seven things to do.i. they say that there areseven things to do.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
seven natural wonders
in the world. well,
i think theyve got it
all wrong. i think
the seventh one is
a place called
and i need to find it.
ii. i can name all of my
weaknesses. they are
ugly and obvious and
i am aware
of all of them.
now, i need
iii. people have given me
'unconditional love and
unbreakable promises but
they took away both.
so im sorry
if im just a bit
i have reasons.
and id like it if someone
made me forget
every last one of them.
iv. seven is supposed to be
the luckiest number, right?
and it stands for
note to self:
figure out why
seven hates me so much.
v. i need to hear
again. i need
to know that you
were not only
in my imagination.
i need to know
that you are
(and i want to ask
you if you still feel
when we talk.)
vi. i still have
and phone number
Dreaming Of FlyingDreaming Of Flying4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The slam of the door echoed around us, a sharp bang that sent birds screeching out of the trees. I watched sullenly as the only living beings for miles left us alone in the deserted cement clearing, a sense of dread rising as quickly as the birds that had fled. A hard pound on the back by a hand shaped rock tilted me forward off my feet, stumbling as the youthful laughter carried on the empty space around us.
"C'mon, Mikey, you aren't getting cold feet yet, are you?" the carefree voice asked, although the simple question wasn't anything less then a prodding taunt, "Where's your sense of fun?"
"Back home," I quipped back, reluctantly hoisting my towel over my destined-to-be-sunburnt shoulder. The rough material scratched along sensitive skin like sandpaper, it was worn out like a dog after fifteen long years of companionship but I'd never give it up. It was my first and only Captain Astro towel, given as a Christmas present from my Uncle Vic back in the days of crayons and glue sticks,
d.i.di.d.i.d5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the first time i saw her
alone in the cafeteria
scrap of cling film
wrapped tightly around her finger
i had a friend
but she died
and now i am not the same
she is the one i love
touching the edges
of a kitten sticker
on her french notes like it was her dead
grandmother in an open casket
blanched white fingertips
no i am not the same
she hurts the world and
rapes the earth and
the rabbits scream and
the trees scream and
the air screams and
she sits at the hearth with fur in her hands
i go into work with bruises on my breasts
we do not kiss
or make love
because it makes her cry
but she loves me best when we are
and she is mine
my little golden idol
little sleeping one
she says why did you give him a rabbit?
why are you taking him away from me?
i cannot see what she has written
she says there is a baby now
it hasn't a name and it never cries
and no one ever holds it
it grows and spreads like a weed
Balancing Acti am to sway hips and sip the mind of an adolescent fromBalancing Act4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my latest cup of tea
things, sing scales while they struggle for even-footing, even after
the sun frowns down
town, i'm walking and tripping on some stones,
(three or four there scattered) flattering my lope with a little extra bounce.
look at me,
look at me
walking home while the jays talk of the weather,
whether or not it will rain tonight and i think
look at me,
look at me
all while spinal chords tingle and
gag reflex threatens
Honor Your FallenOne for the man who answered the call.Honor Your Fallen3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
One for the brother taken too soon.
One for the man who gave his all.
One for hearts made heavy and sad.
One for families torn apart
One for a boy now without his dad.
One for the endless tears,
One for the new struggles.
One for so many lost years.
One for the mother's only son,
One for the memories;
One more, one more until this war is won.
One for the brother coming home under his Nation's flag,
One for the ultimate sacrifice,
One for the man in the body bag.
One for the love of the fight,
One for family born not of blood.
One for that final flight.
One for the free.
One for you
Until it's just me.
A final salute for those who no longer hurt,
For the boys who paid the ultimate price;
Twenty one guns for my family in the dirt.
the politics of sleepthe politics of sleep9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you can feel
the black hands of old whores,
we are the mere jangle
in God's pocket.
on the roof of the worldif i could flyon the roof of the world7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i would do everything.
i would climb a mountain
and be fearless,
because if i fell
the wind would catch
in my great eagle's wings,
and i would go wheeling off
i would sit in the clouds,
play cards with the stars;
sleep in the curve of the moon.
i could go up into the rafters of
the tallest auditorium
and dance on the ladder,
because i'd fly if i fell.
i could run on the catwalks
and sing at the top
of that oak
that no one can climb.
i would go to the roof of the world
and look down
because vertigo is nothing to a bird.
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?&
la machine a ecrire+eng translEn-dehors du reste du monde, le temps ne compte plus, les oiseaux chantent toute la nuit et la police ne sait plus quoi faire. Elle est débordée par notre sagesse denfants, nos idées révolutionnaires et nos jeux trop simples pour notre âge. Seule la pluie pénétrait notre univers et elle devenait ce quon lui disait dêtre; un baume, une confidente attentive qui nous a dit ce quon voulait entendre. On nageait dans lextase, on se roulait dans le sable, on volait dans la lumière dont on faisait ce quon voulait. Elle nous enveloppait de bon cur, nous étions devenus ses enfants, des enfants-lumière comme celui de King et Kubrick. On sest raconté des scénarios impossibles, sans fins et inachevés, des histoires parfaites parce quelles se terminaient avant de mal tourner, dans un décor de film fabriqué juste pla machine a ecrire+eng transl6 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
From Whence She CameBack down to the sea-floor she goesFrom Whence She Came4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
back to the coracle-clusters and starfish that
clamour, cling to her heart too tight,
walking barefoot towards where she
came from. It is too hard walking on
earth, the way she wears pain like a wedding ring
Back down, down, crawling on her belly
on the forest-floor, alive with the buzz and crawl
of worms and bird-prey. Back where she belongs with her
crazy palpitating wolf-heart, her bloody
deer-throat leaking in the snow, her yellow
eyes in the dark.
Back down, beyond subway trains, piano lessons,
falling rain, from whence she came, to the snow-covered womb
where she first gulped air.
Back down to a place before wildflowers,
fish on land, back to a locked box
full of old souls, from whence
you can't feel through fabrictonight the rain becomes the earthyou can't feel through fabric6 years ago in Other More Like This
falling from hidden spaces in the sky and swollen clouds
i hear it make mud of dirt, and lovers of friends
and ask, quiet, where are you going but down?
im not all there in the head
youre not all there in the head, my mother says
im not all there in the head i repeat
sometimes im there in my toes and fingers and heart as well
and now - in this downpour moment- i lie on the street
so warm that i think well thats where loves gotten to
but where is your shirt n? oh someplace else
and is that a light flickering in the house across the road? hide!
i rush in soaken with rain i watched fall (like stars)
am i poetic enough yet, yet?
leaving rain-prints on the carpet but mother wont mind
mind you she never minds anything if its mine
but then it stops a quick shut-eye stop
(i wonder) is it dew now that it sits like jewels upon the grass?
the wind is lovely in my ear, voice like rushing water
to: the moon.this morning, i woke to the sun streaming in through the window [and baking me to a deep golden brown crisp beneath the covers]. this morning, i had to smile at the cardinal at the window instead of berating its squawking in my head [like i usually do when it wakes me]. this morning, i decided that i had reason to be happy.to: the moon.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
this afternoon, i gazed outside while eating lunch, admiring the tranquility of the several inches of snow that still cover the lawn [as a long standing reminder of last week's two-foot snowstorm]. this afternoon, i heard the squeals and chatter of the neighbor's kids and the barking of their dogs [and their confused barking macaw] and had to stifle a laugh as they pranced in the snow [in summer clothes]. this afternoon, i decided that i had reason to believe that spring is here.
this evening, i watched the moon rise [and strike my fancy as an undying beacon - a deified beloved]. this evening, i heard the train's horn as it sped past the crossing [i could imagine th
April's HouseThe man who would be my lover through April had a daughter.April's House10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I showed her Playboys from 1999 and she grabbed at my breasts.
In mid-April my lover's grandmother died in a Michigan hospital.
The night before we had hurried sex on a friend's floor and in his shower.
I lay naked on a dark blue couch watching B list horror movies
with names like Frankenhooker and drank carbonated strawberry wine.
The floor was covered in empty Bacardi bottles and powdered Cheetos
while the bathroom smelled of concentrated bleach and urine.
I could crawl out onto the flat tarry roof through a second story window.
On the fourth of July I sat on the functionless brick chimney and got high.
The roof in South Oakland always reminded me of Mary Poppins.
Vodka coursing through my blood, I danced like a chimney sweep.
A man with bleached hair and long nails filed to a point walked me home.
He said, Margaret, I want you, and I knew I had stayed in a house full of lies.
he's the bravesttoday he built a bridgehe's the bravest5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
over the sea of tears you cried,
the tears you think he doesn't know about.
tonight you'll knock that bridge down.
tomorrow he'll fold a tiny paper boat
and he will set sail down your body of water,
hoping that maybe this time he'll reach you.
and when he does,
they'll all be talking about it,
they'll all be talking about him,
the boy who built the highest bridge even though
he was scared of heights.
the boy who set sail,
even though he was scared of drowning.
he's the bravest of them all.
it is not enoughit is not enough just toit is not enough7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
miss you. i have to learn
how to walk again; how to
live without meat and
kissing, how to sleep
shaped like a balled up
fist. it is not enough
just to miss you. i have
to adopt twins in
Africa, name them Lost
and Weird, forget to
feed them. i have to
go to every pet store
in America and rescue
all the seahorses. i have
to tattoo D A R K B I R D
inside my lip and stand
in children's playgrounds
like a broken arm, creaking. it
is not enough just to miss
you. it has to hurt. i
have to write poems
that last forever, interpret
dreams about buildings
burning down, flies who
leave their partners for
sad New York waitresses. i
have to work on my
posture. shave my head, wear
white dresses. i have to
be a chaffinch when i curse
into my fingers. it is not
enough to just miss you. i
have to be a crazy
crocus-woman; my lovely
hand curled close around
your heart, a bud sealed
tightly, tightly, tightly...
some something sometimedon't get me wrongsome something sometime6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
who I say
I am sick
and don't feel the drugs
like I used to
I am older
and sleep in positions
terrible things about me
(no precious light)
just to reap
come the summer
those backlit eyes
of falling snow
I have seen you
but not your
Get the Message Get the MessageGet the Message7 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Mizuiro! From where he stood behind Ichigos left shoulder, texting with one hand, his other stuffed into the pocket of his school uniforms pants, Mizuiro glanced up at the boy calling his name. Keigo launched himself across the room, long arms and legs flailing, blue tie flying up over his shoulder. With a drastic crash-land against the desk beside Ichigos, he grinned broadly. Class had just ended, and Ichigo, Sado, and Orihime were considering an afterschool snack at a new ramen shop in Karakura.
What is it, Asano-san? Mizuiro asked. Keigo, with a booming gasp, s
a letter to-- IImy everything,a letter to-- II5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
have i told you that you are my everything? have i told you that you are my breath, my shudder, my sigh? you are. you are my heart beating and my heart pounding and my heart fluttering. you are my fingers holding on tightly and my lungs letting go. you are the ache in my chest and my head, the craving inside me. you are my longing and my satisfaction. sweet dreamer, you are my fever and desire. i am imbued with you, your disease. but i cannot contain you-i'm so filled with you, and you are my everything.
my love, my life,
i am you, yours, to ever's end.
When you're falling..that's when you're panicking like there's grass everywhere, gunsWhen you're falling..6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and gummy bears up your backside. its like you're looking at
your joints multiply and the sum of all your flesh can fill
your ribcage with nothing more than a comatose butterfly.there's
stories about houses being told, wires being sold.the
plumbing needs to be fixed and there's a zebra in the living room.you
forget to speak because it is as if you've just puked and your
tongue should not touch the rest of the mouth. it is as if you're
trying to write and your mother is crying and your friends
have cancer or herpes and you should help them.the kings
in your cards are falling asleep, the country is full of
thick cigarette smoke and spices.suddenly
your veins don't show, god knows how the blood
reaches your heart, or if it does. there is a sort of
mugginess inside your mouth, your intestines.there's a
score of other things you ought to be ignoring and you
decide to lay them out before yourself and take
photographs of them. i
open your letters to the worldI.open your letters to the world5 years ago in Letters More Like This
you, my dearest, are a splendid summer sun
(--- usually), golden all over and under;
and it bothers me, deep into my very bones,
when you listen to those filthy, filthy lies
and let them muddy your bright pretty mind.
when my world of desperate mirages
(and un-tempered glass)
s - h - a - t - t - e - r - e - d ---
you picked up my missing pieces
and wrapped me in your safetyblanket arms,
precious eye of my hurricane life..
--- and i thank you, forever...
though i know i don't have to.
sometimes i stop, and furrow, and wonder
river girlher eyesriver girl5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
made of pools that ripple when they blink,
and shed droplets that wash up onto
her riverbank cheeks
when she cries. she's the
river girl, hands soft that will
gently tug you under
the surface to hold you against
soft swells in the bed of sand.
she's hollow and yet full of
sorrow, with silvery
fish swimming in and out between
her ribs. with lips like seaweed
that caress you, your wrist
your shoulder, your
neck. she rests you against her silken
body, like a lover
she'll always hold you-
always trap you.
untamed, she is
unwanted. unloved, she is the
lonely river girl.
QAF: All The Love In The WorldQAF: All The Love In The World7 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
We were spinning amongst the strobes, the pulses, the searing bodies, and the haze of our substance induced minds. We were moving in sync with the heavy bass beating against the floor. My heart beat with every beat. I was soaring in a state of absolute excitement.
You were grinning like a fool; a gorgeous grin that eluded the public except in your unguarded moments of pure bliss. This was your heaven. The beat of the music, the claustrophobic dance floor, your chest your lips your heart against mine. In your powdered state, we were all alone. Just the two of us dancing, breathing, and feeling in complete unison.
I love you, Mikey.
I love you, too, Brian.
bomp, bomp, ba-domp
Bump, grind, lips, high, powder. That's what you really loved. I could be replaced with any one of your tricks and youd never know the difference.
But in the back of my mind, I knew that, even with the powder and the bumping and the grinding and
Hogwarts RulesHarry Potter.Hogwarts Rules7 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Things I am not allowed to do at Hogwarts.
The giant squid is not an appropriate date for the yule ball.
Starting a betting pool in the fate of this years Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is tasteless and tacky, not a clever money-making concept.
Seamus Finnigan is not after me lucky charms.
I am allowed to have a toad, rat, cat or owl. I am not allowed to have a reticulated python, snow leopard, Tasmanian devil, or piranha.
42 is not the question to everything on the OWLs.
I am not to owl copies of the evil overlord to suspected Death Eaters.
I will not take out life insurance policy on Harry Potter.
Professor Flitwicks first name is not Yoda.
I am not the Defense Against the Boring Classes professor.
When fighting death eaters in the annual June battle of Good vs. Evil I will not lift my wand skywards an shout "There can only be ONE!!
I will not say the Phrase "Dude, get a life. To lord Voldemort.
I will not put books of muggle fairy t
My lionAdmittedly, I was a rotten child. I liked to spend my time throwing rocks at stray dogs. No one ever bothered to stop me until the old voice in the alley.My lion7 years ago in Children and Teen More Like This
Why are you throwing rocks at puppies? It was an old man voice, deep and gravelly, so I didnt stop.
Because I want to, old man, I retorted and tried to sound mean. There was no warning before I heard a yelp and felt dirt under my shoulders. I tumbled over and realized the yelp had come from me. I lay on the ground and listened to my heart beat. That old man had pushed me down, and now he would pay. You asked for it! I yelled and grabbed the first rock I laid hands on, then jumped up to face him.
At first I could only see stars. Then I saw the lion. He was sitting like a giant cat, and his tail twitched around behind him.
Dont eat me! I yelled on instinct and dropped my rock. He licked his lips.
Why not? I heard the old man voice ask. Was this a trick? I looked ar