They never could quite make sense of her. Rarely did her behavior warrant a reprimand and yet she wasn’t quite what they wanted her to be. She was strange. Her essence demanded attention, whether she meant it to or not. Just when they thought they had no use for her, they put her on the stage.
Crayola Crayon & Free Hand
They never could quite make sense of her. Rarely did her behavior warrant a reprimand and yet she wasn’t quite what they wanted her to be. She was strange. Her essence demanded attention, whether she meant it to or not.
Just when they thought they had no use for her, they put her on the stage. Suddenly they cheered for what had once befuddled them. The fire they had fought to extinguish was now a flame they clambered to take credit for igniting. It was a fury that gathered crowds, sold tickets, sparked talk all across town, and so the crowds grew and grew.
To be clear, they still hardly approved of her. How could they approve of what they did not understand? But that which they saw they admired. And they no longer asked her to change.
If she likes you, she’ll tell you.
If she’s hungry, she’ll eat.
No sugar-coated words or fake smiles from her teeth.
When her body craves motion, she’s quick on the move.
You know she’ll be dancing; You hope it’s with you.
American sweetheart with some spice to her sweet.
Apple pie on a Sunday where the fallen saints meet.
First came the glorious pack of discount colored pens. Felt tip. Vibrant by nature. Mmmm satisfaction.
I was blending and swirling ink as soon as I got the chance.
Next came a gift from my favorite person:
THE DAILY SKETCH JOURNAL. I like journals… and sketches. I like them daily.
Needless to say, I kissed my favorite person a lot that day. Then again, I kiss him a lot everyday.
And now here I am, pen in hand, sketching away. I love lines that are bold. Thick. Black. Unflinching. I also like cute owls and girly designs…. So here’s day 1 & 2:
It’s amazing what a blessing it is to add ink to paper. My mother used to tell me to count my blessing when I was sad, or homesick, or simply needed something nice to think about as I fell asleep. Pretty much, I was encouraged to always count my blessings. There are far too many to count, but for now, I’ll name just a few:
Paper, pens, love and a boy who encourages me to take hold of these blessings daily.
Drew up a quick design for the Charcoal Squids.
“We’re a four piece indie band based out of Moscow, Idaho. Hearty folk influences and nautical amounts of passion. Classic Pacific Northwest noise.”
Check them out at:
This is Chloe.
An ever-dramatic soul. Lover of theatre.
She has more passion than she knows what to do with, is always in motion, and is always ten steps ahead in her mind.
Also, she likes Star Wars.
And dance shoes.
When I asked what color she wanted to represent her eyes, she said “Gold” instantly.
She always is seeing shining lights… Stay gold, Chloe. ❤
Sitting in bed, beer in hand, wishing away the time.
The beer would be better out of the bed,
And the bed would be better with a boy.
Sitting in bed, guitar in hand, wanting a little more time.
The song would be better on a stage instead,
And the bed would be better at night.
Be my muse so I can write a story about the way you burn toast and leave your socks on the floor. I don’t know if anyone else will think the story is any good, but it will be my favorite. I will write a chapter on how you can’t hold a pitch but I still love to hear you sing, a chapter on your blue car with a rip in the back seat, a chapter about your once red hoodie now fading to pink. You still wear it anyway because you like the way my nose crinkles when you take it off and throw it onto me.
Two chapters will tell about staying up ‘til dawn, laughing at all we’ve left behind. A chapter and a half to show that I was wrong when I ran away, wasting my time.
A page to retell how I knew you unequivocally, but only as a child when we went frog hunting in the pond.
A paragraph for your favorite book, which you read five times in the seventh grade.
A sentence for the tattoo you regret.
A word for when you close your eyes.
The story isn’t being paced quite right. Authors cringe and editors turn me away but I just keep writing because it reminds me of you and I never want you to go away.
So another chapter about when we debate never-ending subjects in the sunshine.
Two more about fist fights with your cousins in the snow.
Another about baking Angel Food Cake just so you could throw flour in my hair.
Then another for the laughter that sang from the ground up as I watched you get stuck in our favorite tree.
One more about scotch by the riverside.
Be my muse and I’ll write it all down.