(no subject)
Looking through some older work of mine, I found this prose piece. I read it and something feels off with it. Maybe it's the whole piece? I'm not sure. I've always had a problem writing dialogue. I feel as though it comes across as fake or forced. Hm.
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One of my earliest memories is of a conversation I had with my mother on my first day of kindergarten. She sat next to me with her red hair spilling over a clip loosely placed in her curls and nudged me, "Smile, kid!" Tracing my fingers across my lips, I looked up at my mother and stared at her for a moment. I remember this heavy feeling in my stomach. It felt like a warm egg salad sandwich left out on a summer day. I could smell the Suave shampoo lingering on her hair as she leaned over to put her forehead to mine. "What's going on in there?" My fingers still rested on my lips. "I was born this way. This is how my lips are. I'm not supposed to smile.", I murmured. "If I was supposed to smile, I woulda been born smiling. This is how God wants me." My mother looked at me delicately for a moment. Shame wasn't a word I knew yet but it didn't stop it from running to my face. "God doesn't matter. No one matters besides you and your smile. There are people out there who don't want you to think that you should smile. Those people don't care about you and never will. Take care of your smile and it will take care of you." She pulled out a pink shimmery diary with a shiny new lock and keys dangling from a cord. "Whenever you feel like you're not supposed to smile, I want you to open this and write until you remember why you have to smile."
I still have that diary. There is only one sentence.
IF GOD WAS REAL WE
WOULD BE BORN
WITH A SMILE.
Sometimes I like to trace the words dug into the diary to remember how my lips felt when I first realized things weren't the way they were supposed to be.----
Any suggestions, criticisms, etc? Don't hold anything back!
----
One of my earliest memories is of a conversation I had with my mother on my first day of kindergarten. She sat next to me with her red hair spilling over a clip loosely placed in her curls and nudged me, "Smile, kid!" Tracing my fingers across my lips, I looked up at my mother and stared at her for a moment. I remember this heavy feeling in my stomach. It felt like a warm egg salad sandwich left out on a summer day. I could smell the Suave shampoo lingering on her hair as she leaned over to put her forehead to mine. "What's going on in there?" My fingers still rested on my lips. "I was born this way. This is how my lips are. I'm not supposed to smile.", I murmured. "If I was supposed to smile, I woulda been born smiling. This is how God wants me." My mother looked at me delicately for a moment. Shame wasn't a word I knew yet but it didn't stop it from running to my face. "God doesn't matter. No one matters besides you and your smile. There are people out there who don't want you to think that you should smile. Those people don't care about you and never will. Take care of your smile and it will take care of you." She pulled out a pink shimmery diary with a shiny new lock and keys dangling from a cord. "Whenever you feel like you're not supposed to smile, I want you to open this and write until you remember why you have to smile."
I still have that diary. There is only one sentence.
IF GOD WAS REAL WE
WOULD BE BORN
WITH A SMILE.
Sometimes I like to trace the words dug into the diary to remember how my lips felt when I first realized things weren't the way they were supposed to be.----
Any suggestions, criticisms, etc? Don't hold anything back!