Happy Acceptance...read slowlyHappy Acceptance...read slowly3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
In my first few moments of conciousness,
after an amazingly unexpected 11 hours of sleep...
when I'm just beginning to realize that I'm still on the planet...
I'm aware in those first few moments,
of that momentary blissful peaceful feeling...
that at this precise moment... nothing hurts!
I know this isn't reality... but, as is human nature
I have a brief, but sincere longing...
for the days, when all my original equipment
was still in fine working order.
But in order for that to have any lasting appeal for me...
I'd want all that... WITH the knowledge, wisdom,
and contentment for life that I have now...
And my now concious mind knows that the two
just don't go hand in hand...
But, then I remember that the best cars are old cars,
the best wine, old wine...
and the best ordinary household things are
considered as prized antiques!
So now I sit at my computer..
rather than an old fashioned typewriter!
and honestly tell you...
that even though some type of pain
seems to be my constant comp
she lives down the streettheres a girl who lives down the street; she wears bowler hats and plays the drums.she lives down the street5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
my parents sometimes say shes a bit odd, but i think i can see these words something behind her eyes. i think she has meaning, you know?
the boys at school call her ugly. they call me babe, but i think the girl with the bowler hats is pretty in the same way that always remembering the words to your favourite song is pretty. i feel like shes got a purpose here, you know?
i might have longer legs, but shell probably have a longer life. i may be able to make gazes hang on my lips, but she can turn words into beautiful cryptic phrases like i can only ever dream of doing. shes going somewhere, you know?
the day i wore green contacts to school, girls squealed and told me i looked beautiful. i think though, that her plain blue eyes are prettier than mine will ever be. even with her clammy hands and unplucked eyebrows; shes still more than i will ever be, you know?
spoonfuls of alphabet soupmy thoughts have turned into an alphabet soup; all the letters, all the words, all the memories are still there, but the coherence is all gone.spoonfuls of alphabet soup5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i l i f i live in fantasy;
r i j a p reality is just a place
t r m f to rest my feet.
m h i i t c my head isn't in the clouds
b i f a &
recoverythe most beautiful girl i've ever met - her name was ivy.recovery4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
she used to have this beautiful blonde hair, that would shine in the sun and glow under the moon. she had a passion deep inside of her, a raging fire that looked as thought it would burn until the end of time.
we met in the summer of 2006, ivy and i. it was almost midday, and the sun was heavy on our shoulders. we sat together on dry grass and told each other about how all we wanted from life was love. we lay on our backs, our hands behind our heads, and stared at the wide blue expanse above us. back then, we both felt like we had the whole world ahead of us.
we felt like we were going somewhere.
she would tell me about how if she did one thing with her life, she just wanted to change someone's life. together we'd paint new realities in the sky, made from clouds and pure imaginations, and i would tell her that we'd live together one day, in a house along the beach. we'd lay on the sand every day, watching the sea roll
coughing coloursi used to think alexis was beautiful in every way, back when we went to school. now though, i tell myself that he's beautiful in an artistic sort of way. the sort of artistic that makes you picture everything as a black-and-white photo and the kind of artistic that sparks words somewhere inside you. he calls himself a movie-maker now, but his friends call him alex. i like to call him a story.coughing colours5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
when we were maybe fifteen, alexis told me he wanted to go to the beach. it was cold, dark and raining outside, but i agreed anyway. i walked through the late night light and met him at his front gate. we held hands, shaking and biting our lips. we weren't talking but i don't think we had to. we sat on the beach and i counted the seconds in between the flashes of light from across the bay. he had his arm around my waist and i can't remember what we said, but i remember that we were happy. cold, wet and shaking but in love and happy.
when we went to school he used to tell me about how he had ev
Not Like the BooksI hate those booksNot Like the Books6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
That are long and important and meaningful,
That shed light on how little we know one another
And what a beautiful lie love is.
The ones where a couple, maybe flush, blushing newlyweds,
Sip coffee together before work
And have a mundane conversation about the dry cleaning.
One half will mention it, in passing of course,
Because how simple and insignificant dry cleaning is to the world,
And after four paragraphs of introspection and hollowed out hearts
And anecdotes about legless grasshoppers causing childhood tears,
The other half of the couple answers, Yes,
And weve forgotten there was a question.
Theres the ignorance, and the distance.
If I dont know you
If I dont know you inside out,
I would venture to say its because you dont know you,
So how could I be doing worse?
At a bare minimum, I dont know myself inside out.
I lead myself through hints and scavenger hunts of motivations and memories
And I hope my mouth
write your reality in his eyeshe said his name was oliver.write your reality in his eyes5 years ago in Teen More Like This
he was painted with the colour of lies and had puppet string fingers. He smelt of burnt wood and methylated spirits. his eyes were uninhabited; there was nothing there. under the moon light you couldn't tell that his teeth were just slightly yellow, but under the sunlight you could tell that he was breaking. he was falling apart. he was vacant. he was, everything but beautiful.
he held her hand.
she said her name was madeline.
she had golden hair that curled in little ringlets around her waist. she had skinny legs and slender hips and a smile that could stop traffic. she couldn't bear to watch people suffer and she liked to re-write reality, the way she wished it was. she knew though, on the inside, that she couldn't re-write her lost forever and always
she pressed her lips to his collar-bone
he lived by night.
the walls of his room were painted beige and he had messy hair. he had always been attracted to lip-piercings and black hair. his fat
16 03 10when it is four in the morning and you are climbing up bedsheet mountains, i hope that you will think of me, because i have tried16 03 105 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
to leave some of myself in the plane of your quiet hands, your quiet hips.
i hope that your eyelids will not snap up but smooth away from your pupils like flowers
unfurling in stop-motion, i hope that you will remember the rectangle that my arms and
elbows floated around your waist.
and when it is seven thirty in the morning and you are finishing your third cup of coffee, i think you'll realise that you're doing better than i am, because all i can remember is
the way your veins pulsed above your skin, and it made me think that maybe your beautiful red blood loved me more than you did.
and the way you would keep talking late into the night until your voice lulled m
acceptanceyou wake up shaking, but you're not cold.acceptance4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
you throw up everything you eat, but you're not sick.
you cry every night, but you've got everything to be happy for.
you scream in pain, but nothings happening.
you take pills, but you can't feel anything,
and you say you live for love.
life isn't about what you live for,
it's who you live for.
falling apartshe's got a cage in her chest;falling apart6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
she keeps her heart there.
there's a hole in her heart;
he used to live there.
when spring comes - three.oh his heart is heavy. heavy with the weight of burdens left behind by others, and heavier with the rain he collects behind his teeth as winter approaches faster and faster. i used to like it - the way we'd stand hand in hand and bare foot in the wet grass, tipsy but happy enough to not need to be drunk, and open our mouths to catch the rain that falls heavy from above us. but i'm wet to my core and my muscles are tensed and cold now, i need to relax but even the air in this house is heavy and still around me.when spring comes - three.5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
he doesn't do much, really. he talks in a stream to me, without pausing as he tears loose threads from the carpet in his loungeroom and i listen, but he's started telling me stoties he's already told me before. he tells me he'd end the world right now if he could. if only, if only, if only. it's always if only he could. he'd buy me a better house if only he could. he'd get a better job if only he could. he'd get married to me if only he could. i still don't understand why he can'
covalent bondingthe horizon always looks closercovalent bonding6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
from the top of the street.
the clouds drift over their heads
he keeps it in his pillowcase and she
tucks hers inside her sock,
and like dirty money they
fumble with each other's
hands, infusing fingers
and fingernails until they share
one blood, two veins,
fallen leaves and dinosaur bones
in his mouth, a fallen star and
in her palm.
over the hill there is a
over the hill there is
a sprinkling of blood, tears as roped as rain,
a smattering of ashes and a block of shame. over the hill
there is a nightmare, and it prowls
on four steady feet,
hushed by lover lips and feathery footsteps.
and the skulls wait for the cancer
to dye their hair yellow, undertones of silver. she traces
his lethal arms; he sniffs at her black eye;
they pretend they cannot
see it, chafing against her ankle
and spurring dreams on the back of his head;
and so they stand at the top of the street,
and the gravel sparkle
when spring comes - one.his bedroom is dimly lit, with a musty smell that reminds me of my grandparents old house. the curtains are dark and thick; allowing only small, fragmented beams of light through the dust-coated window. he has mattresses on his floor, slathered in thick, patterned blankets and old pillows. in the corner he has an old stereo system, with two large speakers sitting on top of it. from it plays a quiet, scratchy 1920s band - a jaunty and jazzy tune that scares away the silence that usually hangs gloomily over his bedroom.when spring comes - one.5 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
the paint on the right hand wall was cracked and peeling in places but for the most it was covered with old photos that stretched from the floor to the roof. some of them made me smile as i ran my eyes over them, still trying to remain conscious of his movements behind me. i turned to face him and saw that hanging on either side of the windows were large, cracked mirrors in dark wood frames. i told him it was probably dangerous to have them there, and he smiled and told m
18. rainbowyou are the fresh winter frost on newly cut grass18. rainbow5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
and your shadows are coloured lavender
your touch is old lace against my stone skin
and your breath a wild falmenco dance on my neck
your kisses are citrus and burnt raspberries
and in the dark your voice sounds like spring birds
you made my heart turn shades of indigo and violet
and my skin tingle like sunflowers at first light
you smell of cinnamon and coffee and
of honey and of the horizon past the sea
your fingertips graze my back and like summer blue water
rolling in gingerly on polar white sand
and you were a rainbow
now you are second hand ciggarette smoke
broken sea shells and unwahsed linen
you are lost and smell of vomit and alchohol,
of broken dreams and faded hopes.
your eyes have dried up and are pastel grey
and your skin is dirty beige
your fingertips curl up in a ball, shaking like an autumn leaf
in a hard, winter breeze; thats all you really were
and as the areas underneath my eyes turn shade of ind
Oh, Northerly Stepsan ochre calm moment andOh, Northerly Steps5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
something warm and careful hits the stairs.
the steps are clean and
a pair of eyes cut straight lines in the air.
look down 30 feet and
for a moment it sounds like you're crying.
stumble and turn and
for a moment it looks like you're flying.
sunshine machine: 3chapter three; brendonsunshine machine: 35 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
I guess some people are just born with a warning label. Like maybe that girl that rides your bus - you know she's among the skankier few, so you would never pursue a relationship with her. That's just common sense, you know how she is. But other people - I guess, some other people should have been.
Like this one girl, who can't be more than 5' even, with hair that looks dark brown, but if you look close enough it actually looks like it was dyed black months ago, with an inch or so of mousy brown roots. A girl with chapped lips and round eyes that look just like baby-sized worlds, that chain smokes and wears dark pants and long sleeves in August. A girl that's built like a thin-skinned, tightly stitched ticking time bomb that's stuffed so full of secrets that you almost can't wait to for her to explode, or implode, so you can see exactly what she's keeping inside; the same girl you can't get
i was the infidelyou told me you wanted to live forever.i was the infidel4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i said there is no life without death:
there is simply being.
you taught me about airplanes and liveliness and
how to jump out a window without twisting my ankles.
sometimes you would tell me about persia
or how a hot air balloon stays aloft,
but that was when you had fire to keep you floating.
you lent me a book last fall.
i put it in my room and
swore i'd read it later, but
when i went back to look for it i realized
i had lost it, before i even
cracked the cover.
i told you and you weren't angry; you just smiled
and said that all things lost are eventually found.
last week you kissed her, long and sweet, under the crucifix:
tracing fish in the sand with your bare feet. fingers intertwined.
it was then i knew that you were gone and you had lied:
not all lost things can be found.
yesterday i found the book you gave me,
collecting dust at the back
of my bookshelf. i wanted to pick it up
and put it in the drawer where i keep hidden things;
ivy gardens, wild fire hearts.it was the winter of 2008 and our clothes were wet. my feet were thick with mud and my breath with alcohol. you stood on the porch and waited for me to come out of the rain. i don't really remember what you looked like that night, but i know what your lips felt like and how many stars i count in your eyes. i can recall the feeling of your fingers tracing my spine, and the way i tried so, so very hard to tip-toe around your fragile heart.ivy gardens, wild fire hearts.4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
the next night, we sat together in my bed i told you that i could see fire in your eyes. you didn't understand me so i said it was similar to having a fire in your heart.
"i dont want to have a fire inside me" you had replied
"because i just dont"
i just wanted you to have what made you happy, so instead i told you that you had snowflakes and light-bulb filaments in your eyes.
you looked me at me and sighed. you said that lightbulbs filaments burn out and snowflakes melt.
it hurt, to see you like that. you were the beautiful, broken boy, a
Ten Pounds Of TearsTen Pounds Of Tears6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I cried ten pounds of tears in a
Twenty-four hour period that
Was full of wide awake day dreams
And visions of you.
I cried ten pounds of tears
And the scale didn't lie for I
Re-checked five times...
Each time was the same,
Neon blue screen with bold blackened numbers.
It reminded me of my black heart
That just twenty-four hours ago was
Full, alive, and beating.
It was crimson red pumping love to my body.
But now it's just black and blue
From another heart break abuse.
I cried ten pounds of tears
That is scares me...
I broke a record of a single day worth of weight loss.
Or maybe I'm lighter because you are no longer there.
Or perhaps my heart is gone.
Damn that's a heavy heart...
I tried so hard not to cry but now
I try even harder to cry you from my system.
But it's impossible because you are forever
Embedded into me.
You are my other half and now that you are gone
I feel so lost and incomplete.
I cried ten pounds of tears that now my eyes
Are frozen from the icyness.
And my cheeks a
ask the butterfliesdear girl,ask the butterflies5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
i have a brick house with old wooden floors. vines grow up onto my porch and i sit, thinking i can watch them grow. i have white stone paths that lead to my front door, made of old, heavy wood. the cherry blossom in my backyard sometimes reminds me of you - your bright eyes and gorgeous skin. sometimes their flowers are scattered across the yard; flecks of pink and white on wet green grass, just like your mind - scarttered but still more beautiful than ever.
the doors in my house creak when opened, and i don't own a comfy couch or matress. my porcelain teapot is covered in small, blue floral patterns and flowers grow on my windowsill. some of my walls have cracks in them, high in the ceiling and a tall oak tree grows in my back yard, which sparrows use to nest in during spring. thick patches of shrubs and dark green bushes grow along side it in my garden and my grass often grows too long. i wash all of my clothes by hand and for breakfast i eat home-made brown bread and butt
when spring comes - two.its a beautiful thing to witness, the beginning of new life. i think thats why i liked autumn so much. because i knew, that after the cold and after everything was finished dying and decaying, it would all come back even more beautiful than it was before. it was a hopeful time of year, in a way. it made me happy. besides, everything always seemed so warm in autumn. the warm tones that paraded across the trees made everything seem cosey and cute. it made me aware of the fact that winter was just around the corner, but it was as if things weren't going to be as bad as they were the year before, even though they alway were.when spring comes - two.5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
but right now, i think i was being born again. being born into a new being that revolved around this messy-haired, wide-eyed, wild boy. i think it was the begging of a new life, and it was as beautiful to witness as i could ever imagine. it makes me wonder what i miss sometimes, when im too busy to pay attention. maybe i could have witnessed the unfurling of a flower,
prometheus - collab.this isn't the beginning of a new end or the fall of an old empire, but something entirely different. it's something a little like the quiet after a fight or the silence as a hundred people walk past you in a [lonely] crowded city. this is something like that.prometheus - collab.5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
this is what it might feel like to become everything around you, to forget you exist. this is like realizing that it'll come back to haunt you, this is remembering you're not immortal. this is the few coldest days of winter and the hottest days of summer, and this is like the first time you tried a little, and you still fell. this is something like that.
but this is also like reaching the bottom of that ice-cream cone and being the first to get to the top of the jungle gym [but only to realize you can't get back down]. this is something like finding that even though you finished last, condolences are paid handsomely [by bright green eyes and a comforting hug]. this is something like that.
but sometimes, this isn't like any of tho