Archive | January, 2014

Chapstick Junkie

10 Jan

In November I participated in a writing workshop here in Williston (I know, right?  …There are actually things to do in Williston besides work and drink).   Two published authors who had grown up in North Dakota teamed up with the North Dakota Humanities Council to bring some humanities activities to the state.  There were about 20 of us in participation, I think I was the youngest.   They migrated from other places to work and save money and were all different in a lot of ways, but we all came together for two nights in the month of November to share our work, talent, and dreams.  It was an amazing experience.

The attendees have decided to come together once a month and form a writing group to help each other develop our skills, brainstorm ideas, and give constructive critiques.  One of the women from the group has also organized a women’s only snow shoe/writing retreat at Fort Union this weekend.  We’re going to hike through a national landmark and then get together and write about our experience.  I’m so excited!  I’ve never done anything like this and it feels good to be doing some productive activities.

For the last session of the workshop we were supposed to submit a writing assignment on anything we chose fitting and in any form.  I chose to do a poem of sorts on my horrible addiction to chapstick.  Of course I would take this assignment and try to write something so ridiculous that it’s funny.  Just like me!  But I’d like to share it with you all   =)

Chapstick Junkie

Crackled, dry and scaly lips are proof that I need you.

I reach for you at any hour of the day, and when I can’t find you my mind is consumed.

The more I use you the more I need you.

You haunt me at checkout lanes, gas stations, and malls.

You’re stashed away in drawers, cupboards, the car, work, the bathroom, even in the kitchen.

You wreak havoc on my laundry, melt in the sun and explode in the winter.

Countless dollars have been spent since you’ve been in my life.

Raping, pillaging and plundering are all necessary means to an end to get my fix.

On desperate occasions I’ve stooped to using olive oil, lotion and the wax behind my ears.

And yet, nothing compares to the sweet release and comfort I feel when I use.

Smooth, pink, plush, smackable, kissable lips.

Euphoria. Sheer heaven. Ecstasy.

But soon, the edge wears off and I reach for you again.

The cycle continues.

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