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."
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: Clara3 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
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
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
Don't LookDon't look too closely.Don't Look7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You'll start to see the flaws,
the minuscule cracks
in the veneer of my face.
You'll see the smile isn't sincere,
that my eyes are too cold.
Muscles twitch beneath my skin
from the strain of making nice.
It will seem like a betrayal
when you learn the truth.
You'll ask the questions
and I'll tell you the lies.
But don't you see,
I was this way all along.
You just never looked before.
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 One6 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
A Crowded BusI am sitting on Bus 89 headed for Laguna Woods when it happens.A Crowded Bus6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I've spent the day at Laguna Beach, though it's foggy and cold, taking pictures of creatures that those who do not live in Southern CA may not have seen before. There are easily over 100 pictures on my digital camera and a few hastily-scribbled lines in a green spiral-bound notebook. I am exhausted in the contented way of one who feels as though they have accomplished something.
The bus stops about five minutes into the ride and a tall man dressed in black gets on. I groan internally as he smiles at me and takes a seat beside me, ignoring the other passengers.
"Did you enjoy your day, Bryn?" Lou asks, grinning mischievously.
"Not now, Lou," I think as he edges a little closer. "I'm in public."
"You should know by now that characters are like cats," Lou says conversationally. "We come to you when we want to, not when we're told."
"I cannot do this on a public bus," I tell him. "Not here. Not now."
It's a good thing I've mas
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.
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.
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.
InsanityIt started as an ItCHInsanity6 years ago in Other More Like This
And I begun a scratchin'
To heights that aimed despair
This was my last stop
The only way now was down
Still I clawed at a ceiling never meant to be breached
Its popcorn tecture clawing at my skin
Bleaching the popcorn white
With skin-tanned blood
There was no where to go, but down again,
deeper and deeper the itch prevailed
Because I CareWhat does it say about youBecause I Care5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when a sneer is the most
sincere expression you've ever had
and even the ugly parts of your
personality start to look pretty
when you compare them to the way
you try so hard to fake it?
You smile and they
see what they want to see,
mistaking the bitterness for joy
and acid for sugar-sweetness.
Your words are good at burning your tongue
and making everyone feel warm and fuzzy inside
even though you want them all to roast.
Baby, baby, believe me
when I say I lie because I care.
Glass BoyHe has stone eyesGlass Boy6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The colour of frost painted with powder blue crayons
His train wreck smile slides off his beaten face
And punished my heart for trying to connect
"Why cant you love me?" i scream at him
He is motionless as i watch the raindrops slide down his snow cheeks
"Why can't i love myself?"
He never wished me a happy birthday
And i waited with false hope growing inside of me
He'll remember, he promised he would
But he broke alot of promises
"One day, ill paint you a sunset with brilliant yellows and angry reds
It will burn so brightly you'll hang it outside and the real sun won't even compare"
The closest to angry reds he got was the broken skin upon his wrist
"For you" just like he promised.
When he was particularly sad,
He liked to stand under the electrical towers
And pray that he would someday evaporate into thin air
I knew he was having a bad day when we held hands
And the electricity flowed through his fingertips up inside my spine
"You didn't disappear today" I whispered
My HeroDont choose bloodshedMy Hero6 years ago in Other More Like This
Dont give up that life
What goes pulsing through your veins
What is lost and loved in strife
Dont breed into Hero
Cant you see a different light?
Tones that turn in valiance
May, perhaps, have their own blight
Dont go walking golden roads
Dont give up your previous lure
Dont walk steady, dont keep trinkets
Reminding you of when you were
Give up, sure, but keep also
Sacrifice, yet dont belate
While your out there fighting villains
Someones at home, heart-filled ache
While the rights and wrongs are flourished
Wrongs and rights, they shall unfurl
But I dont care, come home to me
And say I love you, little girl
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
Quiet OneQuiet one, forget the taunting loud to pull the strings of your sound.Quiet One6 years ago in Other More Like This
You are perfect, dont succumb to the Hands
Simpleton, a new vast journey awaits you, day by day,
Beautlful, you continue to shake my words
Muddle my decrepit tongue though vastly embellished flower-fields
Im afraid Ive forgotten how to crawl,
Why my you coax me to frolic?
Spectacle, oh dear me!
Cant turn back now
Gotta keep eyes along a trail
Of never lands wingspan
So Ill be able to fly away
DeathWhen I dieDeath7 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 Taste of Popsicle SticksTactile,The Taste of Popsicle Sticks5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
obstructed by waist-tied strings.
Venom seeps a whispered path to my ear.
"Breathe", blood illuminates.
Partly cloudy-- skin hanging like a pendant.
Oh, rain on your parade.
like Granite's aspiration through a sifting screen.
Erosion becomes the vital to the contour--all futuristic pleas.
Do SvidanijaDreams lay by the waysideDo Svidanija6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Thrown too far
The silence slices up her sanity
Emulates her scar
This unrequited ache
Laughter spitting in her face
Stupidity is her little disease
And this is another mistake
Calling for its own vengeance
Her inner lovely speaks
Sighs in satisfaction
As relentless remembrance leaks
Frustration spills over
Helplessness saturating the sheet
Circumstances bind her hands & feet
A sickly smile spreads
As that feeling disappears
Numb to everything
Except the reddest little tears
Blocking out the truth
Ragged breath escapes her lips
Forgetting all the reasons as
Slowly, slowly her love drips
Icebound DevotionFlame frozen forever encasedIcebound Devotion6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Ice crystals melt within it's heat
But manages to stay its shape.
Frosted wasteland devoid of life.
See how easy it is to weave a web
Of illusion with lies?
I've painted a picture you see as truth.
Not one part did you question
And you say I can't fool you.
I am the greatest deceiver
Against me you stand no chance.
I've been feeding you lines from first glance.
Let's play hide-and-seek with land mines
sprinkled across your ramshackle front porch.
Oblivion goes on for miles; you're
still willing to submerge into my deceit.
I'll cover you like a wanning blizzard
appendages only half frozen,
mouth still trembling with unthawed words.
Once, I told you that my love isnt real;
I consist of summery glaciers
that never erode quite enough.
I stand solid, block of ice
Your so called warming smile
Can't even fracture my cube of petrification.
Snow flakes fall in desperation
From the chunk of sleet I reside in.
Even time cannot thaw my prison.
Your pitiful attemp