We were thirteen and perfect for each other. We had the same sense of humor and only survived those heinously awkward pre-teen parties by laughing at jokes that no one else understood. We used to play-fight like siblings and run after each other tossing synthetic threats back and forth. I was faster than him, though he wouldn’t say so, and would catch him often - but he always surrendered nicely with a sweet little kiss.
    At that time we were young, inexperienced and painfully shy, so our kisses were commonly swift and polite – never anything Nicholas Sparks would appreciate – but there was something about those contemporary-type kisses that stirred something inside my child’s consciousness. Our lips caused ripples in my belly that tempted me to believe that perhaps this was more than just a tweeny courtship.

A fair amount of months passed before her eventually kicked me off the wagon. Prep school was over and we were off to high school – him to a private boarding school and me to a public school the soccer moms “would rather not talk about.” I was devastated and have yet to open myself up to anyone like I did to him. You see, I had broken off such a large piece of my figurative heart that I didn’t have enough left to share with anyone else.

Now I’ve a high school’s worth of non-existent Valentines roses and I've yet to leave the faetal position.

I've been talking about it for so long that my pool of friends there to console me has shriveled up into an unhealthy puddle of nothing. Hell, I’ve drank up so much of that resource that I may have left a dent where it used to stand. Picture me sniffing around a dried up pile of nothing fruitlessly looking for someone to tell my sob-story to – it's not far off.

Now here’s the gold;
I suppose I had set my standards so high that I’ve not let anyone else so much as see the bar let alone challenge it. That or my first boyfriend was so utterly terrified by my company that he wrote an article about me in the Guy Code and I now walk around with a blinking sign on my forehead. Either way, I’m as lonely as anything and have reached the point where I think of fictional characters as more actual than many of my fellow humans.

Tumblr help me.

Here's a poem for the hidden good
The hidden kind and the hidden truth

We are all same
In the race of life
Nobody's got a permanent stand
In the face of life


Some are born better
Some better thrive
Some are saved from tribulations
Some have survived

The ones who sailed the higher tides
The ones who fight the strongest fights
The ones who have seen the worst of nights
The ones who cry deep inside


Just take a look at yourself what do you find
You seem to think a broken mirror an unlit light?

You are wrong there's always light
You just have to know which side is right

I see in you the will and dream
You don't lead a life so mainstream
You have abilities you endured the screams
You've been prepared to create light realms


You have made it through the pain
So you don't give others the same
In the book of Lord we share one name
To act out bad is worthless and lame


The kindness in you
and the cruel world
Can never be same
You can hide it by your different name
You can't end it, you are the players in game


No skillful warrior is ever born
Until he is thoroughly torn
Burned and molded
Left alone and scolded

You have gone through the wild
No sword is made in temperature so mild

Deep inside we all know
We have big purpose we can't deny
This world is just a mere show
We are sent to the world as tweeny



These tribulations have turned you into something more
With genius mind and patience to endure
With strength to conquer
What we desire to master


These are skills not a ruthless cruelty
Lord didn't forget you It isn't a penalty
He has given you skills
So prove some loyalty


There's nothing such as permanent fate
If there is then you can create
So get everything together mate
You are never too late.

So let's raise our hopes
Let's fly through the slopes
Let's raise our head
Make the path we want to tread.


Choosing the path is your choice
It's your choice if you accomplice
Just a piece of advice
Follow the deep inward voice

You will see the path
So do your job
Before your retirement
Is signed by death.

Harriet and Hastings and two red robins
Arrived  one morning, unexpectedly,
In an Amazon cardboard box;
Tapping and pecking and scratching
They got out from all that cardboard
With a hop, skip and a jump.

It had been decided, by others, that
Their home would be near a lovely
Old Flowing Plum tree
Nestled between pink Cranesbill
And a variegated **** with mauve,
Candle flowers, in Summer.

Now in this garden lots of other folks
Lived sharing a small plot of land
Filled with shrubs and evergreens
Which included two Camellias, one red,
And one white, a climbing clematis,
******* with string, and Winter aconites.

Hustling for their patch was Danny duckling,
Samantha snail, Flippity frog, Tweeny owls,
Penelope pigeon, Woolly sheep and a few others
Often hibernating, sporadically, or out for the day.
So the new comers slowly got to know all
The inhabitants of 16 The Gardens, Watford.


Love Mary xxxxx