Star-SentOnce there was a girl who was in love with the night sky.
She had visited planetariums and read children's books on astronomy. She had learned to identify nineteen different constellations and would always look for them on dark, clear nights. She had gotten her father to stick glow-in-the-dark stars and planets to her bedroom ceiling. She had eaten freeze-dried astronaut ice cream and thought it tasted better than anything else in the world.
As time passed the girl began to learn about the universe, about things like asteroids and black holes. Little by little she came to know the invisible forces that governed outer space, and the night sky became more than just a sky to her. It was a giant treasure box, filled with the secrets of the places beyond earth.
The girl's love slowly turned to longing. She wanted to know the stars through more than just pictures and models, because deep down she believed that there was something in the universe she couldn't find on her own planet. The thoug
less than a dream.i can't be the sun if i'm only a candle.less than a dream.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i can't be the myths of greece and the legends of troy if i'm only beginning to write my story. i'm not diamonds spread across the skyscape or dreams saturated with salty rain, i'm just a girl. i'm trembling fingertips and insecurities buckling down on my intercostal muscles until breathing becomes a labor of love instead of a hum of habit. i'm tearing apart diary paper because i can't stop moving and regretting; i'm curling my toes to withdraw when the stakes seem too high.
i'm not everything you're hoping for and i'm not worthy of poems getting scrawled in wet midnight sand; i don't deserve sunshine serenades pouring from your lips. i'm not made of piano-chord veins and i'm not spitting up beauty i've [never] kept hidden behind my molars. i'm just me.
i'm just a girl with wide eyes and a habit for losing chapstick, pens, shoes and the people i care most about. i'm not special or extraordinary or anything you wouldn't expect to find
IntoxicatedSip, my dear, and fall down drunkIntoxicated5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Into the haze of a golden day
With buildings melting like glittering tears
And traffic chasing the stars away
When we sit on our rooftop lawn chairs
And toast ourselves to the rosy sky
Taking a few soft, stolen hours
To gladly drown in each other's eyes.
Needs SayingIt's always the shy ones. Memories, that is. They hang back, letting bright moments of cartoons and Christmases hold your entire attention so they can creep away to a forgotten mental corner. They don't want your reverie; they want to be left alone.Needs Saying5 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
Some memories shouldn't be.
Some have something needs saying.
When I was eight, I thought I was a horrible child. I was greedy and selfish, wouldn't eat anything I was given, treated guest children like they were stupid, ran off three of my aunt's maids, ran out the hot bath water, could have gotten my cousin killed, and very nearly did the same for myself.
Perspective is funny that way. My aunt's ultrasounds, the ones that showed an empty womb, make so much terrible sense now. To be pregnant one day and then the next be told that you weren't, that you had never been...at least a miscarriage can be buried. How could she mourn an idea? And where was there time to? She had lambs to feed, farmhands to pay, and poachers to drive off or survive,
A Way to ForgetI was seeking aimlesslyA Way to Forget5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
through the jars of my life.
I found them in a dream,
these great, magic urns,
one containing butter, one, milk
others filled with grains or brass or gold.
I was looking for the lids, in order to cover them up
but i could not find even one.
Sometimes, I would spill a little and
sometimes, I would return from elsewhere
to find them empty
This caused me a great deal of anxious sadness
just sitting there, looking into the empty containers
that once held my life
I woke up some time later and checked the clock
I had not had a drink in several hours.
I needed a drink.
I got up and
produced shirt, pants, keys and shoes.
In the car, I shifted to reverse and then to "D"
drove down to the local bar.
Dream dream Dream
My feet slide over the flooring.
The light addresses my eyes.
It's a quiet night, Tuesday, and
the bartender has the beer and shot set down
before i get there;
I slide a ten across with my wrist
and get the shot in
In MemoriamAfter: I set on the walk to home,In Memoriam5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
By woodland paths; I paced, I paced
But then as the cloak of dark came down,
I nearing my old town- was not braced
For that image of moths, flickering blue-
I stumbled there; reminded of you.
So I spun on my heels in evening gloam,
By autumn leaves I raced, I raced
Away from the moments that rendered in silver,
Cast glamour on the forest face
And stabbed through the shimmer of early dew-
I could have died there, surrounded by you.
just never check your junkmailWhy is it that you contaminatejust never check your junkmail5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my feeds and favourites? Why
is your website my homepage?
Why are there playlists with
songs that remind me of you
or files dedicated to you? Tell
me why the first thing I do when
I get home is go on the Internet,
Google your name. Slap myself.
Google both our names together.
Did you mean Never in a Million
Years? Actually, I meant billion.
Fuck you, Google.
Drag mouse. Point-click the top bar.
Erase web address. Enter new URL:
promise me three things:
to never reveal my password.
to never read my messages.
to never send me Spyware.
that's what your
heart's made of)
Logout. Sign on Myspace. See that
you're online. Ignore you. Wait for
you to do, I don't know, something.
Refresh page. No new messages.
Refresh it again. Still nothing.
Refresh, refresh, refresh. &
The Curiosity ShopThe shopkeeper stands behind a wooden counter, elegantly carved and pockmarked with age. He is neither young nor old; there are small transformations in his features and expression, from moment to moment, that make it impossible to guess his age. These changes are so remarkable that, all by themselves, they prevent his face from being forgettable.The Curiosity Shop6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The ceiling of his shop is nearly invisible through a mass of dangling kites from Japan and China. Antique umbrella stands and rapiers in leather scabbards line the floor and walls. The rows of towering shelves are packed with joke rubber vomit and red-hot candies, baskets of delicate seashells and specimens in jars of formaldehyde.
A bell over the door jingles to announce new arrivals, and most days the shopkeeper sees a stream of interested customers. University students breeze through the stacks, humming along with the music coming through their earbuds and flicking their eyes around curiously. Occasionally they stop moving completely and
writing.im not a writerwriting.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
because i apologise for
what i write
im not a writer
because i hate the
craft and the
thorns it pricks into
sticky and healing
im not a writer
because i dont give a
fuck about your
apostrophes and periods,
full stops or
half stops or
broken wo rds or
im a writer
because i can look at
any fucking poem ive ever
pressed onto paper
and tell you exactly what
exactly what its about
exactly what colour my face
was turning like the earth
whether it be blue
or green or red or white
and you know what
youre going to like this
and you wont know why
or if you do i hope you know
its because i mean it
im not writing pretty words
for the sake of writing pretty words
i mean every fucking word i
write and you just love
the trainwrecks they make.
i am not a writer
because i dont give a damn
about what you think.
i am a writer
because i dont give a damn
about what i think either.
Angel's GamesThey say that this city was made by Angels, and sometimes I am almost inclined to agree.Angel's Games5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The graveyard is filled with them, weeping stone tears from blank eyes, hands spread wide in supplication, or clasped in grief. They fill this city. Watching from rooftops and doorways. Clinging to the corners of old buildings or sitting silent in hidden courtyards, guarding the ruined tumbles of houses no-one ever bothered to rebuild.
Stone angels watching over a city of dust and ashes. Choked with the burning of a thousand fires, the soot still clinging to the church-towers that ring out with the mournful pealing of bells.
Many wars have passed through this place, and I have no doubt there are many more to come. I have seen my fair share of sorrow here. I have watched as piece by piece the city is rebuilt, the wreckage gathered, the wound mended. Its people are as old and dark as the place itself. Distrustful, generous, proud, a mess of contradictions, and yet you find yourself expecting nothing
Eat"Oy, let me see your calorie card!" The skinny man at the hotdog stand demanded, holding my hotdog just out of reach.Eat5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I sighed and dug the plastic out of my pocket, handing it to him with a sour grimace on my face. I was sure I had already exceeded my allotted 1500 calories for today, but I was just so darn hungry. Seriously, what was one hotdog going to do to my figure anyway?
He shook his head as he swiped it through the scanner. "Sorry girlie. This hot dog is 242 calories. You only have 10 calories left for today." He shooed me away in preference of those with enough calories on their card to afford his food.
My stomach grumbled its complaints all the way home. If I had really wanted that hotdog I could have gone to the gym and earned more calories on my card, but I really wasn't in the mood for exercise.
It started in California, taking hold among the mothers who didn't want their kids to become fat
yellow daffodilsMy mother says she named me "Lily" because I am the only pure and good thing that has ever come out of her. She always laughs when she says it. I think she must have called that out of some secret, subconscious desire for flowers in our house, all the time, because whenever I accomplished something or something good happened to me, or any holiday, especially my birthday, rolled around, my mother's latest boyfriend or an adjudicator or my grandfather or the well-meaning local car salesman would send us bouquets of lilies, because everyone was just so original.yellow daffodils5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The only exception to this rule, which was fitting because he was an exception to most rules, was Micah.
Micah was a poor kid in a too-large family who often skipped school to work. I had science with him, which is how I knew both that he skipped school a lot, and that he wasn't skipping to smoke pot like everyone said. Micah knew a lot about exactly what pot did to your brain and he said he didn't like it. Micah said a lot of thi
me finding you.this is nothing more than the silly fluttering of an equally silly heart.me finding you.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
this is my tongue tripping on the truth and my trembling fingers clawing at my arm trying to get rid of the heart bleeding on it. this is my teeth clacking together and my emotions knockknockknocking against my ribs so i might please let them out to play.
this is my words getting abandoned in the silences and the pauses swallowing the tension whole. this is using your moss green eyes as a northern star when i'm getting lost in possibilities, using your smile as the curve i rest in when the world's too much to bear.
this is fighting my own spine to stand up straight when your voice is unwinding my nerves and using my vertebrae as your personal game of jenga. this is allowing you to take small pieces at a time, eroding at my walls until i'm crumpling like origami on your front porch, unwinding to lay helplessly at your feet.
this is day dreaming about nights with you and instead spending them painting your laughter
Beyond Absolution: ProloguePrologue: Sweet Raptured LightBeyond Absolution: Prologue6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
I broke the surface of consciousness like a drowning man. Gasping thin breaths, I strained for air against the angry band of pain that crushed my throat to the width of a narrow reed. My fingers felt as thick as sausages as I dug them into the rope. A weak, phlegmy cough rasped air painfully past my throat, dragging me back towards unconsciousness as the pain threatened to spill over.
Im dying, screamed the wild part of my brain. Im dying Im dying Im dying Im dying!
Darkness blurred the corners of my eyes; coughs wracked my body, doubled me over on the floorboards. My pale, snatched breaths werent enough to save me; they just prolonged the inevitable, kept me conscious as I scrabbled about my neck, tugging desperately at the rope that cut into me like fire. A heavy knot was tied at the base of my skull. With my last reserves of
The DoctorWhen I was seven, I was diagnosed with emotions.The Doctor3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Poor girl." I heard them say. "She'll never survive this one."
I laid with my face towards the ceiling on the cold examination table, listening to them discuss my fate. I felt something breaking in my chest and something burning inside my throat. A small tear slipped down my cheek.
"Doctor! Look at this!" Shrieked my mother, "Something is coming out of her eye."
The doctor rushed over to me and wiped the tear from my cheek. He touched the top of my head as he whispered, "I am so sorry." And then he turned to my mother. "It's a tear. It means that she is sad."
"Sad?" My mother asked inquisitively.
"It's one of her emotions. This doesn't attack the same way that normal diseases do, there are all sorts of different symptoms. Right now, she is sad and the only way that I know how to explain it is that she is feeling down."
"What do you mean by down?"
"Her emotions can best be described as ones that are upwhen she is feeling good, and
Save The Whales"You know what?"Save The Whales5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"We should never fall in love."
"Well, it's simple, really."
"Explain it to me, then."
"We're opposites, you and me. You're the sun, I'm the moon. You are day, I am night. You're warm and you beat with the vitality of life. I'm pretty chilly and I beat my fists against the mirror for showing me reality instead of dreams."
"I still don't quite understand."
"I am a dreamer, and you are a dream."
"Thanks, I guess."
"No, listen--you're like the people who say 'save the whales'. You want to save the world, you want to do some good. You want to make a change, make a difference. And me... well, I'm the whale. I can't do anything except wait for you to finally save me."
"I'll save you. I don't mind."
"I'll never thank you. I'm a whale; I can't talk."
"I don't care. I'll save you anyway. And you're wrong, you know."
"I'm not quite what you make me out to be. I laugh so I won't cry, yet that doesn't save me when I'm alone. I try to save the
Bleeding HeroHow can I explain my feelings to you? My bitter, tarnished love, how it burns in my throat like too much soda. How I hate that I love you more than you know. But I love you all the same.Bleeding Hero5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I am the burnt-out streetlight under the falling night sky. The fleeting joy of a balloon that slips away to the clouds. And I'm sick of band-aids that don't work, I'm sick of being the bleeding hero.
Don't you realize what I'm worth? You dropped me like a penny on the street corner and everything went black. I gave you a choice and you ripped my love to shreds.
Love isn't what I read about in sweet-dream magazines. It's not worth the doubt, but I doubt even that. I can't fit this band-aid on my broken heart.
You are everything to me, but I don't even know what everything is anymore. You used to burn in my thoughts, but not anymore. I'll let go of the balloon and I'll drink a sweeter poison.
I am the world's worst Romeo.
EscapeFearful of eyes in the darkEscape5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and the reopening of old wounds,
I run towards an uncertain future
in search of a light to guide.
I don't know where I go or why,
I only know that I must get away
from the old things,
from the dirt and the pain
and the interminable darkness.
The dreams won't leave me alone,
always with monsters chasing me
and never coming close.
They still cast a heavy pall of fear,
and somehow I can never run far,
but always end up back where I started,
alone and destitute.
Like a beggar I crawl in dreams,
waiting for the bomb to drop.
It always does...
even if only in the form of a creeping pollution.
It corrodes at my heart, at my innards,
sapping my strength to live and my hopes.
I grasp at what solace I can get,
but hoard it for future days,
because I do not know how long it will last otherwise.
I don't want to have to speak these words.
I don't want to be afraid.
I wish I could gather all that pain, all that pollution,
like a dirty, threadbare cloak,
and fling it off t
PullYou were the force thatPull5 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
held me to this planet when
gravity failed me.
now and againsometimes our world crumbles beneath our feet,now and again4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and we are forced to learn to fly
while we fall.
i'll tell you a secret: someday this world is going to endi'll tell you a secret:5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and when we die we'll only be left
with fragile memories
confusing stars for satellitesi dream of your armsconfusing stars for satellites6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
around me, in empty hallways
lit by nightlights like dreams, imagine that
your breath would be like raindrops, maybe,
and i'll be the river
into which they fall, and i'd catch you,
lightly, i promise
we won't make a sound,
like mice on christmas eve, tiptoe across
holly staircases, tiptoe
on lakes, dance and watch
the moonlight shadow our
around my dreams, in them,
and find that i would
fax you a smile, a rainbow, a
sunny day, even
my heart -
and yes, it's yours,
but only if
you hold me.
sex goddesses at olympus motelit's thursday:sex goddesses at olympus motel5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
which means i won't see you for four days,
(but i'm not supposed to know this, yet)
which means i'll pretend you're here,
which means i'll ignore you,
which means i'll settle for
injecting your voice
on my fucking
which means neither of you are here,
thank allah, too.
no, not you.
my heart has worshipped you far too much.
which means i've gone from used syringes
to ballpoint pens in less than three days.
which means i'm obligated to forget you.
which means i won't.
which means it's valentine's day,
which means rome's own cupid
is playing favourites. again.
but you don't believe in love,
thank eros, god of sex.
(you could learn a thing
or two or nine from him)
you don't believe in him
(so why should i, then?)
which means my wrists should
be considered a tattoo parlour,
smothered and covered with
every word you've never said.
note to selfstop wasting time wishing to write betternote to self5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
all that you ever wanted to see printed across the faces of stars,
like postage stamps Write letters to the universe
and walk outside every once in a while
just to hear the applause of leaves
smell the clouds and their glorious soft tickled whites like eggs
laugh because you've never seen a silver lining, only soft daubs of pink
like bacon. Make this your breakfast, waking up
to the birds tracing black arrows across the sky
watch this through eyes
like telescope lenses
and wonder at wonder, and please
let happiness please you and
thank you is a nice thing to say
every once in a while.