We’re Moving On Up?

Hey Heathens soooo I thought I was gonna have some “ohmygsoh look at me” type news today but eh. The powers that be and all that are up to some twists of fate. Anyways, I just want to be nice and stuff since you’re all fellow bloggers too and stuff and I would hate for you guys to get suckered so here we go.

Yesterday I got this thing in the mail yesterday right? It was from the National Association of Professional Women. The letter is congratulating me on my hard work on the site and making me all warm and fuzzy saying I can go online and have a free 2015 membership. I was all happy and go-lucky thinking “hey, I’m finally getting noticed!” Then it kind of dawned on me that the way it was worded made it sound like I myself had applied for it which of course I didn’t. Then I thought about it more and was like: how did you guys even get my address???

I told a few close friends about it until finally one said it sounded fishy. Did some research and ha wouldn’t you know it? He was right. This woman told her story and she went even further than I did, to the point where she almost gave them about $700 bucks. I’m not sure if any other bloggers here at WordPress have been contacted by them or not so I figured I’d share with you guys as a warning. Stay safe and avoid scams guys. We work too hard on this stuff to give it up without a fight.

In Her Room

There are skeletons in the closet, and bars on her heart

Bolts on all the locks, and a series of permanent scars.

On the nightstand is the gun with the bullets in the chamber

Because she’s fully aware of the ways of human nature.

The walls are painted red, a dark shadow in every corner,

Reminders of times when someone should have warned her.

A pair of boots scattered across the hard wooden floor

In case she ever needs to take off running out the door.

Plenty of sweaters to cover the marks along her wrists

And a vial of poison that once tenderly touched her lips.

A clock on the wall that long ago stopped ticking

And old war wounds that she’s sadly still licking.

A knife in her pocket in case they get too close,

In her eyes she is desperately missing all hope.

Instead there’s a look of expectant sorrow

As she refuses to try and plan for tomorrow.

Every mirror is covered to hide her reflection

In an effort to avoid anymore of life’s rejections.

A series of dead dream catchers neatly out on display

Yet they’ve done nothing to keep the nightmares at bay.

There are cracks everywhere that she tries to cover

And a coldness that makes everyone else shudder.

A collection of books with names of those she once knew

That tell tales of those who left and others she outgrew.

There’s a bittersweet song playing that she keeps on repeat

Bringing forth so many memories that she cannot delete.

Along with a key around her neck that goes to a secret lock

But she won’t open that door, not even if someone knocks.

The place is completely messy, much like her soul

Yet it’s the only place she feels safe, this little hole.

Its pitch black in her room, no light to be found

In it she sits unnoticed, not making a sound.

Yet there’s a monster in her head

But its not what’s really to dread

Instead it’s the fragile heart

That’s slowly breaking her apart.