Tag Archives: relationships

Computer Love <3

I typed H-E and paused by pressing the equal sign on the keyboard.

This was more than a blinking text cursor.

The other half was batting it’s eyelashes.

Was it flirting?

Flashing a lowercase L?

Or telling me I’m number one?

I pressed play by clicking the greater-than sign on the keyboard and proceeded to type A-R-T.

The word transformed into a picture of the word. It was a bigggggg heart. And I guess that’s what made the only thing move was the spinning beach ball, although, I wasn’t on the net.

Cursor stuck.

Cursing FUCK!

Freeze!

Froze.

Cold heart.

The mouse was just eating out of my palm, but now I’m jerking it back and forth like some string cheese.

It came to as I bowed over the desk and the arrow shot straight for the heart but because the cursor is tilted it missed.

Now the cursor is a small hand L gesture. What?! How am I a loser? I’m not responsible for the arrow being slanted. Hell, I don’t even shoot my gun sideways. I’ll leave that to your modern-day Robin Hoods. I wouldn’t try to attack the bottom of the heart with my pointer even with the heart looking like a bottom, if I may point out. I may cum across as anal paying attention to de-tails like that but fuck it!

Again, why should I have to rest an L on my forehead when there is already an S curled up there? Who am I? Clark Kent at The Daily Planet. If I throw up L then I gotta throw another L up. Laughing like shit ‘cause that’s like the bat-signal for you-know-who to roll on over to my cubicle, batting her eyelashes like Barbara Gordon. Aight, you keep doing that and your lashes gone get stuck in your eye, gone be blind as a bat. Aight, enough clowning around, let’s show my computer love like I-T.

We caps-locked lips. She lifted her foot off the ground. “Damn, her leg looks like an L.” My S curl became erect. Still a little crooked though.

Now the cursor is the rewind button, which is the less-than sign, neighboring the number 3.

We tilt our heads to the right when we’re trying to understand something.

“Understand?”

“Understood.”

To the beat.

This is our song. Let us have the floor, please.

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Unemployed Dream

My alarm clock is my cuddle buddy not in the bed the following morning

Going from a “hey big head” to a airhead, from a booty pillow to a bubble butt always wakes me up

Her schedule waits for no man

“Why you have me do the big spoon, little spoon when you knew you had to work?”

“Bear, I told you I had to get up at 6, and we did the butt ‘cheek-to-cheek.’ Remember you ripped the bedsheets with your big toe nail when we played footsie? Look!”

“Well, who was I hugging from the back?”

“Maybe your dream girl.”

“Describe her.”

“Unemployed.”

“…”

“Now baby I have to go. Your Captain Crunch is getting cold. It’s on the table, been sitting in the milk for 15 minutes which is long enough for it not to mess up the roof of your mouth. Now give me a kiss peace. A closed-mouth one though. You got morning breath. I don’t want to have to brush my teeth all over again. You know toothpaste makes me gag.”

“Me too.”

“What we don’t have in common?”

“Hmm. We’re not in the same bed right now.”

“What about now?”

“You’re leaning over the bed. Technically, no body part is in it.”

“Now?”

“You have a really pretty smooth sore-free, arrow-less left knee. Looks way better than mines. Butttttt there are a few body parts I think I like a little bit better.”

“Hmm. This one?”

“Wait. Wait. Before you sit your ass on the bed long enough to make a smiley face imprint you should remember one important thing … you have to go to work.”

“Haven’t you heard?”

“What?”

“I’m unemployed.”

Perhaps …

When you put a pause to what you’re saying I want to help you search for the right word to complete your sentence.

But you accidentally stumbled up-pond why I am an elusive island with the word you left me to work with.

Perhaps, Me? Me? “Don’t have a cow, man” I had to udder to myself after seeing the notification. This what I get for being a simp, son. Turned Coldplay’s yell low so I could hear myself think.

Love and like.

Like and love.

Both begin with L and end in E.

I’m overcompensating for the letters in-between because it reveals the truth, and I’m all too aware of abbreviations and Memphis slang to ignore it.

I know it’s over.

I don’t want it to be but I’m not too shore of the current events. The waves are goodbyes. You can’t travel by relationship from an Artificial Island to a Barrier Island when another pirate already put an “arrr” in your title Ms. I cried a river up-pond realizing “arrr” means a definite yes while “perhaps” means uncertainty.

And quite frankly, that’s the only reason you’re having oceans of trouble breaking the barriers.

It’s definitely not the booties because Passport Bear landed in love with you so hard during your layover any baggage you claim I accept as a carry-on.

I want your island to flourish, but not at the risk of mines going unnoticed because I would still love to sea you come by in your friendship.

I want ’em back (I want ’em back)
The minds we had (the minds we had)
How all the thoughts (how all the thoughts)
Moved ’round our heads (moved ’round our heads)
I want ’em back (I want ’em back)
The minds we had (the minds we had)
It’s not enough to feel the lack
I want ’em back, I want ’em back, I want ’em
You’re the only friend I need
Sharing beds like little kids
Laughing ’til our ribs get tough
But that will never be enough

Daily Writing Prompt: The Milkman.

Son – Dad, where you going?

Dad – Uhh … going to get some milk. We’re all out.

Son – Can I come?

Dad – Not this time.

Son – Why? You always let me go.

Dad – Just not this time, okay. I’m going to a different store and they don’t allow kids in this late.

Son – What store is that?

Dad – Look, I gotta go, okay?

Son – But you don’t have to go. We don’t need milk. I don’t like cereal or chocolate milk anymore. So you can stay now. Here, take your jacket off and sit down.

Dad – Your mom needs the milk to put in her cornbread.

Son – Well let her go to the store and you stay. You stay here. Close the door and sit down. I wanna show you something upstairs. Let’s go!

Dad – I’ll see it when I get back.

Son – Can I go … pleassssseeeee?

Dad – … well you can’t go looking like that. Go upstairs and put your evening clothes on.

Son – Yay! runs halfway upstairs Dad, dad, can … can you come upstairs with me and help me put my clothes on?

Dad – Your mother is up there. She’ll help you.

Son – Mom … can you tie my shoes?

Mom – Where you going?

Son – With dad to go get some milk for your cornbread.

Mom – I’m not cooking cornbread.

Son – runs to bedroom window and sees dad truck leaving driveway He tricked me.

Mom – He got me too.

Son – Why daddy don’t want us no more?

Constrained Writing Prompt: Write a poem with 8 words per line. Then write the same poem again, erasing 4 words per line. Do it once more, erasing 2 words per line. *Hidden Message*

National Institute Trial Advocacy (NITA) in Charlotte (CHA).

I hope they deliver goods like a carter.

Heard they love to teach you by doing.

NITA in Charlotte (CHA).

I deliver a carter.

Heard you love doing.

CHA NITA.

Carter I.

Love you.

Monsters Under Bed

FADE IN

INT. SON’S BEDROOM – NIGHT

SON: Dad, can you spray monster under bed?

DAD: There’s no space under your bed. We cut the legs off remember?

SON: I’m talking about your bed. 

DAD: What?

SON: Yeah, before you here I hear mama fight someone.

DAD: Who?

SON: I don’t know. I knock on door to protect her. I love her and I was beat that monster up like Spider-Man.

DAD: Did you use the web shooter I bought you?

SON: Mama not let me in. She open door little and said everything ok but her hair messed up. I saw something move under bed. I don’t know.

DAD: Well, son, you don’t have to ever EVER worry about seeing anything move under our bed again ‘cause I’m about to go cut 9 legs off. 

SON: It 4. You don’t know how to count daddy haha.

FADE OUT 

Constrained Writing Prompt: Tell a love story, including a plant, in 5 sentences. 

They say you can’t turn a hoe into a …

Hel-i-cry-sum when I pansy how dandy that golden pothos would have looked in my kitchen. 

Jasmine, Heather, or whatever her name is rather daisy dukes than sunflower dress, have Poppy give her Black-eyed Susans when she didn’t come back with enough roses for her tulips. 

I wanted to go to the metal after the last petal was “she loves me knot” but my iris just stood there ox-eyed dazed. 

I wish I was as patient as a carnation and waited for a cherry to blossom ‘cause I gave a new meaning to deflower.