CourageThe world needs more courage.Courage11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Courage to fear.
Courage to hope.
Courage to hurt.
Courage to cope.
Courage to laugh.
Courage to cry.
Courage to live.
Courage to die.
Courage to love.
Courage to hate.
Courage to leave.
Courage to wait.
Courage to jump.
Courage to fall.
Courage to run.
Courage to crawl.
Courage to go.
Courage to stay.
Courage to work.
Courage to play.
Courage to fail.
Courage to try.
Courage to wish.
Courage to fly.
Courage to fight.
Courage to talk.
Courage to stand.
Courage to walk.
Courage to win.
Courage to lose.
Courage to dream.
Courage to use.
PoetryI found meaningPoetry11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In words so unspoken,
And the places
No eye catches.
In the shade of behemoth movement,
Watching a life
Behind the borders of mind,
Without a breath or word
A reason to question the air above my head.
How I breathe
And am held down,
And crawl through forests
Still as the sky.
And listen to what was always there
Between branches and channels,
Learn from each
To know yourself.
And the one's you would surrender it all for.
Continue with that emblem
Out of corners.
Make the road your own.
Forget each curve
And listen in silence.
There we find answers that we only dreamed to know.
Se escribe heroe........Se escribe Heroe, pero se pronuncia IdiotaSe escribe heroe........7 years ago in Spiritual & Occult More Like This
Un día común, sin mucho que decir, me levante con el alba y me puse a reflexionar lo que avía sido de mi vida hasta esta mañana en que me levanto, y pensé, que no avía echo nada de valor en mi vida, me di cuenta que vivía como un animal, sin darle un sentido a la vida, simplemente vivía para ver un nuevo sol un nuevo día, y recordé algo que me hizo pensar, retrocedí en el pasado del mundo y me tope con una clase de personas muy únicas, unas personas que lucharon y dieron sus vidas para que las personas que vivimos el presente tuviéramos el sol de una nueva mañana, me detuve un momento recordando a estos "HEROES" y me di cuenta que todos eran personas comunes y corrientes, pero se destacaron por sus acciones por su valor por querer compartir un mensaje al mundo, recordé viejos relatos de combate y me di cuenta que avía cientos héroes que jamás fueron recor
Furthest Flow - Prologue PrologoFurthest Flow - Prologue6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Imaginen ver una hoja en blanco o un lienzo de pintura sin haberse usado.
Ahora piensen que están parados ahí dentro y lo más que alcanza uno a hacer es voltear para cualquier lado sin ver más que el espacio vacío que les circunda. Ni siquiera pueden observar el propio contorno de ustedes, es como estar desnudos e invisibles a la intemperie.
Bueno, así me encuentro ahora. Podía haberme sentido de mil formas en ese momento, pero en mi no había reacciones, ni sensaciones. Era como ser un punto muerto y ya, un punto .que comenzó a surgir de pronto entre aquella inmensidad. Su presencia hizo que surgiera en m
How to dismantle me.Hope to live,How to dismantle me.8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Live to die.
Love to stay,
And stay to cry.
Sigh your last,
But never pretend,
To hope that hope,
To live again.
Les Rues de ParisLes Rues de Paris13 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Les rues de Paris beaming
their fields of market gardens,
lit rows of status shops
and musee musings clothed
in tree-lined urban-natura
and wind-wafted scents
of cinammon candles
or rosemary rich
arcing up in triumph,
sending me home
through neon metro portals
climbing upwards, then under
iron-twisted nouveau entries;
and on tired foot counting
to top floor hotel rooms
with mansard balconian
windows from which
I look to you--
In the soft Paris rain 'neath
hovering above a hint of red
wrapped 'round your neck
in woolen warmth shielding
the sting of the winter,
and the bite of the silence
drowned out from sirens
and car horns and horses
clopping down Place de Gréve
blurring out Doisneau's Kiss
in black and white memoir
framed over my mantle
back in America, 5000 away
where my dream was in focus--
Now I stare at the tailights
of your exiting taxi; dreams slip
from walls, picture frames shatter
The Friends of the ChampionThe Friends of the Champion4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Complete antidote to my last fiction, haha. This little bit of silly takes place long before the previous post when Kirkwall sat in the eye of the storm. Hawke and his companions enjoy the peace, unaware that - between them - it is they who will bring about its end.
Just a bit of stupid fun, but bitter sweet if you know what's to come ^_^
"Okay so - stop me if you've heard this one."
It's late, probably very late, in the Hanged Man. Cortland Hawke looks absently around the room, as if the time might just leap from the boarded walls and make itself known.
Heaving another draught from his tankard, the newly-dubbed 'Champion of Kirkwall' gives up any pretence of caring what time it is anyway and lets his head rest on his arms, his gaze moving toward the party's resident healer. Anders is holding court, having seemingly nominated himself as entertainer for the latter part of the evening in the absen
Hate"I hate you."Hate5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Klaus smirks, sucking more fumes from his cigarette. It floods his lungs, coating them in a thin layer of comfort, before exhaling. The calming chemicals linger, though, and that's what he's after.
"Love you too," he replies, sarcastic, obviously not thinking about what Ben is really saying; not thinking, or just not caring.
"I mean it," Ben says, voice heightening slightly from Klaus' nonchalance.
Klaus rolls his eyes and flicks his dying cig off the roof. He doesn't need to look to see the thin, glowing trail as it falls; it's a brief thing, and he doesn't care for those things any longer.
He leans back against the roof, lingering warmth of the tiles against his back. Ben is diagonal to him, on his left side, sitting huddled by one of the many chimneys. Klaus can just make out his figure, cloaked in his dark uniform; his hair, though, catches the moonlight, making it easier to distinguish.
"And why, pray tell me, do you hate me now?" Klaus drawls out, remnants of smoke
WomanhoodI was seventeen when I first understood what it was to be a woman. It wasn't the moment years before when I began my period. It hadn't been the instant in which a boy first touched his lips to mine when I was twelve. It wasn't when I put on my first prom dress, or the first time I wore heels. I knew that women had breasts, and men did not; men were taller, and stronger than women; women were fairer and meeker than men. That was the way things were, and always had been. I was born and raised to accept those facts, and that is exactly what I had done.Womanhood9 years ago in Open More Like This
I watched the deep, crimson blood drop and fan out in the water beneath me. It was like dropping food dye into oil, or dropping paint onto wet paper. It spread through the basin, dancing slowly over the white porcelain boundaries. My hips and legs and stomach ached for the fourth day in a row despite following the directions of countless concerned friends. "Drink water", "avoid salt", "exercise", they said. I had shaken three cylindrical br
EmilyI loved her inside letters, I tuckedEmily8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my hearts and my organs inside of her
messy scrawl, her heartache, her doodles
of lost girls, of black cats, of razors and
pills. I sealed myself, my fate, I sent it to her:
Three stamps, and a kiss, always
with pearl-pink lip gloss. It would fade in the mail,
traveling 5000 miles
to her door, but I did not
care and the doves inside
my chest dared to break out.
I loved her inside letters,
I tucked her pain inside my art.
I filled my envelopes
with sadness, pieces of my hair,
my strange secrets,
my broken stories.
I Caught a ButterflyI caught a butterfly, colored green with silky wingsI Caught a Butterfly7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
which was not afraid, but that was mean. Such a human thing.
Delicate being, was not meant for glass made jar,
still it flew around, a couple of times, just to flaunt, and thus
I shook that cruet, to let it soar, just a little bit nothing more,
felt like such a brute. Still not sure though why,
cause how can you tell one delicate butterfly
colored green, with silky wings, that its the most
EverythingSoft rustle of dead leavesEverything7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
follows bristling breeze;
stillness frees necessities
in a melting blushing-sun.
Sweet bells slightly tinge
Colombian, freshly brewed,
set aside on an oak-made taboret.
Sweat, as real as love,
gently cool by giving-in.
Nothing, as it seems.
His MemoryI was too young to remember;His Memory7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
maybe I still am.
But somewhere hidden,
under layers of wax,
it still burns.
In My Own Little WorldIn my head I'm in my own little world.In My Own Little World5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A beautiful guy and, rarely, a handsome girl.
I swim in the clouds and fly in the sea.
Roaming or in chains, I'm always free.
No storms rain down on my parade.
No colors on leaves ever fade.
Flowers grow higher when down comes the snow.
And everyday there's a great big rainbow.
In my little world no secrets to hide.
And by my own laws can my life abide.
Free to be me and no one to stop it.
I have my bubble and no one can pop it.
Freely liking whomever I choose.
No drowning in sadness or hiding behind booze.
No one to tell me that my life is wrong.
No one to say that in Hell, I'll belong.
Blue Ceramic BowlBlue ceramic bowlBlue Ceramic Bowl6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
rests on our table
where the oak-salver
used to sit, piling
dust for ever.
Blue ceramic bowl
made of our lustful
sins, decorated by our
tears and smiles
of so many hours.
Blue ceramic bowl
is where we hide
the miscarried child
our son, Oriel.
Blue ceramic bowl
filled with shame
and the trivial carving
of your name.
General Purpose Complaint FormGeneral Purpose Complaint FormGeneral Purpose Complaint Form6 years ago in Humor More Like This
[ ] Sir,
[ ] Madam,
[ ] Bitch of indeterminate gender upon whom my wrath falls like the unseen hand of a vengeful God,
I am a dissatisfied customer. To wit, I find myself growing steadily more displeased with the:
[ ] product
[ ] services
[ ] sexual relationship
[ ] exotic animal (specify) ______________________
[ ] other (specify) ____________________________
You provided and wish to bring the matter to your attention. To be blunt, the item in question:
[ ] is dangerously defective.
[ ] was ill-conceived, badly designed, and poorly implemented.
[ ] causes itching, swelling, and open sores.
[ ] has eaten the family pet.
While I am:
[ ] of a reasonable state of mind,
[ ] boiling with ill-contained fury,
[ ] concerned for my health and that of those around me,
[ ] terrified beyond reason,
I am willing to attempt a resolution that does not involve:
[ ] litigation.
[ ] murdering every employee at your business and their fami
River DreamWhere I existRiver Dream7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the seasons linger
or die too soon
I cannot see
the subtle changes
or hear the cadence
I feel the shift
and taste the residue
between our lips
and on the air
it also lingers
will bring the rain
but I covet him more
suspended as we are
between the seasons
and when the dusk
is touched by
the brows of moths
he will walk away
of autumn's end
before it has begun
while I drift
a river dream
a new moon ascends...
an oar dips silently
and I shiver
the incomplete karyotype1. The First Mendelian Letdownthe incomplete karyotype4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
One by one, we unload our Punnett Squares.
There are traits we could cradle like nostalgia.
Some of us spent entire childhoods scrubbing
away our freckles, hoping either to extinguish them
or to capsize them like floating candlelight.
Some of us cried when we drew blood, not because it hurt,
but because that's when we realized that we were
blacktop scribbles, chicken-scratch genotypes.
There are traits we wish we could toss away, but like coins.
Recessive claims heads, dominant demands tails,
but when our inheritance rolls into the gutter
we have to know what we're worth
without our pocket change to back us up.
We mourned of Mom's miscarriage
as its ultrasound, a sprouting
of fingers wrinkled like
second generation snap peas.
Eyes unopened, we never caught
maternal or paternal reflection,
either blue glass or cold steel,
regardless of what he looked through
to see the sun.
He would have made a better mistake
than he'd ma