To you.




I know you’ve been watching me.

I can feel the lust of your eyes.

You want me to expose all of myself to you. 

Every dirty little secret.

For me to relive every moment of intense pleasure. 

To tingle again from each painful lash.

To open myself completely to you. 

To be yours.

You want to know me.

What things tickle,

What things hurt. 

What things excite and stimulate me in ways beyond comprehension.

You follow my every movement as I show myself to you.

The thought of you watching me is exhillerating.

I want to be viewed by you;

Be consumed by the heat of your gaze.

Watch me, follow me, use me.

I am yours.



Thanks for reading me.

Go to dyingwithstyle.org to really get to know me.

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I don’t get it


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You say you don’t want to play this game
If it was a game, I’d feel the same.
The problem is it’s very real.
I can’t escape the way I feel.

What did I do or say
That made it so easy for you to run away?
Why am I even bothered by it?
It would be better if I didn’t give a shit.

I know exactly what I should do;
Let me be me, and you be you.
Play the part of “I don’t care”
Laugh and dance; learn life’s not fair.

If you love something, let it go
If it comes back, then you’ll know.
But what will I know; that it was a game?
That no one could ever feel the same?

That life is best spent by myself?
Emotions kept neatly on a shelf?
Never risking love or loss?
Floating along, not trying to cross?

Never looking for something more
Than a life that’s easy to ignore.
One day it will somehow end;
This hope of finding a true friend.

Until that day I’ll be just fine.
So please forgive this poetic whine.
For now I’ll simply smile and nod.
Become the happy, perfect fraud.

Grounded


I’m dangerously depressed.

It’s a pretty day outside, November miracle weather. I should be dancing around town in my power-chair, but I cant. Last time I was out and about something happened with the joystick on my chair, making it immobile. I have a manual transport chair that I am using, but…

Close your eyes. Now damn it! Oh, I forgot you needed them to read. Okay, don’t close your eyes but try to imagine flying around your town. Not in an airplane, you are half human, half machine. You enjoy using your arms as wings, and dancing while you fly. Always dancing. You dance everywhere you go because it feels so good to fly that you can’t help but dance.

Suddenly something snaps in your wing arms and you can’t fly or dance around town, or even get the basic errands you were planning on doing done. You are nothing more than a hurting, broken, flightless cyborg.

That’s me. Dependent on my mechanical body parts, which can break down at any moment. They said it could be as early as tomorrow, but probably next week when the technicians will be able to take a look at it. So I’m sad.

Thinking 12 years might be too long. That’s the plan, sky-diving to my death 12 years from now. I’ll really fly that day, so I guess I do have something to look forward to.

Ok, ill suck it up and put on a happy face and be a good little cyborg now. Thanks for the vent space.

Life’s Final Chapter


This poem is for two people I care a lot about, from both sides of this issue. When you love someone, you set them free.

is

What is it that you find so hard to understand?

I explained it well, what I have planned.

I know that you love me and I love you too;

This is something that I’m just getting ready to do.

I’ve laughed, I’ve loved, I’ve shed some tears.

I’ve satisfied my doubts. I’ve conquered my fears.

You still have lots of living to do.

Don’t blame yourself that my time will be through.

It doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It’s no tragic loss.

The road will be over and I can put down my cross.

I desperately want rest, and lasting relief.

Why does that have to mean heartache and grief?

I’m not angry, I’m not even sad.

I value each second of life that I’ve had.

I know there is so much that I could still live for.

Each day holds promise, a new opened door;

I could continue this life; continue to try

To find some reason why I should not die.

I’m so tired of searching for reasons to live.

A knowledge of my death is a gift that I give.

I’m telling you now, so it will be easier on you

To celebrate my life, when my death is through.

It all could be over this very night.

With a few tiny pills I could put out my light.

But I don’t want you to be left asking why

You choose to live and I chose to die.

I want you to be a part of my life till I’m gone.

Please be a great part of this farewell song.

I’m thinking I still have ten to twelve years.

That should be plenty of time to dry all your tears.

At that point, there is nothing you should say.

I’ll die with dignity. Hopefully in a humane way.

Even our pets can be comfortably let go.

But for some reason our deaths must be painfully slow.

Perhaps tomorrow I’ll be hit by a car.

It could happen in town or when traveling far.

But if I survive till I’m ready to go,

Please don’t force it to be painful and slow.

Let me have fun. Let me be me,

And when that time comes, celebrate,

I’ll be free.

Don’t “like” this


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If you see this and click “like” just because it’s a cute title, stop following my blog. I need some input from writers for a while. Amazing how blogging has all these aspiring “writers” who don’t actually comment.

Don’t get me wrong, I love all you people who click “follow” or “like”. You raise my confidence and inspire posts like this! Ok, I’ll stop now.

WRITERS: Please, tell me any personal thoughts on “point of view” in writing. I’m talking, first, second, or third person viewpoints. If you read, which perspective do you like reading from?

Speaking of perspective, There are three types of followers, “likers”, writers, and friends. Hmm, maybe I’ll do a post on that. It would get tons of “likes”. Actually, you have it. No copyrights on this paragraph. Enjoy being freshly pressed.

If you’re still reading this, you are the third type of follower, the loyal friend. I value your friendship immensely and hope you continue to follow me and be my friend. You don’t have to be anything or anyone other than yourself.

Good guy/bad guy or girl…


We are writers here right? So no ones going to be bored reading this right?

My previous post (bedtime stories: I’ll think of something), dealt with a girl who might be considered an antagonist in the story. She’s a main character, but not very likable due to her constant lying. It isn’t until we see her hurt that we begin to have some compassion for her character.

Actually, that is based on my intent in writing the thing, not necessarily the readers viewpoint.

Anyway, that got me thinking about the whole good guy who is actually a bad guy thing. In the blog book I’m writing, there are several characters who appear to be something they aren’t (in a good/bad way).

I like that in stories. The surprise factor. Who the scoobydoo villain turns out to be. My question is, what do you think makes that work? Why are we compelled by and fascinated with the turn. The card shark who bluffs their way into millions. The preacher who is sleeping with the choir girl. The love story way too good to be true.

There is a popular song now, “Say Something” which illustrates this phenomenon. The desperation associated with love. Pain with healing.

Or, maybe I just read into stuff too much. Maybe it has nothing to do with that. Anyway, sorry so boring. I’m just thinking. A lot. Writing frees my mind, so, thanks for being a sounding board.

A few things before I go,


I’m dying, so I thought I’d share some things with you. I’m not dying immediately. One day I will be, but it will probably be years from now. Stop freaking out. You should expect stuff like that from me.

  • Sorry I’ve been gone quite a bit.
  • I’m ditching Trifecta this week.
  • We tried to make coconut shrimp, and the coating kept falling off. Any tips?
  • I changed the name of this blog to Plays Well With Words. It’s a long story, but I needed to.
  • Just finished off a box of chocolates…thanks HH.
  • My house is a mess.
  • I haven’t felt like writing much lately, but I think maybe next week I’ll get some words out.
  • WhatIMeantToSay was in my dream last night. Quit haunting me! I’ll look at your blog soon. Everyone else go there after reading this.
  • I’m going to be a comment slacker, and not reply, maybe at all, to some of the stuff you’ve said in the past few days, but thanks for commenting. I have and will continue to read them, I am getting too far behind though. I’ll be back to my normal, chatty, annoying self soon.
  • Thanks for reading and understanding. You all are awesome.

Pity Party Reminder


I’m a little depressed. Not like you care, but anyway…

That was a lie. I’m not actually depressed, but now I’m feeling guilty for lying.

That was another lie. I don’t feel guilty at all.

This weekend (8/31 through 9/02) is The Hobbler’s first annual Pity Party. It might not be annual because it is 2012 and the world might end…

Anyway, here are some of the other great bloggers who will/should be participating.

GingerSnaap

Madame Weebles

bobthemartian

adorablyad

badlandsbadley

She Drives Me Crazy

Lisa Summerlin

John Phillips

Roly

Edward Hotspur

Michelle at Motley News

sandylikeabeach

susiemorrow

Marina Schulz Tork

NamratazBD

kgwaite (maybe)

Sandra Tyler (@SFiberworks)  (maybe)

Love & Lunchmeat – Actually already wrote one. Click her link!

whatimeant2say (maybe)

maryisidra (okay, she’s not actually a blogger, but a fun reader)

PMAO (is going out of town, as is Joe Hoover, but I’m sure you can find some whining on their blogs somewhere).

If I missed any of you who said you’d be there or write your own post for it, please let me know.

I’ve also personally begged asked some others to come, but I haven’t heard back yet. I was trying to find everyone, but I’m sure I’ve missed some.

Anyway, the party is for EVERYONE and it is dedicated to you. Yes you, the whiny person reading this. I mean the, um, perfectly fine person reading this. Just come.

To My Husb…I mean…To Mary I.


How do I love you?
Let me count the ways…

I love you for your words of praise,
While on my posts you thoughtfully gaze.
I love you for the way you work
To help me not feel like a jerk.
I think that you should make a blog
But such a blog, I’d probably hog
Because you are one badass chick
And on my blog, I hope you stick.
So I will write, to make you smile
And hope you stick around a while
I’ll write crappy poems, that are true
To tell you of my love for you.

Okay, I’ve got to say that although that is heartfelt, it is a little too sticky sweet for my tastes, so here is another love letter for you Mary.

Dear Mary,

I bet when I told you that I would write you a love letter, you probably didn’t believe me.

What is up with that? Of all the nerve! I’ll have you know that I am not a liar…sometimes…whether or not I am a liar is beside the point! You can’t just go around accusing people of lying and then expecting them to write you love letters! Only a fool would do that.

Or a fool might have assumed you didn’t believe her when in reality, you did. If you did believe me, then I am sorry. If you didn’t believe I’d write this, well, I guess I showed you; so there! (If you did believe me, I’m sorry for that last sentence too).

Love Hobbler

Better, but I was a little moody with that one. Last try:

Dear Mary,

Thanks for liking my posts, and commenting, for suggesting ideas for Trifecta, and playing along when I am being silly. You are one awesome reader.

Love Hobbler