The sepia kitchen matches the memory as vintage as the feelings in my heart watching you stomp in filling the air with anger stomping from the front door I watched it to the backyard where a something on the off-white cracked as my soul tiles on the counter top catches my wide blue eyes it could oink it was so fat with pennies a smile that could stretch from coast to coast “Wait daddy, whats that?” another smile so sweet and blissful reminiscing the warmth shining through the window illuminating this fat copper tank a tank so round and cute shiny and so very very impossibly unbreakable wildly delicate all at the same time Mesmerized fascinated the little copper pork chop was stuffed to the brim honey colored glass matched my vintage dreams remembering your smile and mine as the sun shines hue through my sepia painted memories of you
darkness consumes my sight
only a sliver of light shines through the crack
of a door that glides like a boat on the ocean.
of fear, maybe
of cold mostly.
the air blankets my skin
wraps around me as i curl my knees to my chest, like
a sea dragon silently waiting and
clothes like seaweed dangling around me.
coming down the hall.
like a sharks theme song
he's hunting for me.
I hold my breath as silent as a fish
floating in space and time
begging for the storm to pass.
waiting to be found
for the shark to leave.
waiting for the shark to pass.
hoping the shark does not smell my sweet..
sweet peaches hang from the tree outside,
I can see them through the crack
and a shadow closes that sliver of light.
my head peers up.
the sharks haunting eye peers through
where my sliver of hope used to shine.
A handsome man and genius writer, John Osborne, was born Dec. 12, 1929 and died Dec. 24, 1994.
He was born and raised in Surrey.
He was an English playwright, actor, and screenwriter who wrote with themes based on political and social norms, including perceptions of spirituality.
I enjoy John Osborne's work because we share a similar sense of dark humor and wit, as well as "mommy issues." I wish I could write as wittily as he has.
Someone once described his plays as “combined unsparing truthfulness with devastating wit.” (Wikipedia)
At age 18 John Osborne began acting in numerous plays, which is where he fell in love with playwriting.
He co-wrote his first play, The Devil Inside Me, with his lover/wife Stella. Osborne described this play as a ‘melodrama about a poetic Welsh loon’ who murders a girl when he realizes that she is trying to frame him for sexual assault.' (bl.uk)
Osborne has been married 5 times and is believed to be bisexual.
9/15/2018 I am sitting in this bathroom, lying on the floor too weak to get up, crying like before the floor I cleaned just two weeks ago, the floor you can’t ignore. I remember sitting in this same bathroom, lying just like this on the floor I was only fifteen. And too weak to get up, not like now but, crying more forlorn on the floor, too weak to go. The floor I then couldn't ignore. For this floor had so much gore. This same pain wept from inside, on the floor I once solemnly swore never to let myself get so mourned. You leave me with so much scorn and I try not to rush so much to the morgue; one day I may meet my fate in show but, today I lay here on the bathroom floor. Today, today I feel torn, crying and weeping just like before but, in terror and remembering not to be forlorn I lay here on the bathroom floor, The same exact floor except now I am grown. I cleaned it just two weeks ago, this floor you can’t ignore.