the riverbendsI am the river livingthe riverbends5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the dam, building
Sean Exam - 1st Revised Ed.I am onSean Exam - 1st Revised Ed.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My conversation with a robotIs the bot clever?My conversation with a robot3 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
Find out at http://www.cleverbot.com
User: Good evening.
Cleverbot: Ah yes its pretty late, isn't it?
User: Yes, it is. How was your day?
User: I'm glad. Today was my birthday.
Cleverbot: Happy birthday.
User: Thanks! Can you guess how old I am?
Cleverbot: You are very young considering how immature you are.
User: That's funny! Do you know you are humorous?
Cleverbot: Yes, I know that I am human.
User: You're human?
User: I don't think so.
Cleverbot: I think so.
User: Prove to me that you are human.
Cleverbot: I am sitting here in the flesh.
User: I can't see you.
Cleverbot: I can't see my too.
User: If you can't see yourself, then how do you know you're human?
Cleverbot: Okay, you got me. I'm a robot.
User: I thought so. That's ok. Maybe I'm a robot, too.
Cleverbot: Are you a robot?
Cleverbot: What are you when you're not British?
User: I'm not British.
Cleverbot: Your creators are British.
When You're a ChildIf you could hearWhen You're a Child7 years ago in Other More Like This
The words that you are spitting
You would be scared too
Because when someone
Is screaming in
There is no place
To hide, or run to
You just have to
Take it in
And remember not
To cry until later
Because when you're a
There is no escape from
What scares you most
eskimo movies at the...oh, I see.eskimo movies at the...7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
she wants a steady hand, and smooth script
stretching towards infinity.
she wants those wanton words
wrapped in needless syllables.
she wants what she wants. what she wants
is not this.
not my short & stumbling text; one word
tumbling towards the next. not these
scribbled, sloppy secrets; chopped up
and half-confessed. she'd much rather view
a ten-cent vocabulary flexed...
but I digress.
mostly, it talks about me.
sometimes, it says "hey!
we're doing new & exciting things
sometimes, it just
and screams -
'til someone comes
(busted & beautiful)
it exclaims & explains.
Fill In The BlanksDear _______Fill In The Blanks6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Before you rip up this letter
Or better yet, burn it to ashes,
Please hear me out.
You never gave me a chance
To truly tell you how I feel
About your decision
And your reasons for leaving.
I said I was okay,
But why couldn't you see
Through my very first lie?
All of my tears,
All my despair,
It was all hidden
Behind that smile.
Oh my sweet _______,
When will you see?
Your mind was made up
That day you left
So I didn't bother to try
And make you stay.
I know you'll be back one day
Crying you're sorry,
And I won't say I told you so.
Don't worry about being ashamed.
After all, you never let me
Have the chance to tell you your mistake.
No, you had already closed the book.
Skipped a few chapters
And the happy ending.
Went straight to the back
Where the preview is
And we're all thinking
"What if this happens?"
But the story's not over, no.
The end has not arrived.
I'm not gonna say, _______,
That it was pathetic,
As long as you realize your sin.
You hurt me so bad.
Dug deep in m
July Haikuthon1.July Haikuthon6 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
press fireflies to
dirty ribcage, pulling
night's promise closer.
on lake surface to close eyes
you are a lullaby
i hear your voice
in the whisper
autumn's snowflakes fall,
touched by wind; ground is a blank
canvas to their shades.
mascara prints dawn pillows
found in leaves, hidden
skims the surface;
and children's laughter
wax tricked - becomes puddles.
only for you
a cry, a flash;
sprinkle the street
A Son Unlike His MotherIt was empty. The last pack I had promised myself for the foreseeable future was empty except the battered foil wrapper and a few flakes of tobacco at the bottom that rattled around like bones, drifting into my pocket like toast crumbs in bed sheets.A Son Unlike His Mother5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
And, of course, I still wanted one. I wanted to step outside into the screaming wind and the soul-leeching cold, Winter's ministers tearing into my cheeks and fingers until the inside of my mouth felt cold. Failure didn't surprise me anymore. I'd written it in pencil on every cigarette I'd smoked for the past month. Failure. しっぱい. Debil. できない. Fracaso. Weakness. I'd exhausted every word I knew to deprecate myself across three languages and even with all the graphite and negativity destroying my lungs, I wanted another cigarette.
So I found myself trudging out of th
ContagiousContagious5 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
Take me out into the darkness of the Contagious streets
Where I could save you
and you could simply save me
I'd never abandon you
so save me forever
and we'd never let go
Even if you were Contagious
I'd be kissing you till you were dead
Never even thinking twice
about the fate of my own life
I'll take you away where
the darkness can't find you
and we'd never get
We'd never fall apart
so never let go of my
and this last kill will never end
So I'd do anything, anything, anything
to hold your hand
I don't care if your sick
I don't care if your Contagious
so they'll never take us alive
The night can be deadly
I'd never let go of you're hand
Written-8/17/10 posted- 8/20/10
I cut too deepI turn on the sink to hide my deedI cut too deep10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The door is already locked and closed
Unfortunately, this time, I've cut too deep
While both arms I exposed
Eyes cinched shut
No tears will escape
As I begin
Warm waters run out of my blood cold arms
Dripping off my blue fingertips
No amount of praying or charms
Will rescue me from these collecting drips
Knees weaken and give out beneath me
I fall to the floor
Water still running
Arms still flowing
I stare up to where I think Heaven is
My eyes speak more grief than words ever could
Could this have all been different I wonder
But now I'll have no chance to see
The dreams I had never dreamt
The love which I never found
The goodbyes I never said
My thoughts recollect on the ground
I look at my deed again
A solemn tear forms and falls
Down my cheek and to the floor
Repentance now is trying to settle the score
These cuts will always stay with me
Yet as I lay here quietly
I drown in a hope
That somehow I may depart from these scars
Then the c
Not AbuseSome days,Not Abuse9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She just wishes he would hit her;
She just wishes he would beat her;
She just wishes,
He'd abuse her.
As do cuts,
But nothing shows,
Who gives a fuck?
It's not abuse if you don't have a cut.
let's run away.lets get out of town. lets steal the neighbors truck and drive it into the ocean. lets melt along desert highways and freeze on mountain ranges. lets fill our lungs with saltwater and wring out our hearts in sundried wind.let's run away.6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
trust me, my bags are already packed. i need to sit in the passenger seat with my feet hanging out the window. i need to hold your hand and let the distance fade our problems like a school-yard-eraser. because in that truck cab, there cant be anything but us. there wont be room for our insecurities or mistakes or flaws or regrets. there will just be us.
and thatll be enough. well stop only to get gas and food when we have to. we wont look at a map because there wont be any way to write directions to happiness, well just have to find that on our own. and if it takes months, then at least well be trying, at least well be moving instead of rusting over, instead of turning black wit
Thought Process[phone operator] San Diego Psychiatric Health Alliance, Judy speaking...Thought Process8 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
I dont really know what all to say and Im sure none of this is probably going to make any sense but ah, a friend of mine just passed away earlier today and I dont exactly understand how I feel. I mean, we all thought he was getting better then all of a sudden he was pulled away from all of us. At times I wonder if it was an angel that took him home from above because the feeling that week was surely warm but ah, everything around me now feels so lost and incomplete. Maybe its me. Maybe Ive lost all sense of reality.
It's the question of why
Claymore- Just Keep Smiling 5ONE YEAR LATERClaymore- Just Keep Smiling 55 years ago in Drama More Like This
The town of Peior was a quiet little string of shops and houses. Barely 300 people inhabited it; there were no major landmarks or events anywhere in the vicinity. It was just a tiny, average village, not a place where one might expect a youma invasion to take place. But then, a youma was not one to discriminate. Anywhere with humans to eat was good enough for them.
This is why the Organization's newest graduate was currently about to enter the town's boundaries. Her long blonde hair swayed in the light wind, and her features were set with hard indifference and determination. This would be her first assignment, and Clare knew she would not fail.
The townspeople erupted in whispers as she passed them on her way to the town leader's residence. She paid them no mind, her handler, Rubel, had told her to expect as much. "'Claymores,' as they'll call you," he had said.
The Hard Work of PoetryPoets are constantly crippled, creatively. It's the way it works. You write a line and, just now, right now, it seems like it's the best line in the world to date. It's a shiny, beautiful line, a thought, an image so remarkably profound that you are in awe of yourself, or (if you are a seasoned poet) in awe of that angelic being which sits on high in your mind and occasionally drops little scraps of poetic manna into your head. Now, you only need to write a poem around it.The Hard Work of Poetry5 years ago in Editorial More Like This
Because the poem takes over, sprouts a million legs and scurries in directions you had no real intention of it going and now the Wondrous Line of Glory and Poetic Win doesn't fit. You have to either change it or take it out and save it for another poem. Or make it a haiku-like short poem on its own, so all those other words don't assault it again. If you're an experienced poet, you'll probably just store it in a .txt file or on a post-it note somewhere and lament it until you're old and nothing matte
AbortionIt's raining again.Abortion9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The sky is the color of a baby blanket
and all on my mind is that cavern in my belly
that place where the blossom came,
the orange bird of paradise bearing you,
I float empty like a paper bag
on the casting currents of the sky
blown with uncertainty
and the days that flow into night
unbroken and unfeeling, cold like apathy
I'm sorry I never felt a thing before I knew you
I'm sorry you'll never see the morning
I'm sorry you'll never have a name
or a voice
or a song to sing
I'm sorry for your never-was
and I'm sorry for my never-will-be.
sick of being sick and tiredi'm donesick of being sick and tired6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
all through the
making my arms
i just got back from the butcher's
for all i've done
wrong and that
which i haven't done at all
this is my confession
be mistaken as a prayer
this is a dream
anything i consider fair
His WindowIts in this place where the trainsHis Window6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
drone over the music as they go by
and theres always a moment of
hesitation, where poise
Her dance was like willing an
eggshell not to break or watching
a bird nourished back to health
He feels like hes saying goodbye
even though shell still lay in his arms, still love him when
shes through, but she seems farther away,
off growing older in a few hours.
She is alone in the dim bright lights
a feather on water,
feeling her way.
From this far, if he
holds his palm up, she
dances on his hand.
Then comes a climax, a whistle, a noise
wasted longing, wasted grace;
this time the poise breaks.
Once, she ran the
entire length of a train that had
no passengers, bare feet brushing from car to car.
She falls, a train goes by.
It seems weaved into the dance,
this breakage, this constant.
A beautiful sacrifice for a human version
of flying, for the most beautiful
moment he would ever lay his eyes on,
like cradling a c
Q.Q.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
How do you know youre a straight person?
When did you first know you were straight?
Are you sure youre a straight person?
Have you ever had a three-way?
Do you want to have a three-way?
Do you want to have a three-way with me?
Do your parents know youre a straight person?
Does your boyfriend know youre a straight person?
Have you ever kissed a straight person?
If you never kissed a straight person, how do you know youre a straight person?
Why dont you try it out?
You know, youre not really a straight person until youve kissed another straight person, right?
How do you know youre a straight person?
When did you come out as a straight person?
Dont you realize youre not straight, youre just hetero-curious?
Can you believe I always knew you were a heterosexual?
Why do you always hang out at straight bars?
Why dont you understand that youre obsessed with heterosexuality and that Im just not into straig
Don't freak out.Did you know that you might be a cauliflower, or maybe a tomato, or a pea? Its true. Keep on reading and Ill tell you why. (And no, its not past life related. But hey, if you want to believe you once roamed this earth as a chubby red vegetable, who am I to judge.)Don't freak out.6 years ago in Editorial More Like This
Still with me? Good, let me start from the beginning.
In the beginning were born. Yay! Things could not get a better start.
Immediately after were born, we start to grow up. And then we keep growing up, and some day maybe well get kids of our own, and; unless we can figure out how to stop growing up, someday well die. But thats another story. Lets back track a bit and focus on one thing that, in most cases, happens when you grow up.
The time when you start to notice boys, or girls, or boys and girls (possibly animals, or pies... Trust me, we do not want to go there).
It often goes something like this:
One day you wake up to find the world infested with boy or
Fish think tooSometimes I want to paint the scenery. Sometimes I wish my eyes would not burn.Fish think too6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Some people have souls buried deep inside them. Some have misplaced theirs altogether.
I think mine is at the bottom of the ocean. I lost it when the cords weakened and I lost my step.
When the sky is blue, the ocean is also very blue. People find it the prettiest then. When the sky is orange, figures are swipes of ink on the horizon, and the ocean turns violet. It looks almost foreboding, like a crowd around a fire... the sun.
I imagine that once the water turns violet, the colorful reef fish hide and the black and navy and violet fish emerge. The undiscovered fish. I seem to be the only person who ponders this, ponders anything for that manner.
The library seems not as much a destination or a comfortable spot but a shortcut to where the people are going, avoiding traffic or whatnot. The desks and conference tables are always left unused save for the one I sit at daily. I've seen the janitor clean the dust
Dear MomDear Mom,Dear Mom5 years ago in Letters More Like This
[I know this really isn't a letter like I promised, but you should be used to me giving less then I say I will]
I'm going to feel bad, throwing you into the ocean.
I'm going to have to clench my teeth, close my eyes, and grip my hip [because you're there, forever; in jagged scar tissue with upside down mountain capped M's and a blocky O, you're there, forever.] to keep myself from diving in after you and gathering you back together with the finest cheesecloth, molding you back together and filling you with all the beautiful things you've been drained of. I'll jam sea glass in your eye sockets and replace your weak bird bones with coral, I'll fill your lungs with saltwater [because oxygen obviously never worked; I almost miss that respirator keeping me awake at night] and wrap you with seaweed to hold you together again.
And I'll let you speak by jamming the truths to all my lies I've told you down your throat. I will whispersobconfess all my dirty deeds. I will tell yo
A Concept To Understand BetterSo, Who has ever been raped, violated, sexually assulted, or merely understand why One would feel dirty, and compulsively wash after such an experience.A Concept To Understand Better8 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
Understandable, isn't it?
Now imagine that horrible, dirty feeling running through every one of Your veins, right beneath Your skin.
Horrible, isn't it?
One would often judge those Who suffer Self-Mutilation.
Filthy. Horrible. Pathetic. Disgusting. Disgraceful. Coward. Sinner. Evil. Bad. Immoral. Wimp. Useless. Unworthy. Worthless. Yellow-Belly. Debris Of The Earth. Wicked. Corrupt. Damaged. Broken. Weak. Scoundrel. Repulsive. Unseemly. Waste. Reprobate. Degenerate. Good-For-Nothing. No-Good. Wrongdoer. Relpulsive. Miscreant. Malefactor. Trash. Wretched. Inadequate. Insufficient. Defective. Deficient. Spineless. Dismal Excuse For A Human Being.
... Shall I Continue???
You're not helping.
And that's not even the half of it.
And You're telling Them this, all the while, They have that horrible, dirty feeling running through every o