daughter of doubtthere is a feeling in this air, this midnight air -daughter of doubt5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it caresses my face and opens my eyelids.
my knuckles ache from lack of attention
but my chest sparkles with pride,
for your face is a sight like the moon.
there is a halo of light
and you are a being. a human being.
our fingertips touch and our flesh gives way;
how is it you are so fascinating
when you are just a glimmer made from
the secrets i shout from the rooftops?
my mouth opens and my tongue is an unfinished song.
the emptiness inside me flows out past my teeth;
it tastes like choking on salt water.
i would not be surprised if it infected you.
it is a virus and i am its breeding ground -
my soft-spoken words making their way into souls
you are so very hard to believe in
you are so very hard to believe
because every word you utter
I WantI WantI Want5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to be the first thing
when you wake up
in the morning,
and the last thing
before you close
that you smile at
in your eyes;
you reach for
when we're walking
down the street.
to be the girl
with a smile
on your mouth.
The one who's arms
you want around you
at the end
of a hard day.
to be yours.
i can't give you tomorrowi likei can't give you tomorrow5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and i like
and i like
and i like
and i like
and i like
and i like
and your fingerless
of these beautiful things
do i love
Urban Bedtime StoryI fell in love once, on a cloud,Urban Bedtime Story5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
though in the East, they call it fog
and in the west, they call it smog,
but when you are in love, you call it anything really,
it doesn't matter much at all.
We ate food on a stick, not in a restaurant,
but in a park, by a lake, with trees and frogs,
singing of true nature and not being serenaded
by violins and bad singers, who pull at your sleeves
and try to get you to dance.
Minutes passed into hours, and hours turned into boats
that we paddled across the lake, arguing about how mustard
isn't appreciated as much as ketchup, though ketchup
goes better with everything, in my opinion, but it's not so much
the conversation-but the fact we could have such a conversation.
I knew then, I was in love.
You can tell when your heart starts racing,
like it's drumming feet against your chest, keeping time,
to a world full of music heard only in the mind, and
your palms get sweaty like it got 90 degrees outside.
I knew I was in love.
Yet sometimes we for
When I ListenI've never once hated snoring--When I Listen5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
or found the experience to be annoying
since the one I shared the room with
has always been with someone I liked sharing a room with
and the sound made by their breathing
was comforting to wake up to in the middle of a night,
especially after a bad dream.
Ricochet of bullets and the trumpets of war
become a lover's caress and a sound I adore,
a simple huff of air blows away the most frightening storms
and I snuggle up closer with my head on his chest,
eased by the fact he is well and alive
and still by my side.
The silence is what destroys me.
The distant ticking of a clock that I did not know we have,
passing the moments closer to an alarm,
passing the minutes closer to an end,
keeping time to the thoughts that keep buzzing in my head,
possibly the most nerve-wracking feeling of all,
just wanting to sleep and knowing you can't.
Then it's the chorus of the frogs croaking in summer,
the sound of the wind, dancing out in the snow,
the rustling of leaves al
Telling StoriesI got my first tattoo when I was seventeen. I remember going into the shop with my mom and nervously telling the tattoo artist what I wanted. My mom couldn't understand why I wanted a tribal symbol, but I loved what it represented: strength and passion. I told him I wanted it on my left shoulder-blade and he just told me to take that arm out of my shirt and started to dab my skin with alcohol.Telling Stories6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
At first, it hurt like a bitch. But the pain soon lessened, and after a while I couldn't feel a thing. A half hour later, the tribal symbol was complete. The artist handed me a mirror so I could see it. It was amazing. I grinned and nodded my head, letting him know he did a great job. It was at that moment, I knew I was addicted.
Now it was three years later, and I'd accumulated six more tattoos. Most were small, except for one that took a chunk out of the small of my back. I was now heading into the shop for my eighth. I opened the door and stepped inside. Rock music play
The NightThe NightThe Night6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My head aches
from tears that won't fall.
My fingers clench
hard on the wheel.
I hate that time of night
where everything seems
When it feels like I'll just break
into a million little pieces
if someone doesn't
wrap their arms around me
and hold me together.
If someone doesn't show me
I'm worth more
that a half-hearted wave,
or a lopsided smile
as every last person
passes me by
in favour of something prettier
to look at.
I hate the night.
The dark times
where old thoughts
of suicide and loneliness
glide to the surface
hand in hand - a disasterously well matched pair.
And there's nothing I can do
but ride it out
as I head for home,
fighting down thoughts of you,
along with the bile rising
in my throat
and the shaking threatening
to pry my hands
from the steering wheel.
To Paint The SkyTo Paint The SkyTo Paint The Sky6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is an art form
I fear Ill never
get the hang of.
But it brought me you,
so I guess it's not that bad,
You brought so many colours
into my life,
that I forgot
how to fill in the lines
My pages are empty,
My pencils are broken,
crumbling from un-use.
And as blindingly bright
as you made everything around me,
I always managed
to pull the cloud
out of that too-shiny silver lining.
But I always wanted
to paint the sky
of your eyes,
just so I could smile
every time I looked up.
So I could remember
what they looked like,
and see your face,
you weren't there.
And now youre just
a paper heart
I never bothered to fill in,
in the bottom of my drawrer,
an un-colourful new lining
for the pockets
of my jeans.
And it cant be
much longer now,
until we meet again.
The end is only a step away,
Just like the beginning.
Wishesi wishWishes6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i could sit with you
in the mornings
and you would play
stairway to heaven
on your guitar
and i would hum along
that we sat together in biology
i wouldn't have to look halfway across the room
to look at you
i could tell you
that white t-shirts
look really good on you
and you would smile
and say thanks
i could muster up
the courage to talk to you
and you would talk back
and wouldn't think of me
as the weird freshman girl
wishes came true
can't talk about it nowi sit on the end of her bed and watch her braid her hair.can't talk about it now6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
she's beautiful in the dim light from the lamp on the floor.
the way her dark tangelled hair falls around her shoulders makes my heart ache. if only i could run my fingers through it and show her how amazing she looks.
she has pale skin and red cheeks, wide eyes that are sometimes green and sometimes brown, and dark eyelashes that she wishes were longer.
she talks to me about love sometimes. tells me how she's too broken to care, too scared to want to. i tell her that love could heal her cuts and bruises if only she'd let it. but she won't.
if i could tell her how gently i'd handle her heart and for how long i'd hold onto her essence maybe she'd understand what love is about. but she's never really been in love has she? not like this.
we sit on her bedroom floor and drink whiskey from the bottle, her wasting away and me yearning for her to see what i do.
but soon enough we'll move apart and she'll cry for a week over having lost
How To Write In Twenty StepsHow To Write In Twenty Steps9 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
The tools you will need depend on your mood. If you feel content and lazy, then access a computer with a keyboard. If you feel slightly more dramatic, get a notebook and a black ballpoint pen. Actually, buy those pens in bulk. Write your resume on them. Give them away at your next wine tasting/gala/court date.
1. This is the most important step. Make a strong pot of coffee.
2. Hover around the kitchen until the coffee machine beeps in a tone that says, 'I love filtering and heating water through ground coffee beans.'
3. Pour a good-sized serving. Wait for it to cool to a less mouth-melting temperature.
4. Drink the coffee. Make sure the only thing in the cup is the coffee you brewed...no cream or sugar. This is the right way to drink it. Do not join the ranks of coffee failures.
5. Now that your preparation is finished, you can begin to write. What's that? Smart little guy like you doesn't know what to write about? Just try to stop thinking and let the static in your head filt
titles shouldn't be necessaryi am going to be completely honest: i still see a person i love when i look at you. i still miss how your shirts were always soft. i still miss the way your eyes looked close-up. my palms still haven't forgotten what the small of your back feels like, and my stomach still feels like a magnet.titles shouldn't be necessary5 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
you stand out from every crowd i see you in. i single you out automatically, analyze every detail of your face, your hair, the way you slouch.
i search myself for signs of regret, and i have none. you and i simply don't mix.
or maybe that's just it - it isn't simple. we're not like oil and water. we're not like night and day. we are like dusk. you are the sun, and i am the moon, and we only partly overlap.
but when we do, it's a little too beautiful to forget.