The Day I met God III.i walk by and watch his eyes follow every inch of me until i take my cold, hard seat that i was almost sure had been spit upon. he takes his hat off slowly and itches his dirty, greasy hair. "you look like hell" he says.
"you do too."
God had appearantly been depressed, he hadn't showered in what smelled like a couple of days. his lips were stained a slight pale yellow from the excessive amounts of cigarettes he'd been smoking. "Smoking is bad for you, you know" , i said.
"Kalea, don't tell me what is bad for me."
i had become a little irriatated with God, every question i asked him, came back with a heavily full reply. his old, tired hands were covered in scars, and bruises. he told me these had been from mistakes made when creating people, and lives, and earth.
I guess it's true that some wounds will never heal.
i sat staring straight ahead, aware that God knew every. little. thing. about me. "Do you believe in me, Kalea?"
The Day I Met God.I met God one evening.The Day I Met God.6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The funny thing is, i wasn't wanting to find him.
God was smoking.
"Why are you smoking?"
"I'm God Kalea, i'm stressed."
We sat atop a big balcony and watched his creations move.
"They're so beautiful", God was breathing hard.
But I know they aren't. they aren't. they aren't.
How do you tell God that?
"Why do people rape, and murder and steal?"
God's mouth is the shape of a sinking ship
his face carries the wrinkles of one thousand dying souls.
The Day I Met God II.What do you say to the lonliest man in the world?The Day I Met God II.6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"I think you're doing the best you can."
but in my mind it played past tense.
the best you could.
For awhile I had this sudden urge to hold onto God's hand.
I wonder how long it had been since someone comforted him.
This time, I shifted, uncomfortably.
"It's okay, Kalea. You don't have to."
for some reason I forgot that he knew every moment.
God got up, and walked to the edge of the balcony
i watched him grab the purple clouds and pull them closer to us
"Kalea, do you know what it's like to destroy?"
Yes God, I do.
I knew he could read my mind, but instead I said
I watched God pull the clouds back and let them fly across the sky
God walked back to the balcony wall and held his head in his hands.
Burgundy Heart and Glass LungsMy fingertips are pressed against the inky folds of your skyBurgundy Heart and Glass Lungs6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but you were colorless when I met you.
Troubled moons become hung over
on the pot-bellied lies you once condoned.
We watched it rise over the skies;
you painted in deep glasses of burgundy.
Once I asked you,
and you answered with a rare smile and,
"Because it reminds me of you."
And then I wondered why I
should be remembered at all.
Sometimes you would look at me
and smile one of those quirky
and I would return the glance
and reply with a
We took the tails of comets
and added your tears to them
so they would shine brighter than any sun.
Then, you asked, Whats forever like?
I couldnt answer, because I was living it.
I stuffed my skin full of
your dying sighs and watched
them twinkle beneath my lips;
You docked my eyelashes with half-formed truths;
I saw through those lies and loved you
watching you spin.you're a disco dancing, drama queen with dirty hair and the permanent smell of stale cigarettes. but god, are you beautiful, twisting and dancing under circular lights,watching you spin.6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
and vomiting when you're done.(acid does some crazy shit)
your hair was once blonde and beautiful like your eyes, but now it's laying in clumps almost everywhere, because you fucking pull out a strand whenever i'm around, i don't know why i do that to you.
but i never really ever offer to leave, either.
there's that one song that i always hear you listening to, it's the same old shit about love and loss and never being able to forget that special someone, i use to get mad at you for giving in to such conforming types of art.
but now i just let you go, because last time i actually made you cry.
"would you rather fly, or read minds?" i told you i'd rather read minds, and know what everyone thinks, because you can fly on a plane anyday, but no one ever thinks the same.
to my motherFor nine long months, you held me in your womb,to my mother6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Coping with every issue I caused you;
Morning sickness, mood swings, cravings, swollen ankles.
Your body rejected me, but you never did.
I was born two weeks before your birthday;
You suffered amazing pain and kept your eyes on the clock.
You delivered me at ten-thirteen at night,
The moon watching your little baby arrive
When even the sun had given up seeing you through this;
But through this, you were,
And you cradled me in your arms, cooing and smiling and falling in love with me the second you saw me.
I was covered in membranes, colored yellow from jaundice, wailing.
I was tiny and fragile and noisy,
But you thought I was beautiful.
In the next months,
I cried throughout the nights, forcing you awake when you needed the sleep most.
You cradled me, I spit up on you
You hugged me, I sobbed
You cried, I cried.
I was part of you.
In the following years,
I was your porcelain doll,
Strangers telling you exactly how beautiful your little gir
numerical ghost.sixteen-oh-one.numerical ghost.6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
dates like these snake down my back, meandering with the curves in my body. i had not the courage to get them permanently inked onto my skin, so every day i inscribed them with my biro. there were nineteen up to last week. each numerical sequence signified a day in which i fell more hopelessly, ridiculously, insanely in love with you. you never noticed the inscriptions.
when we slept, your body would be draped over my torso, your mouth hanging open upon my breasts. i could not even bring myself to chuckle at your unconscious expression ; it was too absurdly beautiful - an eccentric kind of beautiful. i could only listen to your rhythmic exhalations, your sleepy sighs, and the occasional moan that would reduce my heart to melting butter. your ghostly pale skin was accentuated even more so by the moon's light, radiating through the window. you appeared so breakable, in your deep slumbers. even my lips, that would lightly kiss your fingertips
Beneath the SmogShe wears moonbeams and a silky, white starBeneath the Smog6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
letting brilliant ideas foam at her lips,
never believing she'd go that far.
Dreams gone wrong by defiled hips
answering with a mandatory moan;
trading filthy words for better tips,.
When his words slip from the phone
Thoughts spring back to whispered promises.
Her heart beats to the dial-tone.
creation.God is a scientist.creation.6 years ago in Scraps More Like This
he has a lab with tiny viles and tubes
in some of them are people parts
there is never enough of hearts.
he has trouble putting some of the parts together
you have a crooked nose
and i can't make decisions
but at least i have a conscious
he created too many creations
there is a deadline
when they reach it, they die.
they don't die really, just move up into the sky.
I think that God put my heart where my mind should be.
i could never hurt you
but i plan to.
here comes my conscious.
if the creations need him,
they lay their heads onto pillows
and whisper softly into them
God doesn't have an answering ma
snowflakes.in july, i cut out paper snowflakes and colored them rainbow, then taped them to the inside of my window.snowflakes.6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"what's with the snowflakes?" you asked, confused, when you noticed them.
"i like snowflakes," i replied simply.
"but it's july. it never snows in july, so why put snowflakes up?" you asked, still puzzled.
i said, "because if a miracle happens and it does snow, the inside will match the outside for once."
you asked, after a moment's pause, "why color them rainbow?"
"because not everything is black and white."
but you never understood. later, you tore them down, and i caught you feeding them to a candle's flames.
it was foggy the day you left.
i made a handprint on your back window so you'd have something to remember me by.
but, like memories, it slowly faded.
i wrote you a letter.
i miss the way you drew hearts on my hand; the way your hair looked in the wind. i miss the color of your eyes and the way your skin felt on mine.
i'm still trying to decide if i miss <i>
glitter.you wrote me love letters from the passenger seat,glitter.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
pressing stars to my eyelids and hearts to my forehead.
you wrote me lies.
like the summer months, you never stick around long enough to make a lasting impression.
winter always takes over, cold
fingertips washing away all past evidence of the blistering friction once there.
(the only way I made it through was remembering that
youre only another calendar away; that youll come back.
I dont think Ill make it through this time.)
Id write you every word in the french-english dictionary if only one would spark a memory.
you seem unable to reminisce and incapable of nostalgia.
(really, I think theyre powers you passed onto me, increasing mine tenfold.)
youre like something acidic, burning in my throat.
but all the way down, youre smoldering the word
you held me close with trembling hands,
telling me how I was your living reincarnation of
escapei ask myself why my angel wings haven't grown back. and i wonder if yours are just invisible.escape6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but i know that seeing me will only make yours disappear, and you really should leave.
(i'll come back sooner or later.)
you tell me all these wonderful things about me. and how you won't disappear.
"i'm here for you," you say.
but all i can think of is, 'don't.'
because, really. we both know i don't deserve it.
you'll come and hug me, and i'll stand there with my arms at my sides. i hate seeing you cry.
i just don't know what to do with love anymore.
so please wait, until i can figure out which emotion fits where.
(i just know sadness doesn't fit into my blood stream. and love doesn't belong inside the back pocket of my jeans.)
i never knew that escaping would be something i would wish to acheive. i want to lay on the tops of trains and sleep under the stars. i want to bring my all my paint brushes and canvases with me, an
before things broke.She was beautiful, once.before things broke.6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
But that was before.
Before, she would play in the river with her daughter. At winter, it would snow, but nothing would freeze over. She wondered how, and her daughter would laugh and say, its because I asked for this.
Daddy left them a long time ago. He left for work and she said, Ill see you later, honey. He just said, yeah. Yeah, sure.
He didnt come back.
That was December. Its May, now, and she still misses him but her daughter doesnt. April says he was mean to her, she didnt really know him, he never really cared. Why should she care if hes gone? He was no good to you, Mommy, he really wasnt, she says.
She remembers those times as the good times, though, and nothing April says will change that.
She remembers how shed get snowflakes in her hair. She was healthy to go outside back then. April says it doesnt matter, it never snows in May anyway.
She remembers she had long
2. Lovei. Your starshine kisses2. Love6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
taste of forever and your
sunset smiles speak of never
[never be alone].
ii. We are separated by
ten-thousand deaths and three
inches and we will never be
[if we don't try].
iii. The ocean of us will have
a bottom, dear; everything does
and we will reach it someday.
[Maybe it will take a lifetime to reach.]
iv. We will live immortal in the
creases of joined hands and
whispered smiles. We will exist
in held breaths and shared secrets.
[We will always be |us|.]
v. I am a sunflower,
and you are my sun.
[I will always need you.]
her.she is one hundred percent alone, minus him.her.6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
she has milk white skin, and jagged bones. her eyes are pale and soft, and could make you surrender under her breath (and they will.)
every night she goes to sleep with a man who touches her, and she feels sick. and she wishes he'd just leave the hair in her face.
(because it's easier to hide tears that way.)
she dreams at night.
her milky skin is spilling over unfamiliar fingers. the freckles on her back match the ones in his eyes, and she feels safe. she offers him her heart, and he closes it into a box.
(she wakes up feeling ninety nine percent alone.)
she's in a nightmare
Fifteen Things1.Fifteen Things6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I lied about never
getting in trouble in school;
once I was in a time
out in kindergarten--
I never said so,
but you already knew.
I don't think I ever
lived my life without
the hidden motive
to hurt myself.
Once and a while,
I pretend I'm still alive.
I make myself talk
when he does
my mouth feels glued
shut. It hurts to
let myself breathe
deep after the words take my air.
I'd rather be hyper-aware than
unaware. That's why the
blood wins over drugs. The
endorphins work better than
hallucinogenics ever will.
I don't think I know
what love means anymore.
Maybe I never really
did. I must have been lying.
I imitate people because I
will never be as good as they
are. I feel like maybe
by copying them,
someone who likes them might
also like me.
I am as bad as the one
whose name I sometimes refuse to
If I hadn't left him I
think I probably would have
They gave me pills for anxiety but
I told everyone they were
for depression becau
too close for comfort-the end.too close for comfort-6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i watched the match spark fire,
heating up in a quick flame and then
s-spluttering back out, dying away
into the background;
soon enough the match wears down,
licking my fingers with white-hot heat
and i felt myself dropping the fire, letting
it fall out of hands and back onto my
wrist; leaving a bubble-mixture of charred
skin and blood. and for once i thought
maybe now i'm beautiful.
you stumble over your mismatched,
less then witty words with half-minded
concepts, i don't think you understand
a quarter of what you're saying. do you?
of course you don't.
today you made a few new friends, in
that local rehab you're at now.
you've never felt so alone, and you're
sure of it at this point. you're
not like these people, they're fucked up.
you're just different. of course.
he pushed you into the showers, ripped at
your already half-undone blouse, tugged
down those booty shorts you're so fond o
reflections.I watched you destroyreflections.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
by destroy, i mean explode
and exploding is the easy way out.
I'd rather burst into flames, the heroic way.
i made a puzzle out of our faces
i glued it together, i could never put your eyes together
nothing ever fit there was always a speck of something reflecting in the pupil.
but it was never me.
i'd hold your hand
but you told me holding onto someone was needy
"you hold onto life" i said,
or did you?
i picked up your favorite marble and threw it across the room
i watched you sit there, and stare at it rolling farther and farther away
i watched you let it go
you'd let me go, but no one would have to throw me.
smiles are for happy people
moments are for people worth remembering
puzzles are for people with too much time
reflections are for people who you want to see.
but it was never me.
makeshifts and shooting starsdear diary,makeshifts and shooting stars6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
if my calculations are correct,
this is day 24.
the number of circles i've walked
around sky-scraping hopes
in worn-down shoes
filled with sand and salt.
the number of makeshifts
i have learned to make from things
that once washed up on the shore
(just like me).
the number of songs
stuck in my head
that prevent me from
hearing the ocean.
the number of stars i count
before falling asleep.
i look up at the sky
and catch myself wishing upon every shooting star
that it's actually a man-made airplane,
coming to save me.
punctualAt night she rested her forehead between his collarbones and refused to put her ear to his chest cavity. She said she was afraid to hear his heartbeat.punctual6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I am broken inside and I do not want to envy other clockwork organs. Dont let me hear the tick-tock of all that I am missing.
He wrapped his arms around her and whispered into her hair that he would fix her; his skin was punctured with metal and his bones had snapped before, but if he could be whole then so could she. She shook her head and tried to dream. She fell asleep to the words,
Ill collect your pieces, sunshine, and put them back together.
When she fell asleep he pulled back the moonlit sheets and covered her in butterfly-kiss gazes. Her hipbones and ribs were all angles and geometric structures protruding from a flat plane. He tried to will them to life with nervous grazes and stuttering words, but they refused to arch to meet his touch; they did not thrum with racing heartbeats. He pulled hi
Acutorsion She wanted to study killer whales and polar icecaps. Instead, she found herself studying his killer smile and the freckles floating across his collar bone. She liked pretending they were icebergs, trapped in his frosty smooth skin, and that if she could just get beneath the ice shed find her oceanic heaven.Acutorsion6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Later, she found herself studying her face and the colors and pigments the human epidermis could turn after. She counted the number of black and blue islands and continents forming on her skin, took strategic note of their location, and mapped them out by memory so she could tell her hands of wind and ships of soap to go gently along the shoals. There was always one she missed.
She named him after the moons of Neptune
one planet too many.i.one planet too many.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the substance of dreams
is hidden inside my cheek,
involuted kisses hiding nightly
where no sleight of eye will see
the same shame that crawls under
my blood like some flawless secret
residing in the hollows of my heart.
it is too early to see the stars. you
are hiding behind cloudy dreams, waiting
for them to find you, your
frost-bitten heart and crashing hopes held
in the folds of your hand.
the minutes are running away, and you wonder
if maybe you're too far gone
for them to ever find you.
or maybe the sky is too close to see,
the seconds too long to hold. every point
of light is somebody's sun and when i read
your future in my palms, you are all but absent.
i am only a star to you. how
can you skip this space and see
the hidden place when it is still
too bright to grasp at galaxies?
you were the kind of beautiful that was
vanishing, like patterns in the sky and
lines of happiness etched onto your soul and
magical moments that are always there
but not always felt.
breathe.breathe.6 years ago in Surrealism More Like This
70s houses in the
summer when your parents
smoking and getting high
flurry of breath laughter
chainsmoke. you say I smoke
too much who cares?
let's be young while we can.
sitting crosslegged there's
yellow and brown what
decor between the words
hidden meanings we're
lost in a forest of
carpet. light from
the outside try and
WonderlandWith laced up fingers, I noticedWonderland6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
That your heart was undone.
You laughed with sad embarrassment,
(it slid down from your lips, coating my cheeks with heat)
staring down at the cutting red heart
beneath your fingers
And said Ive never learned how to tie it.
PhalangesFinger bones creaked as I reached out,
Shaking out rusted flakes between the hinged joints.
I realized I was out of practice.
Bunny ears. Soft and warm
under glass cold nervous fingertips.
Somebody's No OneAnyone can write in their own language. And anyone can take a greyscale photograph of the side of their face. And if anyone can do anything then anything is nothing. "If everyone is special then no one is" and all that.Somebody's No One6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
I have gashes on the side of my tongue from trying to talk when I'm not supposed to and sties on the inside of my eyelids that seemed to come to me overnight while I thought about someone somewhere else. If I am someone and anyone can be someone then I am no one. I'm really not much at all.
I smell cookies over smoke and wonder why I can't put charcoal on paper and everyone else can. And why my media is so unappealing to the eye, so black and white and lacking any kind of shade. Anyone can write in my language. And if anyone can then no one can. I'll make sure of it.
Maybe I should try being anti-climactic. Or just wish bitter, mean things on everyone else, hoping they won't succeed so that I might. Selfish, but reasonable, yes. Hopefully everyone will break their penci