The VCR Diaries- Act 3, Part 3

The VCR Diaries: A Poetic Documental based on the Novel Erased 

Act 3- Reece, Part 3

Ever seen a tiny branch form right out of a large branch?  There’s no succession; no respect for season.  You blink and there it is.  It appears weak in contrast, until you see a squirrel sitting there.  There’s no sway.  There’s no bounce. It’s there and it’s meant to be there.  My life is the tiny branch, but my breath remains a set of wings… again, one tiny and one large.  You should see it flying through the sky; my breath.  If you can capture the image, you’ll say it’s not going that far.  Yet you travel the valleys, overcome the mountains, get to your next peak, and there it is.

The lights are back up.  The jaws are fully in place now and we can proceed.  This is the last few drops of blood red ink; the way they fell on the page.

Survival Instinct 

Instinct is an animal,

Intuition is a human,

I’m part animal.

The larger wing belongs to the animal,

And the pretty one,

With all the colors and hearts,

That one,

It’s weaker but it lives longer.

It’s not the battle however,

Which of them lives longer,

No,

That’s the war.

But the battle is here and now,

And its cry is clear and loud.

I used to cry louder,

And the battle hated me.

Now I see clearer,

And the battle needs me.

My instincts tells me,

When to stop fighting,

But my breath tells me,

Never to drop my sword.

I sit around for miles of time,

Waiting for contenders,

But up this high,

You need one weak wing.

It’s my broken parts,

That keeps me winning.

It’s my whole parts,

That keeps me waiting.

It’s a war dance,

Held beneath the skin,

It’s a cold breath,

Hidden beneath hot and heavy words.

I saw her of course,

And she saw me,

But my whole parts kept me quiet,

When my broken parts thought to wage war.

I wouldn’t dear fight,

And lose my might.

She wouldn’t dear come,

And get some.

I’m part animal,

And she’s too mad to see clearly.

She’s all human,

And I’m too sharp to come calmly.

We wait for him,

But he doesn’t jump in.

He sees his prey,

But it’s neither of us.

His instincts says,

What comes next,

Is neither human or animal.

He looks intently,

While we follow his eyes,

He looks wholeheartedly,

And we both lose heart.

She vanishes,

He returns,

I withstand. 

Number Eleven

Number eleven,

Is a first.

It’s been a while,

A first.

I’ve seen most of this already,

So I used to love second.

Number ten was a jerk,

And gave no spoilers.

It’s all a surprise to me,

Eleven,

I mean we two.

It’s all reduction,

And I’m reduced to,

A girl.

Still looking for the manual,

It got lost,

In survival sauce.

I’m trying to remember,

This member,

I buried.

I’m trying to dig,

Her voice out of a ditch,

But there’s a glitch,

He thinks I’m perfect,

And waves off the subject.

I think he’s kidding me,

But he proves it.

I think I’m kidding him,

But he grooves with it.

And the two,

Becomes one,

And the one,

Becomes a blur.

And now I remember,

He’s not the first,

I’m but a rib,

And there are ten piles of dirt.  

To begin the novel Erased:
http://thedecksandtheroad.blogspot.com/2018/05/erased-dedication-and-introduction.html 
To read Reece's Excerpt from the novel Erased
http://tbiob.blogspot.com/2018/07/the-vcr-diaries.html 

All Poems Written by NaTisha Renee Williams 

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.  Written permission must be secured from the author Natisha R. Williams and/or Grace Call Communications, LLC to use or reproduce any part of this Literary Work, except for brief quotation in critical reviews or articles.

The VCR Diaries Copyright 2018 by Natisha Renee Williams, All Right Reserved.