Kate's Motel

What you don't know about your bedspread won't hurt you.

You Can’t Hear My Secret

I can tell you a secret.

I can get it off my chest
have some redemption
throw away some guilt
fold it up small
shove it
the sun

I can show you
corners of my heart
where the real me hides
hoping that no one
ever sees the truth
because what if it’s written all over my face and I’m the only one left that DOESN’T see that

I can take you
inside my Hell
where everything is my fault
and there is nothing I can do to fix any of it.
Where men hate
and women lie
and children cry
and the end

I can show you Love.
I can take you
to the place where love started
foolish and free
with leaves in my hair
and buttons misplaced…
the turning points of my life.

Decisions made and unmade.
I get to do that.

I can sing you my song
but you won’t hear it

But I can still tell you a secret.

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December 16, 2009 Posted by | On Writing | , , , , , | 2 Comments

Mind Misbehaving 101

“A writer is a person who has taught their mind to misbehave.”

I love that.

Like the time I was waiting for mom in the parking lot at the bank and had convinced myself, inside of 15 minutes, that I desperately needed to get to the local police station as quickly as possible because since mom had walked through the front doors I’d not seen one person entering or leaving the building and that could only mean that everyone inside was being held hostage and it was up to me to save everyone by alerting the authorities.

I’d even decided what I needed to say to the policeman, should I get pulled over for speeding.

Or like the time that I actually DID call the police on a bunch of hoodlums that I assumed to be partaking in a bit of Grand Theft Auto (nevermind that it was only a golf cart I thought they were trying to steal), and nearly hyperventilated when I found out the hoodlums were Homeland Security. That was fun.

Or maybe even like the time that I was floating in that weird in-between place of dreaming and waking, and possibly imagined that there was a crazed man roaming the streets of my neighborhood screaming for everyone to hide their children somewhere in the vicinity of 2am. The more I think about this one, the more I think I may have actually been dreaming. But it felt real.

My mind misbehaves. It runs wild when no one is around, it fools me into thinking that watching The Shining at midnight is a spectacular idea, and if I’m not extra careful, it can make me depressed when I have absolutely no right to be. If I worked hard enough, I could probably convince myself that I’m psychic just because I picked the phone up before it rang when Liz called.

In an effort to train my misbehaving mind to maybe misbehave in a different direction…whichever direction book form needs to take, I’m going to steal a friends idea and write a blog every day for a year. Maybe nothing, maybe everything. Most of my best blogs in the past took their form once I got halfway through writing it. I”d like to be able to say that I am genius enough to have come up with them before I started writing, but I”m not that great of a liar. I didn’t know how I was going to write it until I was almost finished.

I can’t wait to see where this leads.

ps: The keyboard at work has a sticky shift key. PLease excuse my typos. 😛

November 1, 2009 Posted by | On Writing | , | 9 Comments