Inside The Vocal Boardroom
Challenge Ideas Abound
I've noticed a trend and it's new,
The writers stopped writing haiku,
The haiku is now dead,
It's limericks instead,
A challenge, that's what we should do!
About the Creator
Misty Rae
Author of the best-selling novel, I Ran So You Could Fly (The Paris O'Ree Story), Chicken Soup For the Soul contributor, mom to 2 dogs & 3 humans. Nature lover. Chef. Recovering lawyer. Living my best life in the middle of nowhere.
Foot Bindings
I asked my grandmother how she knew she'd fallen in love. I am not sure I ever did love him, she said. This was before I met my husband. I was naive, a naked spring, a raw nerve of a thing. That cannot ever be me, I knew. Sadness swept in gently like a Moscow thaw. It is no simple thing, looking into a woman's vast soul and seeing its foot bindings. Now, in Italy divorced with my skin singed off, when I say I don't love him mean: I have succeeded at feeling nothing most days and it mostly works. Do you want the comfort of Nothing? Do you want Nothing, too? Be warned: you'll never be free, even when you are nothing. Here is what doesn't work: Accepting the stages of grief. Talking about it. Sitting with the feeling. Missing him—no, the person you were when you believed in death do us part. Writing poetry. That, too. When I say I don't love him I mean: I feel capsized in an endless, starved tide. What sometimes works: selective memory. You must forget ripe tomatoes and his beard and feeling perfectly sheltered in a big blue world. Forget coffee in bed, laughter watching TV, blowing out the candles on the birthday cake and the quiet all-encompassing knowledge that you are chosen. Remember only how love turned to a banal everyday survival act, a trapeze act unsure whether he will catch you, how the warmth stagnated and became sour, remember the foot bindings and remember the resentment boiling in your veins as you stick it out for the kids. Six-hour Netflix binges help, too. A man's fingers tracing your spine. Frozen pizza at 2 a.m. Random trips to the museum just to stand near things that last a while. The realization that crying won’t change anything. Seeing that life is just a dream, and refusing to participate in your own suffering. Bite your fist. Walk on eggshells around joy. When I say I don't love him, I mean he didn’t break my heart, he just stopped touching it and it forgot how to beat right.
By Ella Bogdanovaa day ago in Poets
Comments (32)
😂 Love this
Way to go! To me limericks are kind of hard to write though.
Ahaha loved this.
Ahaha loved this.
I think this is how it went down
Haha I loved this, crafty
Clever Misty!
I'm clapping loud and smiling! lol Love this! Congrats on Top Story! <3
limericks all the way... I do wonder if this is the next big trend on Vocal. Congratulations
Like so many others, including Vocal who didn't bother to mention it, a Limerick also has syllable rules that follow a pattern: 8 8 5 5 8 Yours has come the closest.... So once again the rules don't apply and what people are submitting & receiving praise for are not really limericks. I wrote about the proper form.
I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! Congratulations on your Top Story :)
LOL, fun and on point!
I actually was thinking this thought this morning!!! Great limerick. Farewell to the Haiku !!
So funny! RIP haikus.
Ha this was funny! Thank you!
Congrats on the well deserved Top Story
lol congrats
At least it shows they are listening...or we have a spy in our midst 🤔🤣. Congratulations on getting Top Story!
😆 so true!! Congratulations on top story you speak truth
Congratulations on your Top Story
Cute and true! Awesome job! 😍
Nailed it!
Lol that was cute!
HAHAHA...but they are so DAMN catchy
You totally made me laugh out loud!!! This is great! I think many of us are feeling relief that Vocal heard our pleas.