"For a writer, you sure don't have much to say," she spoke with vehemence. I respond calmly, "Speaking is not a strong attribute of mine. I'm rather more of an observer." I never saw eyes roll so far before in my life. I was afraid she was having a seizure, though she quickly struck that fear away with a swat of her tongue.
"You are not gregarious, adventurous, or even slightly entertaining! I thought I was going to be dazzled by some brilliant mind.... do you have anything to say? Anything?" She raised her eyebrow.
If only I said anything... wit is a weapon that I rarely unsheath when the opportunity arises. I sat there in disbelief... the nerve of someone putting expectations on me! I already have a hard enough time with the pressure of writing (casually, mind you!), and now I'm expected to speak?
~~~~~~~
She sat there in judgement,
Unable to connect
the disconnect -
Vocal cords
slow to react
to the onslaught
of accusations.
I never claimed to be a writer,
just that I write.
She sat there, in anticipation
to hear my lips
entertain on command.
The verdict was made
- Death to the Wannabe
She doesn't know I died two years ago
and all that is left is numb.
She stabs with her knife,
and I remain calm and without pain.
She sat there - because she knows me so well.
I left the room abruptly -
I dare her to try to keep me
in contempt of Her court.
----
I am now the Judge,
Unable to connect
the disconnect
Vocal Cords
bend to my will,
and be ready for
my wrath.
I never claimed to be anything,
Just that I am.
She sat there, in anticipation
to hear my lips -
it wasn't what she expected.
The verdict was made:
- I am not sorry.
She doesn't know I died two years ago
and all that is left is numb.
She cuts at me to see if I feel,
and I remain calm, slightly annoyed.
She sat there - because she knows me so well.
The gavel dropped -
I died two years ago
and she's all alone.
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