A Dream Come True - AnonymousSometimes I would have dreams about her after she moved across the state. I knew her for years, and the attraction was mutual, but I was a coward. Scared half to death of letting myself follow through with the things I wanted to do. Scared half to death to be myself, I guess. We flirted. We cuddled. We lay in the same room and had trouble sleeping because we were so painfully aware the other existed. But I was a coward and because of that, nothing went further than that.A Dream Come True - Anonymous9 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Of course, in my dreams, it was always another story. I'm not a very sexual person, and I haven't quite figured out if it's because I've always been with guys, and perhaps I'm more sexually comfortable with girls, or if I'd be the same way with everyone. But in my dreams, everything is different. Everything is beautiful. I am not a coward in my dreams. When you're asleep, you can do anything.
I'd recently started having them again. The dreams, you know. So when David and Jenn told me last week that they were planning o
Forget-You-NotsAs soon as goodbye fell from your lips,Forget-You-Nots7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Rolled down the front of your shirt,
And shattered against the floor--
Echoing like a pin dropping in silence,
It was at that moment I decided,
You never existed.
Each letter, each gift, each song
You dedicated and whispered in my ear,
Burned, thrown away, and forgotten.
Never happened. Not even a thread
Of you within my mind,
My heart or my dreams.
Replaced the sheets on the bed
Because cleaning them wouldn't do.
Every thing in the house
Just reminded me of you.
TrainTrain12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Where are you going my train(?)
with a clank-and-grind steady movement,
and red blink
I could hop on, hobo-style
and ride to San Fransisco
on stale bread and a sway of Jack Daniels
howling with Ginsberg
in the clankity night of
refugee-riding away from conformity.
Travel on the road
with my good friend Jack,
who's got the look of highway in his eyes,
small-talking into crazy dreams
and ending up in Mexico.
And me and Walt,
we could sing the song of ourselves
to every passing black cow in Iowa
and still have room for laughter.
hop on and never get tired,
howl and travel and sing,
but each time I hear that whistle blow
my mind says get off the tracks,
but my heart starts running for the clankity-clank, clackity clack.
Natural ResponsesNatural Responses6 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
When the men finally left, Dina came out of the outhouse where she had been hiding with Baby Jesse in her arms and went straight for Starling, Jesse's mare which was saddled up outside. One look inside the house had told her all she needed to know - Dina was a frontier girl, and she knew what a dead man looked like. Jesse had put up a hell of a fight, but this time it hadn't been enough. By nightfall, Maurice Black would be in the mayor's mansion, and he would make one of his thugs sheriff in Jesse's place. She knew how it worked; after all, Jesse had helped Big Tom do the same thing only a few short years before.
Dina put one arm around Baby Jesse in his sling across her chest, and used the other to hoist herself onto Starling's back. My, how time does fly, she thought to herself.
Maurice would have his boys watching the south road, towards the rest of the county. Maybe they'd let her go, and maybe they woul
A Casual FuneralA plane home,A Casual Funeral8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
holding it together like winter in June,
a passed away friends dry ground
hard to find as any
from a mile up,
or only six feet away.
No cocktails, no Dramamine,
Ill sick and seizure just the same;
my manual is made of liquid,
fragile as a prayer
recited in slumber
at the luggage station,
where a conveyer lets go, go, go
until the rollers break;
until the rubber throws up its hands
in split hair strands, and finally says
A plain home,
holding it together like a desert palm,
a seed that strayed from comforts
of tropical showers to root
in spider-webbed salt flats
on a curious, epileptic wind
that carries each and every one of us
a mile up, or six feet down
CommunicationCommunication9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The first time I explained it to you
The words crashed into each other
And then shattered.
So I explained again more slowly
But the words slowed until they
Ground to a halt and were lost.
When I tried again they got
Twisted in your ear canal and
Warped inside your mind.
I lost patience and shouted so much
That the words were too big for
You to take them in without crushing them.
No matter how many times I explain it to you
You take my words and
Turn them upside-down and
And I get so frustrated
It's impossible to believe my own lie:
I don't care what you think.
NotebookI'm at the mall, sitting on a bench, with a notebook on my lap, and I'm scribbling out random dribbles and drabbles of thought. They're melting together, but not making sense, and the sketches of nothing in the corners bordering it are starting to worry me.Notebook7 years ago in Spiritual & Occult More Like This
I don't notice the first time she says hey, but the second time catches my attention. I almost thank her for it, but she would never have understood why.
She asks what I'm drawing. I tell her I'm not, I'm writing. She laughs, and asks what I'm writing. I look at the words and turn the pages back, and realize that it's not my style of writing. It's not even my handwriting.
But my hand wrote it.
I just tell her I'm not sure, that I was writing out thoughts, and they rarely come out clearly. She smiles and agrees before asking if she can join me. I say yes, and scoot over on the bench.
She sits next to me and pulls out a notebook. She flips through pages of drawings before she comes to a blank one, and sets her pencil to the paper. She
Sons of Havoc-Always and NeverSons of Havoc-Always and Never7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
.. For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, the injuries that to myself I might do, doing thee vantage, double-vantage me. Such is my love, to thee I so belong.. that for thy right myself will bear all wrong...
Such had been the last words to have escaped her lush, round lips the very moment before she had finally allowed herself to relax beside him, feeling completely vulnerable, yet completely secure all at the same time. The last few weeks had seemed like such a blur. How quickly it had seemed that a budding six month friendship had developed into a raging wildfire of a romance. Though, I suppose, three straight weeks of being at each others side would either make or break a bond- though for them, it had done something more.
She had noticed quite quickly, her growing interest in the blonde-haired, blue-eyed bombshell- and it wasnt just because of his pretty face and charming demeanor.. Kharma had taken a special interest in Crim
Idiom: ThoroughlyIdiom: Thoroughly8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"You said you wanted the reverse stripped out of you,
and that's all I left you with."
V. Kingston Upon Thames
How do fancy it? And do you fancy it at all?
Does it have geography and are we grey? Do we have
a time, do we have
(I am turning British corners and you are there,
I will hear our language drown in their heavy tongues. I
will search for their consonants in vain, and they will call
me foreign when I hit mine
too hard. I will search for you, middle-
We will not look like writers then. (We look like
hell; we look like
authors.) We will be worn down like the effects of
wind or harsh water on certain surfaces.
Speak to me in this language- we've only to open
our mouths a little wid
the conversationalistthe conversationalist11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
slit-eye winter sun-
rise buried to the hilt
as if you
'd answered my every fucking
question speaking french-
it's October again, my darling
for pity, oh. for pity's sake, this
talking in morse or
semaphore is getting
by the day.
these icy fingers
are not persuaded by my plea of self
defence, the jury's
out, the cock has crowed,
the books are
falling from the shelves
like dodgy tape recordings of
conversations overheard in dreams,
what I want to know is why,
I had my mouth ajar as if to speak,
as though the distance between my
tongue and lip
was suddenly too far.
Phoenix groundedDear August,Phoenix grounded5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I might have watched the city burn from this height,
rising up, smoky hand-to-hand combustion,
that long ago Sunday en route to the sea.
Honor minus pragmatism is how I see it now,
but then, I always knew I was an interloper,
watching tradition descend, upright fathers to stalwart sons
(Since 1865: When do you stop counting the losses,
in sons and acres, I wonder?)
O honor, that insubstantial source of languid pride,
toothless and infirm, minus muskets and
those ridiculous dueling pistols.
(My eyes roll at tales of minted drinks on magnolia'd lawns:
pure Hollywood, and too far gone on the breeze.)
Still, plenty to strain around here,
afternoon cocktails and my frayed credulity.
Shall I distract you from your manufactured loss
through calculated subterfuge?
Keep that membrane flexible, the one that cordons off
your unremembered past?
Get comfortable dear, in your antebellum world.
Quench the thirst with bourbon and branch,
just like great-great-great-granddaddy
but it also meansIt's mundane,but it also means8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the soda aisle
and my wandering, walking up
then down. I frown to distract.
And buy the soda you love
because you might, you
might be here to have it. Though
with I need a drink.
I don't need a drink.
The same strength, faux-weak
ness that I will always have,
and tell myself I learned from you.
I buy it, afraid I won't like the taste,
or maybe I will and it'll be there
for a few days squishing along inside me.
It's just fucking soda, but it also means
I still love you.
GeishaGeisha9 years ago in Erotic More Like This
The smells of perfume and incense rake at the air. My hair flows down my back, no longer prim. I stand over the body of my lover. He is looking up at me, bewildered. A muted gurgle escapes his lips. He draws his last breath. I fix my hair. I reapply makeup. For what? Revolution.
summer children, we were'ii.summer children, we were'8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
we carved animals
from ivory castles
floating in the sun. we were
the doting spring mayflies
twisting upon meadows,
wreathing lilies between
toes, breathing --
between the sheets
of golden chaff,
she whispered, "let's dance in the rain
on the cobblestone streets
before the singing rosebud