Hey guys, the stuff so far is great. If you know any people who are interested, the more the merrier!

This is more of a rant like prose if anything. I wanted to work sentences against each other. I don't want this to become a debate if you disagree, this is based off work experience and more or less breaks my heart to see. A fellow writer once wrote a piece starting with "Dear Mom" and it was an angry rant. This is similar to that.

Dear Parents,

Hello. I stand speechless at the sight I see. Let me start with my story. I grew up going to camp because my parents both worked. During the year I was home, sometimes with a baby sitter sometimes not. It wasn’t that my parents didn’t love me. They do. Heck, I want to be a writer and they love me (I think). Camp is a second home to me. I adapted to the times because I had to. I had no choice. There was only so many times I could watch a movie or sleep in late and do nothing. Times are different now. I work with your children, and I see you go to work. Dads in business suits, mom’s explaining that the baby sitter is picking up, and scared kids. Kids who cry a river for a moment to hold you. Today, I overheard a child say “My mommy doesn’t have to work; she just hangs out all day and does nothing. It’s like camp for her.” Is this your child?

It stings like a bee during a hot summer day. The kind of pain that hurts more as time progresses. Perhaps I’m just feeling sympathetic. Perhaps I envy your lifestyle. Perhaps I grit my teeth because I expected better. The little kids scream for their moms, the moms too busy to be a parent. The parents who rather enjoy the product and not the making of it. Last time I checked, being a parent was a full time job, no vacations and no pay. You don’t get paid double for overtime or holidays. You don’t get appreciated. Not until they are older, hopefully. They will hurt you, they will disappoint you, they will fall. Don’t add to that by not being there. It’s the only job that I know that people look forward to. I’m a child still, I always will be. They say you appreciate things more after it’s gone. I hope it’s not for you. One day your boy is four years old singing songs and clasping onto your index finger with his entire hand, and in the next moment, he’s seventeen and convinced he’s invincible without your help. He has the love of his life and a mind filled with dreams. He doesn’t want to spend time with you. He’s “growing up”. Where were you when it counted? When he screamed to hold you, to get attention, to get anything from you? Is anything ringing a bell? Anything?

Always,

An Ex-Latchkey Kid

Losers

I've been wanting to write a lightening quick story for a while, so here's my attempt.

"Losers"

They lost the war.

   Nobody thought they would, but they did. Nobody thought so because they had everything and people who have everything don’t lose. They had years of training and the best weaponry and lifetimes of knowing the guys, the ones they were told to die along – if it came to that, which it did.

   They all didn’t die of course. That’s because they didn’t fully lose. They just wouldn’t win, so they were called home. It’s the ones who didn’t die that didn’t win who are called calls losers.

   The ones who didn’t die that didn’t win will go back home to their husbands or wives who greeted them with large hugs and larger kisses (if the kids weren’t looking).  Then, without thought of a gun or an explosion or any blood they get into a quiet care with the family and drive home.

   When they get home, they go into their very nice bathrooms to relieve themselves, in whatever way they do, and then exit to the living room to sit on the couch. Their respective spouses emerge from the kitchen with a cold drink and sit close and turns on the television.

   It will be a game show playing on the television, but the volume will be turned down so it’s only background noise. They’ll order pizza or Chinese or Thai – something quick and fulfilling. Their spouses will order their usual orders, and if there are kids they can watch them make a happy mess of themselves.

   Dinner will be over and the kids will want to play for a bit. Toys are thrown about the floor and for an hour or two there is content chaos in the household before they tire out.

   Then it’s time for the lovers. The veteran will be serious, but the spouse will be a wet mess, sobbing of relief. They’ll start to kiss. They lose their clothes once the bedroom door opens and the lights are barely put on – just a dim ambience. Then they’re on the bed and they lose all inhibitions. They will have sex and it will be very passionate and probably a little hard because it emerged out of grief, relief and desperation. For a few seconds, they’ll completely lose their minds.

   Afterward, they’ll lose all ability to stay awake and they’ll fall asleep. It will make them wonder what they lost at all.

One More

The poem make up is more scattered. Lines are indented, halves of words are moved about, and only 6 lines are actually left-aligned. However, blogspot doesn't keep the spaces I put in, so you're just going to have to use your imagination. :)

-------

[070509]
there are momentous moments
in which no explanation can be offered(nor
would you really want one)and sometimes
you can never ask the "right questions"(if it

gets you an answer, can i really be wrong?), no
matter how ha
rd you try. and believe you me,

i've tried.

it's in these momentous moments that
the silence(which has been bronzified
like a pair of baby booties your great

grand
mother once crocheted for the new breath
of life
she was so scared to lose, and, as a result,
couldn't control her nervous twitch and
before anyone could blink, she'd
created 1,002 delicately woven booties,
much like the small wriggling form in
the rocking bassinet --
she had been a

miracle, you see)suddenly
takes on a golden hue and
somehow,

you finally seem to
get it.