still.one.still.6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
her name is alice. there is a slight blood stain on the valley where her lips part, and her eyes are two supermassive black stars that can't show anything but hurt. she can't bring herself to look in the broken mirror puddles that are all over the ground.
(and i don't blame her)
she borrows her mother's raincoat because it smells like home. not the homes that are flooded with laundry soap or soft candles burning in the family room, but more like the paint she spilled on the carpet, or the whiskey on her father's breath.
(and sometimes, she swears she can smell her mother's sadness.)
when alice was little she remembers playing freeze tag with her mother. she remembers feeling anxious, and now she feels sick. "if daddy touches you, stay still, and don't make a sound."
291010early autumn is spreading her legs for winter and2910105 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my breath reaches the stale air
like celtic knots, writhing in shapes of
there are subtle clouds
shrouding the sky
and hushed rosemary wind
time spent on wondering which words exist,
peach blossom in a sky of tapering velvet
we both look above
in search of a god, or stars which belong on your teeth
she was is could be a sunset and
he is the sunrise
blissful history, sheltered and surreal
a spine which kisses shower
pupils like a eclipsed moon
arrowed by cupid,
misanthropic and so sudden,
can you talk without it breaking glass?
soothed and sullen cheeks, ribs
attached to a sphinx laying
like stray cats, fingernails wander
blunder and bludgeon
bruises of rhubarb and custard
prey on pretty bones
theShe slowly curved our insides to a mass of empty breaths, and when finally we would exhale and exhale, fight and desperately seek meaning in our wispy, airy contractions, nothing would come of them. A different way of saying: she had a death in me. Her hair, of red pine and willow leaves in autumn would sit lightly on her pale skin and oh, small shivers would stand still against my spine the6 years ago in Historical More Like This
Her knees were colourless; lines threw their bones into an awkward shape of round, what would normally fit wholly unusual, between her slender branches of legs and arms. Eyes, what could anything be said of them save for their lack of meaning? But yet, which could only entrance and bewilder. It was an illness that would only impale us, those, you and I - who could see the wonderment in such ordinary flesh. I cant quite think of the times Ive
dreamed you whole.
Eat"Oy, let me see your calorie card!" The skinny man at the hotdog stand demanded, holding my hotdog just out of reach.Eat6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I sighed and dug the plastic out of my pocket, handing it to him with a sour grimace on my face. I was sure I had already exceeded my allotted 1500 calories for today, but I was just so darn hungry. Seriously, what was one hotdog going to do to my figure anyway?
He shook his head as he swiped it through the scanner. "Sorry girlie. This hot dog is 242 calories. You only have 10 calories left for today." He shooed me away in preference of those with enough calories on their card to afford his food.
My stomach grumbled its complaints all the way home. If I had really wanted that hotdog I could have gone to the gym and earned more calories on my card, but I really wasn't in the mood for exercise.
It started in California, taking hold among the mothers who didn't want their kids to become fat
This Conversation Took Eons"I can control you," he said, gravitational fingers lurching into my bouldered skin and pulling bits of me away.This Conversation Took Eons6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I made it rain that day and killed three thousand and forty six people, just because I could.
"What is wrong with you?" his voice sank as the waters became weighted with people. He pulled the tides higher and washed the visible pain into the form of debris.
"They'll never forget though," I used the stars to point out my flaws and my current disaster, "because they're dead."
"Why do you do that?"
"What's wrong with me?" I asked innocently, stirring up another hurricane with my pinky.
It was all some sort of amusement to me. He was glaring at me with those fake diamond eyes and wishing for a meteor to smash into my dimpled frame. I know he wants me dead. Ever since those dinosaurs, he hasn't quite forgiven me, like I can control the death of over-populated reptiles.
"I am orbiting your bulging equator. I will always just be orbiting you," he pauses and ties my tallest m
The Time He Made Nature SilentOnce upon a time, a long while before you or I or the President was born, the world was quite different. In those days, animals, rocks, and plants could talk, but that made things quite confusing in the long run, since no one could walk on grass or hunt for his dinner without entering into intense negotiations that could last for days. After a few years of this, mankind got a little fed up with the constant bickering and decided that there had to be a way to get everything to just shut up and bend to its will.The Time He Made Nature Silent7 years ago in Humor More Like This
Now, mankind knew it couldnt ask the animals to become silent so it could hunt them (because that would turn into a debate), nor could it ask rocks and plants to keep their mouths shut, either. Since asking nicely wouldnt work (and negotiations were always getting tied up in red tape) mankind decided to send out a representative to find a solution to their troubles.
Because names were less interesting in those days, our representative was a man named Ted. (Not to say,
Number SeventeenScream catcherNumber Seventeen6 years ago in Other More Like This
I fold my hands
In fear of betrayal
You tore off hopeful parachutes
And as I landed on a cloud,
you wondered why it was raining blood
The Sum of Some PartsYou're razorblade kissesThe Sum of Some Parts6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and cyanide smiles
and all the mean little parts of me
that I keep trying to destroy.
You're the scratch in the throat
and the grit in the eyes
and the old burn that doesn't heal
no matter how much salve you put on it.
You're splinters beneath nails
and knives between ribs
and the rabbit-punch to the gut
that leaves me reeling and gasping for air.
You're the jaw wired shut
and the hands lopped off
and the feet hobbled at the ankles
so I can't run or write or scream.
You're the remnant of my past
and the ghost of my future
and that long-absent companion
I worry will always come back.
You're the one who spoke first
and taught me to hide from light
and to flee to the darkness
because no one ever loved me like you did.
You're the one who kicked me
and cursed me
and said I was nothing
but still never gave me up.
You're the jealous lover
and the tyrant
and the one who hid me away
so no one else could have me.
You're the one who broke my spirit
and made me want to die
LostSometimes I feel brokenLost7 years ago in Other More Like This
Sometimes I feel lost
Friendship is the token
Torn, shredded, lost
Used, worn, beat up
Strife, confusion, corrupt
Foolish end, abrupt
Drinking from this cup
Blood, torn, ash
Loose-lead broken, crash
Feel the heat of that flash?
Only trash, only trash....
All His Milestones On FilmAll His Milestones On FilmAll His Milestones On Film7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Starring Sanjay Dutt as Sand and Shadow
Ta-da: his childhood came unwrapped
like his mothers parcel at the boarding school
set in hills far north of Dehli.
It has to be said he was brilliantly packaged
- in silver and stretched,
a song on religious ecstasy
played with a spoon on foil,
The projector's pur
grew coarser with each flicker.
In this cage, every feature
is a première to her, every detail
apprehended for the first time
Soot came up when the silk was torn,
up from thirteen streets in Bombay,
up like the sand when child's castle
is kicked down.
He became a creeping figure,
a shadow, a smudge,
grit on the reel.
If only she could restore him,
replace each shell on the battlements
but no. The boy is spread on celluloid like a sand angel.
Dust and a pistol are all his remains.
And in truth, she is dust,
billowing between frames.
ThiefLies, he told me as I sipped a tart, Apple Burst tea. Apple Burst, they called it, and I thought it appropriate.Thief7 years ago in Erotic More Like This
His hand slipped.
It Burst to the floor, abandoning the liquid in Apple-blood flames.
I wont tolerate all of this flavor, he claimed, a slender, coarse finger circling the rim. My hand remained still, in a death grip, to an invisible frame.
I reached out for him, an apologetic reply hanging on my tongue.
No, he turned to me, his hand grazing my throat, veins swelling from his skin. You were never sorry, he griped, thrashing out a menacing look.
My heart hung from a wire.
And he was weaving it through.
I swallowed halfway. Halfway, it was, like he held a notch in my throat; this light-switch life, at his leisure to disengage.
Hurt? Sarcastic pity glossed over his eyes. I looked at him, my night in shining armor, once strong enough to hold his own sword. What weighed on him now? The poison resentment, serve
Dirty LaundryThere is nothing poetic in laundry.Dirty Laundry6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Your metaphors for tumbling lovers,
for blending and rinsing and making clean,
do not disguise the fact
that it is your dirty socks and my old underwear
rolling about in lukewarm water and soap.
Forget, too, your clever observations about dryers.
The heat settings have nothing to do with passion.
The tumbling lovers metaphor is no more useful here
than it was when you applied it to the washer.
The fact that two socks invariable become one sock
has nothing to do with an inevitable break-up.
Stop trying to see the beauty in this.
I am in a hot Laundromat under harsh florescent lights,
watching clothes spin and tumble in unappealing ways
while you are busy looking for the beauty.
Lover, put down your pen and notebook;
there is nothing poetic in laundry.
And while youre at it, fold your own damned clothes.
AnesidoraWisps of inhumanity carve out spiteful words into my earthen insides; carefully clawing to the top of my neck. My seal is mangled and unkempt but it withholds the travesties that lie within and, for that, I am grateful. Her inquisitive eyes pry at my seams then pluck at them like petals; for now she is content to guess. To wonder, to crave of what lies inside--an ill-fated gift placed into cruel and longing palms.Anesidora6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I struggle to cry out to her, as trembling and naïve hands manage to place fragile fingertips upon my surface, No, Pandora! Don't!
VacationTake a break, little conscienceVacation6 years ago in Other More Like This
This calm hasnt settled
My mind a soft wisp
Of strawberry cream
This cold fluster
Will de-thaw its brittle
Weave through comfort chill-pills
And faraway dreams
Pull out, drop it,
This flames workin overtime
As you work to serve me
And all under their prime
Take a vay-kay, its callin
Small beach, bottle a spritz
Evening comes, just imagine
And youre there
To watch the sunset
As it swims and it sits
April's HouseThe man who would be my lover through April had a daughter.April's House11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I showed her Playboys from 1999 and she grabbed at my breasts.
In mid-April my lover's grandmother died in a Michigan hospital.
The night before we had hurried sex on a friend's floor and in his shower.
I lay naked on a dark blue couch watching B list horror movies
with names like Frankenhooker and drank carbonated strawberry wine.
The floor was covered in empty Bacardi bottles and powdered Cheetos
while the bathroom smelled of concentrated bleach and urine.
I could crawl out onto the flat tarry roof through a second story window.
On the fourth of July I sat on the functionless brick chimney and got high.
The roof in South Oakland always reminded me of Mary Poppins.
Vodka coursing through my blood, I danced like a chimney sweep.
A man with bleached hair and long nails filed to a point walked me home.
He said, Margaret, I want you, and I knew I had stayed in a house full of lies.
Of Wardens: ClaraOf Wardens: Clara4 years ago in Drama More Like This
"Get her! Catch the blighted elf, you damn simpletons!"
She watched the humans searching for her - or trying to search for her, but they weren't doing a very good job. Not that she expected them to find her no matter how hard they tried. This was her forest and she knew it like the back of her hand, and these men didn't even have a clue of how to read the few signs that she'd left behind for them.
But that didn't really matter. They would not find her in the form she held not. She was a shapeshifter, a mage who had the ability to change her body to another form. She had spent days, weeks, even months and years studying animals to learn how to take on their form.
So what the humans would have to search for to find was not an elf but a small bird, a sparrow, sitting on a branch not to far from them, curisouly watching them, flying from tree to tree as she followed them.
'Silly humans...' she cooed.
Not only didn't they have a clue of how to find her, they were also walking around
ExodusMoses and his people wandered forty yearsExodus6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the desert in search of a promised land
full of milk and honey and God.
I wandered for forty minutes
in the desert in search of a trailer
full of beer cans and flies and my father.
No leather sandals, but rubber tires serve
as a boundary between the dirt and me.
No flight from Egypt, but only an obligation
to see the man who was once my Pharaoh.
No fiery pillar to light my way, just the sun
that urges me to find shelter from the heat.
In my mind I used to liken him to a God.
If ever he was one, he is fallen now,
a vain idol with a few dried flowers on the altar,
a simple wooden caricature of the man
I had loved so overwhelmingly that it seemed
Id be broken to pieces for love of him.
He stinks of fresh beer and stale cigarettes.
The former is a new stink, the latter a familiar one.
He wears my fathers face and has his voice,
but the blue eyes are shallow and a little cold,
like the eyes of a long-absent relative
who barely remembe
ExpectationOh, so here we are againExpectation6 years ago in Other More Like This
Same old fight and fiend
Same old bite and grind
Here we are again
Goodness, just a little snow
Just a little perspiration
Dont go off on where youre from
Cuz Here we are again
Oh! Cant breathe, cant breathe today
Oh! Here we are again
Oh here we are again
Cant step up, step up today
Same old song, whats to say?
Cant stay long, be brave be brave
Cuz here we are again
A Four-Year-Old's PhilosophyAnyone who has ever had a philosophical conversation with a four-year-old knows that it typically breaks down in utter boredom and the desire for a new toy. Most kids don't even like to discuss anything more than their own personal world and have very little patience for anything outside of their own comprehension.A Four-Year-Old's Philosophy7 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
My nephews seem to be the exception to this.
True, they don't have the greatest grasp on reality. Seth, after all, is still convinced that I actually turn into a horse when I get down on all fours and make "horsey noises." Evan is a little more logical; he tells me quite plainly that I'm "only pretending" and can't actually be anything more than his slightly eccentric aunt. Not to say that he doesn't enjoy pretending that I'm his personal steed, but he'll tell me who I am all the same. For the most part, both boys have learned the basic rules of reality and if they can be broken.
Evan has become the greatest source of philosophical fodder in the last year or so. Once,
Stream of consciousness 2People usually write things about life in general. Life is like a butterfly, life is like the sun, and other analogies. I have come to the realization that there are different types of life that just can't be explained by one thing. I do know of things that are possible, though. I know that each life can be tempered and tainted like a clear cup of water having just a single drop of dye added. I know two lives can be like chemicals when they meet and fire's added: something new is created. I know not, however, what these changes are. They happen different for each individual. The sun may rise like a baby being born but I know not whether the sun will appear later as a sunset or if it will dance around the sky. A butterfly might escape from its' cocoon but I know not what patterns are on its' wings and where it will fly. Chemicals might react but I know not whether they will just tolerate one another as separate beings which are simply put together or if they will combine as one, new cheStream of consciousness 26 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This