn't the same as the others around me, so i went to the river and i began to learn to mold

i am older now, and i have grown wiser, though i no longer remember what i look like under the mask. maybe i have just grown tired; my hands stiff and achy every morning when i awake. 'better hurry now' the people say to me, 'the mask wont mold itself.'

[dreamwritesstuff]

the library

sometimes i wander through the library in my mind; it keeps my memories safe, all in one spot. i met the librarian once, but she didn't like me much

"what're these ones?" i asked her, reaching for an old book it was sitting on a high up shelf surrounded by others that looked like it though they were all dusty and covered in webs "don't touch those" she said quickly, hitting my hand away and she nudged me down the steps away from the old tomes that i now was so curious of

they were thick books with browned pages and dyed leather binding. they sat crooked on the shelf, i wanted so badly to open one, to see what the writing inside was like, what memories it held, what stories it told

i felt a like a little kid being ridiculed for peeking into the locked doors when i've been told not to. maybe that's all i am, a little kid who never got to grow up quite right

what memories do those books hold? are they dangerous, i wonder? do they tell secrets, stories dipped in darkness and dripping with a chill you can't quite shake off? i felt nauseous at the thought. i know that feeling a little too well already

maybe i don't want to know. maybe the librarian was right to shoo me away, and maybe those books are dusty, covered in webs, for a reason

[dreamwritesstuff]

puzzle of us

"careful," he says, putting the piece into place- the last one we have. it's finally done!, i go to jump up from the table, "but there's gaps," i realize, "the edges aren't finished and there's holes in the middle" "i know," he says, "but this is all we have for now"

i stare at the puzzle. it's old and faded, much older than i. the corners of the pieces are peeling up, the paper printed on the cardstock not glued down well enough. they were never cut quite right, never fit together like they should've, you had to force them to fit sometimes, unsure of if it was the right spot or not. the colors were sepia tinted and, as i looked at the picture as a whole… "what is it?" i asked "its us" he said, "its our story of childhood"

i stared at it some more. yes, i could see it now, the swings with our cousin, playing catch with our dad, baking with our mom, games with our sister… "but what about my memories?" i asked he shook his head, "those memories aren't happy"

that didn't feel very fair

so i stared some more at the puzzle of us, with the missing pieces and torn up paper and peeling edges and confusing pictures and sepia toned colors and i tried to make it feel like home

he set his hand on my shoulder, "it's okay" he says, and i believe him because he never lies, "it'll feel like home soon"

and i didn't know how he knew what i was thinking but i believed him and so we sat together staring at the incomplete puzzle of us and it didn't feel like home still, even as the clock ticked by hour by hour, month by month, but maybe it will soon

[dreamwritesstuff]

mourning my body

mourning my body and the things ill never do the things i used to dream of and the things that ive been through

5 AM in my bed the only thing that i feel is pain should i go to the hospital? i just lay there instead

it hurts it aches it screams it stabs it consumes my mind and soul and im left with a shell as i mourn my body, knowing that its out of my control

new symptoms every month a reminder of my sickness it isnt getting better did i do something to deserve this? i beg for forgiveness

my prayers are met with silence each and every time i just need a little guidance i need a little time

mourning my body and the things ive never done the things that have been taken from me and the time where i could run

it hurts it aches it screams it stabs it consumes my mind and soul and im left with a shell as i mourn my body, knowing that its out of my control

[dreamwritesstuff]

The Beginning - Mateo & Parker

It had been a long shift. Mateo was working, as he always did on Saturday nights, as a cashier at the local pizza joint. Business was slow this time of night, though there was the occasional order for a college party (that Mateo had not been invited to) or for after a messy breakup (which, unfortunately, Mateo has experience with), or to any other number of occasions that may require a pizza at nearly 11pm. It had been a long, long 5 hours since he clocked in, but there was only 10 minutes left until they were no longer taking new orders, which meant that he got to start getting ready to go home. All he had on his mind was his bed, music, and a good round of games before sleep.

Or rather, that was all that was on his mind until a customer walked in. “Seriously,” he thought to himself. “Who comes into a pizza place 20 minutes before closing?”. But of course he didn’t say that. He could never say that.

“Hi, welcome to Patty’s! What can I help you with?” He said with a big smile, gripping the counter unnaturally tight behind the cash register. Hopefully they couldn’t tell how annoyed he was.

This customer was cute, he had to admit, but they were also being an inconsiderate asshole. Well, they hadn’t done anything yet. But surely they were going to, right? That’s just what this type of customer does.

“Hey!” The customer said with an awkward smile. “Sorry for coming in so late, I know you close soon.”

Nobody ever says that.

“I just need a medium thin crust cheese pizza. Oh, and a bottle of cola.” He paused for a second, then laughed slightly, “Friend’s going through a breakup, you know how it is. Anyway, uh,” He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a wallet. “Here’s my card. And uh, here’s a tip. For coming in so late.”

“Wow,” Mateo thought. “He talks a lot.”

A few weeks went by, and that kind, talkative customer soon became a regular. Mateo, at first, would try to do the thing that cashiers do sometimes where they say “The regular?”, but Parker, as Mateo learned was his name, would always get something different, so that never worked.

One rainy April day, Parker came inside Patty’s Pizza Shop and he locked eyes with Mateo, who was standing where he always was behind the counter. Instead of his usual smile, though, he just quickly walked over, his shoes sloshing from the rain.

“Please tell me you’re hiring.” Mateo blinked. “Uhm, hiring? I, I don’t know, maybe- why? Did something happen?” “I got laid off, I need a job,” Parker said. He sighed, running a hand through his wet hair. “Please, man, I need this. Just, whatever strings you can pull.” “Okay,” Mateo smiled softly, reaching out to put a hand on Parker’s, but pulling back awkwardly to rest it on the counter. “Okay, I can do my best.”

[dreamwritesstuff]

welcome to my profile!

i'm disabled, so my writing might be few and far between! here's the link to my CharacterHub profile so you can look at my OC's profiles. it's just Mateo and Parker right now since those are the characters i'm probably gonna be writing about :) #dreamwrites - general writing tag #dreamwritespoetry - poetry tag #dreamwritesSOL - mateo and parker slice of life stuff #dreamsnotwriting - non-writing stuff #tw - anything that might be triggering (i'll put a separate one that specifies what the tw is)

[dreamwritesstuff]

the sun

the moon whispers to me; he tells me secrets and little jokes in the night. he mumbles soft comforts to me when i lie awake after a nightmare.

the stars speak to me too, though they are less gentle. they hiss at me when i'm wandering too far and snap when i stumble into the wrong crowd. but when i need them most, they are there. they always talk me down when i am teetering on the ledge.

the sun, however? i have never heard a word from her. no, she is a silent one. she shuns me, though she warms me during the day. she keeps me alive, yes that is true, but she is an unloving mother. she gives only what she needs to, not one bit more. it is my cousins- the grass and water- whom keep me well, and my siblings- the animals- whom keep me company. it is my aunts and uncles- the stars and the moon- whom keep me safe. but the sun? no, no. she is an unloving mother. always has been, always will be.

her warmth sometimes grows furious, it burns at my delicate skin, turns it an angry shade of red; makes it blister and peel. her light hurts my eyes, i cannot look at her too long. sometimes i think she did that on purpose. and she is so, so far away.

the moon and the stars, the grass and the water, the animals, no matter how big or small, they speak to me. but the sun? she is silent as ever.