Q u i L L #50 The Scapegoat of Convenience

I am the bottom of your shoe.
The only time I matter is if you feel I’m of use.
How I feel being dragged through the mud matters not to you.

The little remnants I pick up off the pavements you feel entitled to.
If only I could have your point of view.
Then perhaps I can be the cruel monster too.
Depriving you of what’s yours too.
This type of conduct is what causes ones anger to eventually spew.
I’m through!

Copyrighted © October 3rd, 2015 by D a v o n n a | T.


Keep this up I might have to start throwing parties

I reached 590 followers a few hours ago. And as is typical of me I was surprised. You know how sometimes you are headed for a straight course so the end result is quite discernible yet an still it catches you unaware all the same? That’s this moment.

I of course am always notified of a new follower but, I try not to count the number unless I’m adding a new post. My own personal database of how many was potentially reading the latest post and whether the number went up or down after. (It’s not as neurotic as it sounds). I don’t know what makes you guys keep coming back. The post I think will be read and liked the most often times isn’t and the post I think won’t be is. That’s fine. That’s the result of personal opinion and preference.

whitebushI’ve often had conversations about that. How critics can affect the outcome of an endeavor all due to their own personal opinion. What one likes another might not and what I think is the absolute bees knees another might think is junk. So how is that something that should affect the overall skill, interest, credibility of a thing? That’s why I value unique outlooks, style, colors, & designs. Being the same makes me one among many, hard to spot, to see, to appreciate. Being the odd duck walking in the opposite direction of the flow makes the rhythm I hear hard to discern.

Somehow over 500 of you have caught the wave the beat has taken and held on—on occasion—long enough to enjoy its decent. Thank you for caressing the rocks with me. And for holding on for another frenetic excursion.

Teach Me to Write Like You

This isn’t a Q u i L L so-to-speak so it won’t be counted as such…

You write such beautiful words of affection
I’d love to be just like that
Spouting sonnets of tomorrow filled of hope and faith
In my heart I feel such emotion
But apparently they run so deep
Even I can’t get them to uncover

Copyrighted © September 23, 2015 D a v o n n a | T.

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I’m still here

I’m still alive and kicking everyone. I just have been dealing with the busy things of life. I am hoping to post new Q u i L L later this week. Bear with me everyone…

Q u i L L #49 Fairytales Recede

I keep trying to convince me that what we had fairytales are made of but, others I assure it was a nightmare.
Who knew it was one in the same?

You see in those so-called romance books there’s always an obstacle or two preventing intended lovers from getting together.
Some perceived wrong, and a climax of understanding, acceptance, even forgiveness.
You were said obstacle.
Your girlfriend wasn’t an easy fix either.

But being friends as a guise for stringing me along until, according to you, “you sowed your wild oats” sure put a damper on things.
Thankfully, I grew up and out of the fairytale
And away from you.

Copyrighted © September 8, 2015 by D a v o n n a | T.


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Q u i L L #48 Why Should What I Love Kill Me?

Why does all the great endeavours that invoke passion result in ones demise?
Instead of love to death; why not loved to perfection?
Since when does finding what you love culminate in being killed by it?
What’s twisted about it loving you back to life?
The world is self-destructive enough I don’t wish to be

Rather I need focus, drive, & companionship that’s worth living
Not flaming out in a blaze of “glory”
My pursuits should breathe life into me with every feverish stir of emotion
Not suck dry my very last breath

I want a burning fire that maintains a steady flame
Not a mere fizzle of the last flickering ember

Copyrighted © August 25th, 2015 by D a v o n n a | T.


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