Tag: Social Sciences

Unspoken Lies

by Shell DeToni, posted in Poetry

DSC02342/Izabella Jagiello

 

Elation falls lazy I be,

 

Laze around that entails.

 

Zeal boy!

 

Lineal not like zeta that shall elate,

 

Zany to near boil should the boat float lazily.

 

The zealot drowned by lien in a thin line,

 

Eaten by loyal goers in the biz.

 

Neatly is written the bio forced down nail driven forever,

 

Bye nothing left alone not for any.

 

Bile comes, Nay!

 

A long tail dark as ebony,

 

Tali broken of course boney it is too much.

 

Laity exerts as bone converts to oat colored dust,

 

Written is the byline for truths bent to please.

 

Unspoken lies run oily not to obey,

 

Collected like lint going nowhere stored like bytes.

 

Valid as a lions hunger elevated settling in loins not of nobly men,

 

Tie ones heart by bony lite imbeciles.

 

Shackled down on tile dreaming of admired inlets,

 

Rude reality slams its fist on the table to belay those dreams.

 

Anger to blaze not in a single lane,

 

I leant when night is not late.

 

Yon a tale is sung but not for me,

 

Beauty possessed is only settled on the Nile.

 

Ahoy Me Where’s We Belong

by Shell DeToni, posted in Poetry

an old pirate ship.

Out yonder upon the high seas we go

Ahoy me where’s we belong

Ahoy me where’s we belong

Out yonder upon the high seas we go

Aye, the farther the better says I

 

So give me a rope the mass is high

Dare not to choke or ye will die

Thy life is mine I watch it well

Stories of time only it will tell

Laid lowly and warn as dusk settles in

Exhaustions born now ye dream of sin

Love. Desire. Passion.

by Shell DeToni, posted in Fiction

loneliness

He called her boring, as in no fun anymore. Said she’s not living life and now acts like an old woman. No longer appeasing his ideology of what a good time consist. Not getting it at all. She delights in enjoyable amusement. The merriment is just different from his version. Fun that does not contain disastrous consequences that will happen to be the beginning of the end.

How can she tell him why it’s necessary to stop and no longer can she continue to run amuck wild and crazy like? Yes, being the life of the party is enjoyable and those times were some of the best. But there’s a dark side, an alter ego that scratches at the surface to be freed.  This other side of her personality must be confined and imprisoned unable to escape. If this charismatic temperament should surface there is no telling what would happen to life as they know it.

Feelings of emotional abandonment and being physically discarded, certain she is utterly invisible to him.  For the moment, she’s chosen to live with her companion regardless of the loneliness that has consumed her.The loneliness that is ruining her. Creating a shell of the person she once was. Becoming hollow as attempts made to evolve unfeeling.

It’s essential to prevent the scene to which they’ve grown accustomed to because of her addiction. The urge to be spontaneous with he who pays her notice as she cast about. Searching for that sweet nectar that she’s been deprived of. A corruption that could very easily devour her if allowed.

It’s been too long since she’s had a man’s full attention. Oh sure, her partner will have sex with her once in a while and even offer little pecks as goodbyes are exchanged. But there is no affection, adoration, or no passion. And it’s passion she craves with every fiber of her being. The kind of passion that puts romance to shame. To be doted on, touched, and possessed. Lips caressing every part of her body creating a fire that’s been suppressed far too long. She desires someone to call out her name in a wave of pleasure, then pull her close to hold her while stroking the small of her back. Kissing her. The ache to be kissed like a woman nearly delivers her to the brink of  insanity. Haunted by the torment of someone who’s physically there, but already long gone. Ignoring her love for him and deaf to her desperate pleas to save that love. With an addiction such as this, he best pray she can contain her sin.

No!

If boring is what she is now, then that’s what life will be. Boring. If this part of her doesn’t stay in control she will lose everything all for the sake of an exciting one night stand, or worse yet, a long and delicious affair. She couldn’t live with that kind of guilt. It would kill what’s left of her soul.

Guilt is what got her into this mess to begin with.

Her marriage is one of convenience for everyone but herself. Left out in the cold, she withers away to nothing with no one able to save her. Silently she cries waiting for the numbness to encompass her and send her into a quiet delirium until the next time the sun rises.

No Words

by Shell DeToni, posted in Non-fiction

Imagine looking at a blank page knowing there should be some form of expression gracing that empty mass, instead your left feeling inadequate. Sitting there glaring at that vacant space you begin to doubt yourself as you think, “So this is it then. I have officially reached the end of my ingenuity.” And then, hopelessly you put down your medium and sigh in defeat as the void shrouds your sanity.

Frustration grabs hold as colossal amounts of information swarm your psyche while urgently attempting to breach the prison your mind has become. The cursor just blinks, over and over driving you to the brink of madness. All the more, it’s stifling the creativeness you posses as the void becomes the death of all that was once obtainable.

Contemplating the end of a brilliant career when suddenly reality hits you like a ton of bricks; it’s not a lack of creativity on your part that besieges you in nothingness.  Lucidity reveals a much simpler answer, the funnel has become clogged with too many words trying to escape all at the same time.

New hope emerges as you tackle this newfound dilemma. Music fills the air with a welcome distraction, curtains are swung open allowing the brilliant sunshine to encase you in its warmth, and a piece of dark chocolate lingers on your palate bringing you great joy as you let go of your pessimistic attitude.

You once again let your fingers to glide over the keypad. Subsequently sweet victory liberates your very essence as beautiful sentences come into view right before your very eyes. Words, words, and more words appear on the screen, leaving not one moment for that cursor to irritably blink at you. 

Pleased with the progress made as the day comes to its untimely end, you stretch while slowly getting up. Sometimes, we creative types need to stop and take a break when overwhelmed. You will accomplish nothing when you’re riddled with anxiety and frustration.

 So next time the writer’s block has you ready to burn your desk to the ground, just unplug for a bit and do whatever it is that you do to relax and unwind.