I slog through muck, a sticky mix of wrongs that reign. I protest. I carry with me no sign, only one lone woman’s heart-scream. I side-step puddles, fearful of taking on more dampness, darkness, dread, doubt, despair. And yet And yet In a stagnant pool of tomorrow’s rain I see, within its waters, reflected the howl of another woman’s rage. Despite myself, I hope.
Appreciating urban art, I see “I love you, Tara” spray painted on every other overpass in town. A sweet, romantic story, I think Until “They Trick Me, Baby” appeared next to one of them. A plea for mercy! So I cheered on Graffiti Boy/hoped for forgiveness but, alas, it was not to be. “Tara” was soon crossed out in sprayed splendor, replaced by a heartfelt “I love you, Dorothy.” Maybe this time? One can only hope.
What writing or editing work do you need to have done? Do you need a speaker or trainer?