12-11-2013, 04:20 AM | #2081 |
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December 11
Flight 548 What a happy flight, wing to wing, smiles, good cheer, the air is kind, sweet, dry, easy to breathe. I am so blessed. I fly to destiny watching the traveling baby circus play around me. Giggles and drool surround me, infuse me with glee. People wander the aisle looking like well loved characters from long forgotten books and we soar. Time does not pass any more quickly this way, but it is similar to time in heaven rather than time spent in hell. Mix jelly with joy * RETRO ANTICIPATION AND SUNSHINE The night after a victory I fret about the blocks. Will my stance be right? Will I leave clearly? I have been first through the tape I have won the race But yet I worry how I will start. Had I anticipated a win I might have handled the accolades better. Apprehension has a long half-life And feeds through the night On my gizzards and my dreams. Failure gives homework, There are rewrites and type-O’s But checkmate leaves an empty board And hands to shake. The long ride home is filled with Recriminating thoughts of luck and fortune. By the time I arrive home The win is devalued and no longer mine. I must pry misgivings from the winners circle And enjoy these moments in the sun They are just as real as any others. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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12-12-2013, 04:59 AM | #2082 |
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December 12
Master Mind I was taught that it was my job to master fear; raised in a religion swearing they could master death. I used to spend all I had trying to create a master plan, while trying to keep secure using a Master lock. I have seen Master & Commander and do not long for that burden; in fact mastery is so much a snare and illusion. Life is quite improved when we each have an oar and we all row on. Don’t think twice, think continually * ALCONOUT Want to learn it fast but not deep? Just go to meetings and listen with half an ear. Call your sponsor only for her birthday and anniversary And tell her about all the thing you are not doing anymore But none of the things you are. Skim the books for good quotes That sound impressive when they pass your lips But whose meaning has no chance of passing you heart. Find playmates and cliques Not home groups and surely not a service commitment. Things fall out of orbit when they run out of juice And you will too. This program is not an airlock on the way to worlds unknown It is a way to live in the world you know. There is no question that you have the right stuff. The question is do you want what we have? You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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12-13-2013, 05:09 AM | #2083 |
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December 13
What I give you If I give you a piece of my mind, a piece of my heart, a piece of my liver, how do I go on in its absence? Or does it ever leave me? Is this more like an excision than segmentation? Is it similar to how I carry you with me when I catch a resentment; only in a good way? I don’t know that I can be truly divided up, but I do know that parts of me don’t belong exclusively to me anymore and I believe this is all for the better. Zoom up to anticipation * HEART HANDED I pick up the pen in my heart hand And the blood of my soul pours onto the page. The words coalesce and clot into binding phrases Sealed deals with my spirits punctuation. Some days it is hard for my mind to keep up. The current is swift and deeper than I expect. The pulse of energy is amazing even to the mind it feeds . Like clouds racing the sky this power Brings shade to some and rain to others. The reaction of the moistened varies. Some pull up hoods and scurry away Others with up turned faces form a friendship with me. At the level of electrons, we have a molecular bonding. We are forever changed because I have picked up the pen And they have picked up the page. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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12-14-2013, 07:32 AM | #2084 |
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December 14
What’s that in the Pool? Parts of the Rocky Mountains look like algae bloom out in the Indian Ocean. Parts of me look like parts of you and here we go with oneness being nothing more than pattern recognition and optical illusion; though I hope there is more to it than that. My hurt might not be your hurt, but I have a sense of it. Likewise your hope may not resemble mine, but it cheers you just the same and we are all better for it. We needn’t replicate each other or attempt imitation, but recognition is a kind thing and art is what we all have to share. Stain your napkin * SIZING GOD UP God doesn’t need to be Big. I only look for a Big God when I feel very small. I turn to God as compensation for my feelings As some sort of bolster to brace myself with. I have found when I am diminished in anyway God is tucked in a corner or pocket or drawer. I flee to the great out-of-doors And find earth, nature and wind. The God of my understanding Is proportionate to my mental state. My partner is with me Near enough to hear the fear pour off my skin. God doesn’t run from me to adventures in the wild. I want to escape regularly But this is not my Higher Power’s defect. I come back to God when I stop running from me. I face my reflection and recognize I am not towered over by a Giant God. I am yoked with a power to share the load. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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12-15-2013, 06:41 AM | #2085 |
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December 15
Whose Oxygen Mask goes on First? Desperation is the fuel which forges my resentments. When I fear for my survival, physical, emotional or financial this will turn my response to your behavior into tinder, sometimes gasoline and set our interaction ablaze; melt all which is steel strong between us and create a molten mess from which it will be a struggle to recover. This is why, me taking good care of me, attending to my life, and quelling my fears is the very best way for me to protect you from my attitude and save me from a negative balance sheet during my 10th step. Ask the questions * DON’T BITE Desperation jumps up--runs around--then drops. If I don’t feed it-- desperation burns out fast. I used to buy the advertising--the Horror--the Humanity. The acorn falling on my head convinced me easily. I grew this nut into terrifying despair. Never realizing if I had left it alone How quickly it would pass. When tragedy comes there is no time for a performance. The whirling splendor itself proves the farce. If I learn to recognize these triggers I might keep from shooting myself in the foot. If I let desperation wear itself out I can stay with the pack. Despondence splinters me And separates me from anything rational. But quiet resolve lets me watch the wind twist While I keep my feet on the ground. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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12-16-2013, 04:47 AM | #2086 |
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December 16
Peter and I This flight is not filled with the giggling cherubs of my westerly flight, but among the solemn children on this flight is Peter, the oldest of four, who is reading Tolkien and marking his place with a two page wish list. Christmas is coming and Peter seems confident. I wonder if we are what we read and ponder if I am what I write. Poetry, stories, novels, declarations, it all feels like arms and legs, things I cannot move right without. I live better when they are out and free. I am free too, when they live on their own and I am not their soul residence. I have to rededicate myself to the work entrusted to me for so many lives depend upon it. Treat a book to a day out * RELAPSE IS NOT REQUIRED Relapse is not required - said my sponsor Though at some meetings they make it seem appealing All that ‘prodigal drunk’ treatment. Well so far I’m living in the blessing Of being convinced the first time- I told her Plus what could possibly be out there That’s better than what’s in here? That is the point There is so much out there that is faster and bigger More dramatic and extreme But I sure have never see anything better. She patted my head and I grinned Since I am winning the first time Why would I want to lose? I add just to overstate her point. This is the perfect place for those who want it And all the rest get drunk But drinking is not required Any more than Santa has to come on Christmas. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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12-17-2013, 05:12 AM | #2087 |
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December 17
Pretty Girls Pretty girls seem to live by separate rules, but I don’t know why. The world is filled with people and rules, crazy circumstances and the uniformity of exception. The where and what for, of arbitrary allowance to be regulated based on symmetry or fashion strikes me as odd, beyond survival and this may explain so very much. Gravity pulls down equally; discriminates for nothing. Orbital rotation continues in spite of the fairness of an eye. The universe supports us without end but prejudice is our failing and I blame it on the pretty girls Sift the silt for treasure * MARIAN Even if the whole world was created in a cipher And whirls off into nothingness This is still not a commentary on the existence of God. We have today---for this moment of sobriety There is a Power Greater than My despair, my apprehension and it builds with me a home From the bricks of my optimism. Partnership is no prevention of inhospitable endings But is a temporary relief from desperate loneliness. The tired struggle of guaranteeing niceness spills my energy Scraping from each 24 the marrow so necessary. My open palm saves me from grasping, My open mind from grappling I rid myself of tiny gods in tiny heavens Where I do not reside. Let the blades of grass probe between my toes There is beauty for me to see, Love to hold, hope to float. Where this train originated and whatever its destination It’s in my station now and I am grateful to be on board. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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12-18-2013, 05:02 AM | #2088 |
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December 18
Calm, Peaceful, On Once I center my mind I can type in the dark. All it takes is me present and willing to flow. Limber up the learning curve, press my fingers to the keys, let the story tell its tale. Cease the interjections lest it all go stale. There is nothing much to know, it’s all inside, I just let it go. Emptying this crowded vault, I open up to prevent assault. What to do when it hits the page; marketing is all the rage, but for this task I need a light. To sell myself I must be bright. Paste pictures on your mental partitions * FAILED SOUP AND DISTRUST OF BURGUNDY What keeps me coming back to meetings and step work Is an abiding mistrust of booze. Despite promises and advertisement, hope and folklore I couldn’t rely on drinking to take me where I wanted to go. And surely couldn’t depend on it to keep me there. The struggle is great; the attempt to cling to salvation Though decanter is mighty but in the end This joining of my chemistry to another failed miserably. No matter how I held my mouth Held my head, held my liquor Satisfaction escaped without me and I was left here In the soup of my disillusion and disappointment. I may not always succeed in my recovery But I can draw dividends on every deposit And use this to build a path to my desires. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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12-19-2013, 05:03 AM | #2089 |
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December 19
Crazy Time Picking the right time to be crazy seems to be the key to getting away with it. Wanting to get away with it slants the field a tad. What crazy is changes from place to place, which puts all the more emphasis on the timing. The surrounding company and barometric pressure play parts and put on airs. Lighting, lighting must also be involved, I assure you I don’t know how and can’t calculate the Ohms, but I flip the switches in case it helps. I have mapped for you a fair amount more than I know. I wish you well on your attempt, for crazy is a kindred club, I would hate for you to feel inept. Admire your friends * THE FIRST FATHER The rest of what I have to say I will slip under your gravestone. If I have time after I buy the red dress. To say I hate you is an overstatement. I only detest what I know of you The rest I leave to other people Who might have the misfortune to cross your path. Your unavailability can protect you From anything I could ever do to you. Your hurt and arrogance is far worse punishment. If I thought you were worth the energy of an attempt. Having to be you every day must make it hard To leave the bed in the morning. I know I couldn’t do it if I had to Drag your baggage around all day. The sad part is I’m not sure you know it’s baggage. You might think it’s armor But your misnaming of everything Is just another of the things I never miss about you. Which is why although I pray every day For your wellbeing for the sake of mine If I never see you again It might just be long enough. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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12-20-2013, 05:04 AM | #2090 |
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December 20
Touch Your Toes Funny how we deal with feet. I have seen a woman cradle hers and treat it like the dearest babe. I know some folks who shun their feet; can barely stand to think of them, let alone to touch them. There are the Mani-Pedi people who leave it in the hands of others. I met a guy who soaks them soft and tucks little bits of cotton under the corners of his nails. I know too, the woman with the snarling crusty dogs that serve to others as a warning. My grandma warns me not complain about my shoes lest I meet the man who has no feet, but I doubt I would fit in his. Borrow brilliance * MUD PIES Mud pies and retro-childhood Are for the hurt ones, small and angry inside me. They require care and special attention But I can’t stop with them. Saving children to starve the adolescents is a sad fate Or abandoning adults after bringing them all this way Is indescribably cruel. I cannot work on healing All the while waiting for some ice flow To shove myself off on. There is never a time I am not the responsible party For the people who inhabit my interior life I live their reflections every day. There is no one-way mirror With which to hide unresolved issues No rug to sweep them under They flow through me like a river I must return them to breed new health As a salmon swims back to the waters Of its birth to bring new life. I must brave the complexities of maturity I cannot just sit in the mud You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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12-21-2013, 08:12 AM | #2091 |
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December 21
Not My Best Friend No matter how tightly I hug a lump of coal I will not prevail in turning it into a diamond. Some days I accept this better than others. My desire may affect the coal, but this affect is not diamond producing; though it is stress producing. I know it stresses me and chills me to the bone. I had thought of coal as warming, but the disparate love of coal proves to be anything but. I have pinned my hopes on what this lump had the potential to become rather than acceptance of what it is and now I see I must light my own fire and know the coal is not mine. Close the window on harsh winds * AND THIS IS FOR WHAT? I smiled down on God and said---- “This is pretty and what is it for?” “Oh, that’s your life. It is a surprisingly useful thing to have.” My Higher Power, like my sponsor Thinks she’s funny but she is not. “What am I supposed to do with it?” “Who do you think I am, your Mother, Your Grandpa Joe, your guidance counselor? I put all the possibilities in you, Then I let the wind blow. What would be the fun of coming here If I gave it to you all mapped out? Did it occur to you the reason people say-- You are right where you are suppose to be Is because you did the things That brought you here, not me. And if you don’t like it here You are the one who needs the motivation To change it.” “Take my life------Please!” “You are such a comedian!” “No that’s your department. Could you stop tending your garden For five minutes and give me your attention?” “I don’t need to give you that kind of attention You bloom on your own.” You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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12-22-2013, 07:21 AM | #2092 |
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December 22
Age and Death When death was young It did its job cleanly no mincing about Now the uncertainty and old age tremble Leave the world filled with half dead zombies Living is less for the faltering of death I would rather be struck down swiftly with a scythe Than bludgeoned endlessly with a butter knife Sing with the wind * Before Pearls You must stop crying You must The endless tears will poison you Your teeth and soul, the life of you Just because you don’t know how you can go on Doesn’t mean the world will stop to let you off The raw red rough of it will drag you to its lair Doing what it will with you, there is no hope to spare Unloved child you must go on Lied to and misguided doesn’t change the time There is nowhere to lie down and sleep No safe and sheltered home So dry your face, pick up your pack Carry all your freight Close your eyes to beauty Close your ears to lies You are the only oyster The sand your only prize You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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12-23-2013, 05:37 AM | #2093 |
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December 23
Lame I easily identify the big mistakes of my life, but fail to recognize or report the little mistakes that I make, mistakes, which cost me so much. Repetitive irresponsibility has the effect of water torture; drip, drip, drip and my peace of mind is worn away. What can I say of what I refuse to see? It was there all along like the view covered by the shade. Who is to blame for not raising the curtain? It may be me. may not, but I am the one who suffers, I am the one who misses out. Missing the opportunity to grow out of these small deficiencies leaves me with a lifelong handicap and I am not just speaking of my blindness, but also how they make me lame. Protest ignorance * Beginning and End She stepped through my window and the clock stopped. The shock of her arrival heart pounding fun and fury. Forever I felt as if she weren’t there. Fear lurked in my eyes. Smile enchanting. Exit at hand. Good- Bye. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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12-24-2013, 07:15 AM | #2094 |
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December 24
Scalene Strangeness is attracting, I don’t try to deny it. I have looked longingly at oddness and every skewed thing. Though I try to divert my gaze the acute angles draw me back to peer again and again. Strange attractors have an unexplainable beauty to me. The wane charisma digs its hooks into my soul and I carry it off like a burr stuck to my hide. What does this say of me, I am not sure? What does it say of the sidelong loves of mine? Volumes, I think it speaks volumes, all of it unknown to me. Collect friendly faces * WHAT’S LEFT AFTER HOPE RUNS AWAY shoes and socks old post cards tennis balls with no more bounce memories that have lost their fun dreams left in the box earrings with the clasp askew things I’ve said dead thoughts, too stacks of books letters written tender feelings wonder---smitten the pain is left and runs around wildly my face is stained and left untidy I can never fill the space Which hope leaves behind it The stage is dark And everything quiet You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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12-25-2013, 05:57 AM | #2095 |
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December 25
Home Fires Burning I have trouble living with myself that is why I live with you. It takes my mind off the things I don’t wish to face. What I can busy myself with in your service lightens the load of expectation heaped in my DNA by my Higher Power and Fate. Worry is time consuming and I wile away hours fretting over you and all your unresolved trifles while turning my back entirely on my life. I couldn’t be happier to have you, though from the corner of my eye I glimpse G-d packing your bags. Wash like you matter to yourself * FOR THIS TIME Your desire is an ephemeral gift I treasure A snowflake on my fingertip, a raindrop on my tongue Your passion is a savory treat in season for this moment Pomegranate seeds and rich truffles tempt and delight me Your kind touch brands me flush, anticipation spreads like flame Wind whips the breath of my wish to the four corners Your acuity plucked me from the page and slipped me in your pocket I nestle quiet with the lint and the cookie remnants You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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12-26-2013, 09:15 AM | #2096 |
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December 26
A Thousand Windowed House I am like a house with a thousand windows. When I am lit up inside you can see all the way through; when I go dark the reflection of the world around me is all that is visible when you look my way. My sprawling mind is what creates this effigy of me. A tribute when I am well tended and a fire trap when I neglect my duties. If I learn to celebrate in all the rooms this house is my home, so I must practice; dance and sing in the hallways so I can pirouette into the rooms with full voice. For what is the point of being a house with a thousand windows, if I don’t live there? Host sympathy * Love Lets Love melts the icicles in my heart Allows the oxygen to my brain Lets me work unfettered Love pours the warm bath Heats my bones Lets my breath come easy Love wakes me to sunrise Beds me at dusk Lets my body unfurl Love builds me a pantry Fills it with goods Lets me eat my fill Love rights my boat Bails my bilge Lets me sail on home Love dresses me in safety Undresses me in secret Lets me see myself Love opens doors Closes windows Lets me go my way Love puts a penny in my hand A dollar in my pocket Lets me save the fare Love burns your image in my brain Holds you tight within my heart Lets me dream of you You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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12-27-2013, 08:10 AM | #2097 |
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December 27
Harriet Powers Like a creature with a long tale told in a hushed voice. The whispers tell the story with inflection and innuendo. I slink away from the mirror and the disembodied voices it engenders. Thirty versions of my past spin away from me in the eddies of time gone and misremembered. I gather my fragments and tatters; I thread my needle and sit to quilt me into the present. The odd assortment left from all which has worn out or been pulled apart fit in a pinwheel pattern and turn toward a better day. The night is warmer for now I have it covered, settled and safe, perhaps now I might even sleep. Use a crutch if you have to but move * Best so Far Being the best so far doesn’t mean so awful much Makes you the current standard bearer is all Not even keeper of the watch. I can’t give you a torch to hold Certainly not a title either of Daddy or of Din You will find your way through this morass Keep your courage if not your cast But this is a hard thing my dear, dear friend Because the old tricks they don’t work no more And the new tools ain’t broke in. And lest I should forget Just because you say you have a sense of humor about yourself Doesn’t mean you have it And when you try to take me to hand It doesn’t mean you ken it And all the days that dreams drift by It doesn’t mean they’re yours and mine For time must play its evil trick And leave good things to pass by us But this doesn’t mean that hope is lost Or even that I’ve found it Only that peace is a thing which seeps And pressing will confound it So maybe when you are pushing seventy And are sober nearly as I am now I will read this to you And we will laugh For by then being the best so far Will matter a little more and hurt a little less. You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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Clicking on these dragon eggs will take you to my new erotic novella: Dragon Bait .........Hope you enjoy it! ________________________________________________ Please take a look at my work Click on flashing smilie to see my website To look at my Daddy/girl erotica book Click on pompom girl to see Elbows on the Table, Palms Flat |
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12-28-2013, 08:16 AM | #2098 |
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December 28
Entrée Entrée I am not one to order an appetizer, I prefer the main meal. Even if I carry the majority of the entrée home I like to have it all there before me. Knowing there is enough, might I want it, means peace of mind and I can relax and eat what I wish. That’s how much I fear. Fear opening my mouth to ask for more. Fear not anticipating my actual appetite. Fear of having nothing to show for my evening out. What could it all be like had I felt free of rules and public policy that must be carried out in private? I might never know, but what I do know is that I need to overcome this. Not because of starving children near or far, not to eliminate the science experiments of mold growth and wilted lettuce in my frig, but in order that I have a chance to have my desert and eat it too and leave the rest unordered. Lubricate the places where you get stuck * Burying the Impossible Dream I didn’t waken it and twist it in a shroud I propped it in a corner and attempted to play house. I didn’t face the truth and love the loss that goes along I clung tighter than tight and buried my face in the back of its shirt. I didn’t stand and look in the mirror I stared into space and played the film strips of futurity. I didn’t breathe in and out keeping my heart aloft I held it all with empty lungs and pallid pulseless bosom I didn’t do the things I could not do I did the things I had to do I didn’t think I could ever let it go I know now that I must You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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Clicking on these dragon eggs will take you to my new erotic novella: Dragon Bait .........Hope you enjoy it! ________________________________________________ Please take a look at my work Click on flashing smilie to see my website To look at my Daddy/girl erotica book Click on pompom girl to see Elbows on the Table, Palms Flat |
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12-29-2013, 07:37 AM | #2099 |
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December 29
Hey Little Sister Who pulls the trigger, you or I, in this Shotgun relationship? Is it more to the point if you slit my throat or if I slit my own? I only ask for the sake of expedience, rudeness was never my intent. I know we both wish this dilemma resolved with due speed and precision where possible. I am not as concerned with my survival as much as neatness all around. I hate to leave you with a mess and I would tuck my tail and go, but I have tried that before and still we end up here, so let’s end this shall we and hope that there are better worlds than this to find after we have shattered the sugar egg we used to live in. Tend your human ivory * I AM I am unloved though most everyone loves me I am unwanted though there are those who stand in line I am unknown though people who’ve met me never forget I am unconscious though I seem awake Because today it is about how I feel not what is real You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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Clicking on these dragon eggs will take you to my new erotic novella: Dragon Bait .........Hope you enjoy it! ________________________________________________ Please take a look at my work Click on flashing smilie to see my website To look at my Daddy/girl erotica book Click on pompom girl to see Elbows on the Table, Palms Flat |
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12-30-2013, 06:57 AM | #2100 |
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December 30
Einstein’s Apple Time is a player in every play, forever running forward even as I try to claw my way into the past. If I don’t provide a role, time writes itself in without regard for my intended plotline. Like the weather, time is by turns gentle and fierce. I must pay attention lest I run afoul of it and lose my life and limb. Though time is an arc I see swinging in my mind it is still the arrow shot and I am simply the fool with the apple. Take a vacation from your expectations * Talk to me before I sleep Talk to me before I sleep Lay your hand upon my cheek Talk to me before I sleep All the years are yours to keep Talk to me before I sleep Fold me deep within your speech Talk to me before I sleep Hold me tight when I start to reach Talk to me before I sleep Never let me touch the sheet Talk to me before I sleep Warm me with your wondrous heat Talk to me before I sleep Precious are the things you teach Talk to me before I sleep Love and kindness is how you greet Talk to me before I sleep Into darkness let me seep Talk to me before I sleep In my dreams it’s you I seek Talk to me before I sleep I fear that I am in too deep Talk to me before I sleep Wake me to the morning dew Talk to me before I sleep Let me know it’s always you You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
__________________
Clicking on these dragon eggs will take you to my new erotic novella: Dragon Bait .........Hope you enjoy it! ________________________________________________ Please take a look at my work Click on flashing smilie to see my website To look at my Daddy/girl erotica book Click on pompom girl to see Elbows on the Table, Palms Flat |
The Following User Says Thank You to LeftWriteFemme For This Useful Post: |
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12 step recovery, acoa, al-anon, alcoholic, alcoholics anonmyous, coda, on-line meeting |
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