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June 17, 2019, 05:07:40 PM
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This week's words;

Sunday - Instructions

Monday- Motorcycle

Tuesday- Wildflower

Wednesday- Asparagus

Thursday- Stopwatch

Friday - Confetti

Saturday-Homesick



Word of the Day
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Author Topic: Balance Beam  (Read 29 times)
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plamb
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« on: June 11, 2019, 08:17:45 PM »

Tendrils of gravity pull at me from all sides. Threatened by enemies, doubt, distraction and a stadium of hollow headed parents screaming. Leeches syphon energy from this child prodigy placed on a pedestal and trained to contort, twist, and balance through it all. I see my parents from my peripheral vision. I see their fish bowl faces half full of bleached water. Comical thoughts planted in my brain. Seeds that may grow into cardboard trees. Standing on the edge of a knife with razor eye focus. I remind myself I am here for the disciple of balance and for no one else. Waves of insecurity attempt to tip me over as I surgically execute my routine. Here I am, still standing. Knees locked, core braced. My hips swivel, I regain balance, a Jack In The Box, popping up each and everytime. My achilles feel like steel. Nothing is going knock me down except the fists of my own mind. A simple push and I'm gone. A giant bathtub stopper suddenly pulled by the hand of circumstance and 100 spectators tanks emptied simultaneously. I love the rigidity and simultaneous flexibility these moments demand of me. My normal race horse of a brain is suddenly eclipsed into a perfect union of focus and doubt. I am aware of the stadium lights casting their light from what seems like miles above my head. The sharp smell of yesterdays sweat on the blue squishy mats. My toes curl around the balance beam, sloth like. Left leg swings back and right forearm extends. I finish. Applause. Another moment of time come and gone. I hop down from the mat with a soft thud. My mom
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Fletcher
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« Reply #1 on: June 13, 2019, 03:14:27 PM »

"I see their fish bowl faces half full of bleached water. Comical thoughts planted in my brain. Seeds that may grow into cardboard trees."

I really like these lines and many of the other metaphors and similies that you come up with!  Nice work.

It took me to the balance beam with you. Turgid and straining yet all within the limits of the mind.  Gravity is no match for the trained vision of focus. The smell of confidence radiating from the familiar stench of sweat and powdered rosin.   The grit of the teeth and quick sip of breath, heaving every ounce of energy in to the movement.  Delicate and precise from a distance the movements of the master seem to float in defiance of logic.

Thanks for that work.!  Keep diving deep!
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