I don't even know where to start. It's been years since I've written anything, played with words, and fiddled around with the beauty of imagery. When I used to write, and let pens adorn my fingers - I knew how to lure senses onto a canvas that would awaken unconscious. I could get into minds and make people live the soul of my protagonist. Wrap and drench themselves into the sight, smell, taste, touch and sounds of the life on paper. Such is the power of words. Shakespeare was patronized for just that, indoctrinating the minds of people to believe the much accused (of bad faith) Richard II was the veiled hero. WORDS! Words that quivered the hair on people's backs when the first man on the moon spoke, when Napoleon planned his tactics, when Rasputin leached the mind of the Tsar and when a suicide bomber comforts himself with his last prayers.
As a kid I irked the power on a canvas. It got me awards for short stories, poems and had people thinking I would grow up to be an author. An author that could disease the craving of readers, enough to add zeros into her bank balance. Today I want to write, but not to contaminate thoughts and seduce materialistic achievements. I want to write to become Cleopatra. Achieve perfection - beauty that will sustain and overwhelm flaws only visible to the eyes of the soul. Not in terms of the breathtaking features, but the diplomacy, influence and impeccability. She was stained by puddles of debt, and a country that had far long buried it's gold before she inherited it. Yet she's a picture of perfection, for enslaving her maximum potential. A woman so diplomatically intelligent, powerful and in control of her accomplishments.
She was a pebble, summed up in a shape so easy to the eyes, spotless, flawless, smooth and possessed the virginity that couldn't be unearthed by evil. Tossed around in rivers, walked upon, raped by the weather and used as shelter by the inferior, but still unmoved, elegant, and polished to the slightest of details. Oblivious to sin and weathering. Civilizations and societies have been victimized by it's elegance, that they adorn their culture with pebbles, gardens in japan, massages with it's healing essence.
I was once a pebble, and bathed with the same completeness as Cleopatra. A satisfied individual. Swimming hand in hand with her potential, and making my 'potential' try catch up with me at rare occasions. Today i feel stripped nude of satisfaction to a bare personality, the only strength that would fade with my identity, the day my body goes pale and my blood cold. It's not death that I fear of right now, but it's living dead that i fear of. I've always detested superficiality and shallowness - Not making the most of the warm blood, before it freezes.
Today with the help of writing, I'm going to unleash my words and feelings as a weapon strong enough to drag me to the person I want to become. There is no tomorrow! No one is accountable of my flaws, or who I become tomorrow. I am only who I work on being. My hurt are my own falls, and my altitude my own climbing. No one else can be me, but me myself! There was a time people wanted to be me, I was the pebble to them. Then there was a time I wanted to be the rest, because I gazed at my potential beating me to the race. NOW I am Cleopatra, willing to reach my own potential, while people gaze in astonishment. I love myself, and love who I am again, but I need to get rid of the shallowness that stripped me. I want to become a pebble, so admired by its own-self. A pebble full of dignity, self respect and mere satisfaction. YOU 'miss K' will help me achieve the ME I am going to be and celebrate. The ME I'll start working on from TODAY. :)
miss K
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