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
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."
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
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
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.
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
A Night of ThievesStolenA Night of Thieves6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The rage shakes my soul
That piece is gone now
I can't be whole
My heart beats unrelentlessly
when it reaches you,
no defence from me
No forgiving option, its gone too far
My words disappear
& its left this scar
The smile breaks, an unending ache
Trusting you was just another mistake
For the missing lines,
for the stolen time
Because of this hate now I'm losing rhyme
Tried to let it go,
not to be bound
But more rage is all that I have found
you can't eve
they never quite doMara made pictures without a thousand words, without sounds or touches; Mara made pictures with a whisper, when she least wanted to, much to her chagrin. They hung thick on her walls; faces frozen, eyes wide at Maras word.they never quite do7 years ago in Horror More Like This
Mara was thinner than she seemed, taking steps towards the bright light at the end of the hallway. Not as sure as she was stoned, she meandered; her feet leaving strange skinny marks in the thick carpet. Her hair, blonde on black, wagged back and forth as music played somewhere between her ears. She rounded the corner and asked the man on the wall a simple question. Where were you while we were getting high?&
Every Neighborhood Has OneThere is a house on the end of the block that always looks friendly and inviting.Every Neighborhood Has One7 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
True, the walkway might always be covered in leaves, and a cold wind seems to blow whenever one even considers walking up to it, but thats only the human imagination at work. The siding is repainted every year, the roof is in good repair, and theres never so much as a burned-out lightbulb showing on the entire exterior. Its the kind of house where an elderly couple lives, with their small yapping dog that (strangely) never seems to make noise. The kind of house that should be on the cover of magazines because it just looks too perfect, and yet no one ever comes to snap pictures.
Every neighborhood has one.
Its the house that children surrender their baseballs and Frisbees to because no kid is brave enough to set even one toe in the yard to retrieve a lost toy. Its the house with the doorbell that no religious warrior will ever ring in an attempt to save the owners souls
Singing to the WetlandsI'm the girl with bayou eyes,Singing to the Wetlands6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
twigs, mud and death snaking into my curls.
I pause to breathe and s-h-o-c-k,
shock sets in:
Earthen clasps latch on my arms,
pulling me back down;
the meandering waters clutch
at my bell-shaped elbows.
My smile is climatic;
the sun always seems to shine,
burning the layers of leaves
but I can't even put up a fight
to remember it's grace.
I'm surrounded by an animalistic embrace--
mismatched light from alligator stares
and throaty frog musings.
I forget what color
the back of my eyelids were.
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
Hanging SilenceThe sky is only half-litteredHanging Silence6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
(for our satellites have fallen)
with stars and my breath
(deep inside our chest)
isn't fogging up
(unhiding things our eyes would unsee)
the driver side window
(things we're unwilling to divest).
The Tails of Falling StarsShe was awestruck by the backs of moons that wereThe Tails of Falling Stars6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
too far away to see with her unaided ocean eyes;
her petal fingers lace around the necks of stars.
Tracing their distant narrative, she becomes
an oracle, picking at Castor and Pollux;
the innards of sacrificial lamb becoming
the threshold of her prophetic quasar.
Always in search for the answers
that remain as churning syllables,
rotting at the bottom of her myrtle lungs.
She harvests the tree-branch limbs of galaxies,
to appraise the fruits of fate;
calculating the depths of nebulae, nuances of flesh.
She remembers how she grew to fear space.
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
DeathWhen I dieDeath8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I want to explode
I want the soul to come charging out of this shell with such violence
that my ribs are split down the middle and opened like a walnut
scattered in bits on the walls
my guts blasted onto the ceiling so that
kidneys and intestines will fall upon the doctor or nurse that attends
the skin will split
as my soul jumps for the light
my leg bones will rise up in the bed
across the floor
out the door
to the elevator and out into the street
onto the cars in traffic
my gory feet will dance!
kicking gobs of bad flesh at screaming spectators
until my soul finds the opening
the way OUT
and i am finally
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 Silent6 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,
Won't you stay?Triangle nose, your cute button oblivionWon't you stay?6 years ago in Other More Like This
An elegant composure
Dont get lost in earlier days
Still here, my little button
Still here, this rotten reason
Still here, in cobweb fashions
Still here in mists of grey
Wander up to my tattered kingdom
Blow a kiss, then walk away
Skip through mists of grey to daylight
Through the clouds, beyond the fray
Still here, promise, not to fret
Still here, rye on your doorstep
Still here, in cobweb fashions
Still here, in mists of grey
Tin box prose, your thoughts may linger
Thy soul walk with my own in pride
Tin box prose, open at leisure
But I shant come to see inside
Yesterday, glutton forgetful
Yesterday, Id kept the moon
Yesterday leapt, sweetly, daftly
Today, oh fie, it came too soon
Still here, but I want to follow
Still here, why dont you move along?
Still here, bid you, that I may join?
Oh please dont leave me all alone
EchoesShe echoes inside.Echoes6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Her loneliness leaving her barren and cold,
Her fingertips so bloodied and broken.
She had tried to climb out,
But to no avail.
Her love lay on the earth beside her,
As her tears,
Her eyes are chiseled out stars,
trails of gold carve into green;
wobbly curses splatter the walls
She tries to get out,
She tries to get out.
"Don't leave me," he says
Trickling water resounds around them,
Its pattering going slower, and slower,
Pounding deep within her.
Her eyes, like chocolate melt with tears,
And as they flow she is immersed in nothingness.
Darkness is her friend,
And her solace.
The very thing that plunged her here,
Wont break her free,
She prays for unconsciousness,
Mired fingers extend to the flash
of white and dark that is
his sinking hope.
Every heartbeat is like a thunderclap,
and he becomes afraid
of what glides on
above the walls of earth.
A city of bones crack and rattle