Ten Little Numbers

ten numbers, not even a face.
no name.
no voice.
no tone, nothing to touch,
just ten little numbers,
made me blush.
ten numbers prickled my skin,
nipples, pushing against
soft fabric.
squeezed my thighs together,
blood rushed,
face flushed.
longing, love over lust.
ten little numbers,
had me a mess.
ten little numbers,
my heart battered against my chest.
ten little numbers,
crushed my progress.

20 Seconds

good day to all! or good night, depending on where you are…

i have talked with my new publisher, who is in full support of my “photo project”, i would like to create a photography book that we can all be part of making, compiled of our happiest moment, favorite people/person/creature, most beautiful place-a photo that represents whatever it is that motivates you to keep going, no matter the trials and struggles you’re facing. you don’t have to be a “professional” photographer to be part of this project, you just have to be human and have something inspiring to share, via photo.

if you’d like to be part of our project it’s called “20 Seconds”, i am hoping a picture really is worth 1,000 words. the proceeds of this book will be donated to children fighting cancer and life threatening diseases. you’re asked to email one photo, the title that best describes it, and your name/nickname/full name/social site handle-whoever you want the credit to go to, by 1/18/15 3pm to sarahperrot24@gmail.com

you can connect with me via Instagram at: sarahbuzzkill or here…i might be back on twitter, and I’ll update you on my website soon. thanks for being part of something bigger and giving back to art and youth advocacy. always start where you stand and send love to all…

it should go without saying, but just in case, please do not send anything that glorifies hate, fear, and loathing of humanity, rape, racism, misogyny/misandry, harm to children, domestic abuse, etc. we want to inspire with love and acceptance. this art does have some limits because it involves children and their wellbeing. if you choose a moment that inspires via taking action in a protest or something similar then please focus on non-violence.

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feel free to ask questions and be creative and artistic with edits and photo tricks!

happy holidays,
Sarah and Goddess Works Media Group

The Little Prince is Missing

I’ve just spent hours wrapping gifts for my family…I am horrible at wrapping gifts, they must be perfect; even and seamless, and the folds must meet, perfectly, and the tape strips must be even and align with the paper. I finally finished and then the dog stole one tiny box…

I set my obsessive compulsive tendencies aside and allowed this tiny wrapped box to sit, crumpled with puppy teeth marks in it’s corners, at least just for tonight. I’m exhausted. I feel…strange. Something feels different, maybe it’s me, maybe it’s in the air. The holidays are always off, especially if you’ve lost a child. Or a parent, I would imagine, although I haven’t had that experience yet. But I have lost a child…and a book.

I’ve made a warm brandy with fresh lemon and local honey. I’ve bathed and lit a cone of sandalwood incense. Brushed my hair and applied a billion different lotions and oils to keep my skin soft, supple and aim for a youthful glow, and settled in to read my favorite book, The Little Prince…

And it’s nowhere to be found, granted-my apartment is full of boxes and piles of my artwork and books, photographs and half packed suitcases, but it’s all very organized and “together”. My book is gone, as if it just grew legs and walked away. I know where I set things, and it’s just gone…my precious book has disappeared. I read that book to my baby bump while I was pregnant, started as soon as I knew he could hear me. Same time, everyday. He knew. We fell in love with The Little Prince together. What a terrible loss.

Maybe it’ll turn up tomorrow, I hope.

Snow Fall.

Battle plan, reconfigured.
Shared too much fiction,
He saw truths
She wasn’t willing to part with.
Bartering, as an art.
Crosses his legs, as she talks.
Nervous, face flushed.
Anxiety, tone touched.
What’s this, about men and fire?
Woman made of flames,
Set his house ablaze.
He’s not sure what to say,
He’d be lying if he held his tongue,
Begins to speak his mind,
Searching for thoughts,
Impossible to find.
She holds her fingers to her lips,
Hushes him, and all becomes still.
Silently, they watch the snow fall.

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if you’re ever placed in the peculiar position of having to discuss the details of your own upcoming death…

1). find the most breathtaking spot possible.

2). do not allow anyone to impose their own funeral or life celebration desires on your own wants and needs.

3). be open to dying, it’s not the end.

4). be open to living. this is a fun place, you like it here.

5). fuck cancer.

Grow Up

Maybe you drank too much Jameson.
Spend too much time with your
Head in the clouds.
Kiss with your eyes open-
Something you haven’t done in years.
Can’t explain-
Can’t find the words
Can’t find the feelings
Can’t connect the words
To find the feelings.
You’re a stargazer, you haven’t
Grown up.
Grow up.
Stop being childish.
Forget what you’re told,
Stop being so stubborn.
Stop mistrusting.
Stop being so quiet.
Stop thinking the sky will fall
(if you say how you feel).
Just sober up.
Hollywood kisses aren’t even real.

A note to self.

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