Bridget Meier
Bio
I am an activist. For rights and choices. For the silent. My medium is poetry, but I do have short stories and to-be-continued's. I have a whole book. I'm looking for it to be published soon. I'm a jack of all trades.
Stories (14/0)
Fathom
I can't think of how some people think that rape culture and body-shaming is alright, Not when just the other day, his little sister cried saying that people are calling her a slut because she sent a pair of boobs to her boyfriend-not even her pair of boobs,
By Bridget Meier7 years ago in Poets
Always On Her Toes: Chapter Two
Chapter Two: Gouge Out My Eyes Why Don’t You? I told DJ of the news and she gasped. Tears filled her eyes. So she left to be with him. Bryce, I mean. Who else? I mean, it’s his sister. Ok, that was stupid. Uh, why do I talk so choppy? That’s not the point. Anyways, I was almost jealous, that’s how upset she was. So I was alone in my studio. I looked around me, at the mirror me’s in the walls. I saw a girl in way over her head. I didn’t see me, the dancer. So I walked to the stereo, taking my jacket off along the way. I needed to decide, instrumental or lyrical? I chose lyrical, for a challenge. I chose "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor. I stood with my legs crossed, bent to the side, arm over my head. On the first note, I rose. Spreading my arms wide, I twirled. When I rose from the twirl I leaped into the air in a spiral. I allowed myself to crumple into a ball. I let myself lay all the way flat on my back; I made my torso rise first. I pretended to walk out the door in a moonwalk fashion. I danced for hours. By the time I was finished it was late, like 1 am. I walked down the street to my apartment. I walked up the stairs, my body tired. So I barely made it into my living room. I collapsed into my easy chair. I felt sleep coming on, but I wanted to know if Sierra was ok. I practically crawled to my kitchen. I got a Monster Energy drink out of my fridge. These were usually for the days that I had late interviews or Bryce when he stayed with me. So there was no harm in taking one to run to the hospital. I popped the top on it and sat with my back against the fridge door. I gingerly sipped the substance. The liquid burned my throat as it travelled into my stomach. I felt it spread from my core, almost like when you’re cold and you drink hot cocoa. I felt it spread into my arms, my legs. Warmth. With the Monster it was energy. I got up ten minutes later when I finished it.
By Bridget Meier7 years ago in Humans
Always On Her Toes: Chapter 1
Dance, Karli, you’re depending on this show, I thought. I sighed, waiting for the music. I was dancing Lyrical today. The song was Dancing Queen by ABBA. It was seventies week this week, so I went with Lyrical. Lyrical was sometimes really easy and sometimes really hard. I’d contemplated not dancing, but if I was absent without an excuse, I’d be kicked out of my Dance School. If I didn’t dance, my PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) would kick back in. That surely wouldn’t be a good thing. Winding up in the loony bin is NEVER a good thing.
By Bridget Meier7 years ago in Humans
My Friend the Police Officer
I have known this man decently for at least three years. We went to the same high school and served in the Manual Academy JROTC program. As I've grown to know him, he's been more and more himself. In the past... well, for a while he was in the police academy. Despite being one of the star football players, he was really down to earth in high school. He dealt with all kinds of drama from people having a concussion every other week to struggling with Trigonometry. By his senior year, he was in the top three, "god powers," as we cadets called them, of the JROTC Battalion. He was the Cadet Sergeant Major, CSM for short. He led the weekly Physical Training, amongst other things. After he graduated, he suffered a terrible loss, that no one really knew how to help with. Somewhere in the midst of the homework and football games, he decided that he wanted to be a Police Officer.
By Bridget Meier7 years ago in Journal