Smiley ManThere are those stories in the papers where a person has died and their pets have eaten their faces off, and everyone's always so disgusted by the dear trusted pet eating their owner, (how can you blame the animal? It's efficient.) Sometimes the owner isn't actually dead, they've just passed out, so they wake up and have no lips, and they look like they're grinning. Like a skull.
My childhood Smiley Man was like that, but no eyelids either. He looked like a skull, in that way, except he had eyes and there was skin on his face, just not over his teeth. And all he ever did, really, was chase. So I'd run, and I'd think I'd have got away, but he had long fingernails, so he could just scratch me, rip my clothes. Seemed perfectly natural, then.
I'd go to the closet to get my coat and stand on a box, because I wasn't tall enough, and I'd think I see him, but he was just something out of my dreams, my own, slightly sicker Bogey Man. The Smiley Man. Sounds like a clown. It's always the childish
Yellow onceThat's the thing isn't it? Just the thing. Anytime, anywhere, any small biting coincidence. Or just some conclusion after a long series of mistakes, and words you shouldn't have said. And I get to think about that through the incessant buzz of everything in every corner of this goddamn place while Mary turns on taps and turns off taps and pitter-patters around the wet floor square we call a bathroom. And I bite down on my tongue so I don't snap at her.Yellow once3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I love her, sure. But god, god, sometimes. Sometimes I hate her.
She doesn't answer, she's turning on taps. She's picking things up and putting them down and focusing very hard on the mirror.
I close my eyes and grit my teeth. She walks by me, past the bed, and I watch her while she peers through the blinds. There are flies. Fly paper strips doing nothing to stop them. Traps never seem to work. I've never seen a mouse in a mouse trap other than on the TV. I've seen mice walk right round it and back into its
I Am Someone To HateDo you know who I am? Do you think that my soul is calm as you say? A tame mare you can bridle. A sight for eyes that searched too long? Another pretty face, to recall at the late hours of the night?I Am Someone To Hate4 months ago in Emotional More Like This
No. I am no princess from your fairy tales. I am no damsel in your accursed, grey, towers.
No. I am nothing like it.
I am the chill down your spine, colder than the winter months. I am the monster under your bed, naught but pale bones and empty eyes. I am the ghost that haunts you, dead and hungry for more death. I am all the things you hide from. I am something to fear. Something to hate.
I am the force behind the dark that keeps you awake. The one that keeps you still as you pray to god that it passes and doesn’t see you. The next time you call me beautiful think of every shadow that has touched you in your dreams.
Run from me, boy. Forget you ever saw me. Lie down and hate the day you heard my name.
I am no calmer than the height of the storm. The raging winds have
Dirty LaundryLoading up the washing machine, and my mind is sprawling around in several destinations far from this cramped room. I spritz my clothes- no, actually I drench them with that spray- the kind that's supposed to work miracles on any stain before the affect fabric even goes in the washer. This was my favorite shirt. My favorite shirt. I'm just not thinking today, am I?Dirty Laundry3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The cotton feels good on my fingers, even though I'm stuffing it roughly into the machine. And all the towels...I didn't learn it until I'd moved out, but Mom was right: washing towels and clothes in the same load led to an outright ungodly amount of lint stuck in everything. I pause. Do I really want to do two separate loads?
Yeah, why not? Water begins to fill up, and I'm dousing it with that lovely detergent that smells so good and pure.
I sit down opposite the machine and just stare at it for a while. It rumbles pleasantly, numbly, and my mind drifts. What a nice sound, surely one could just meditate with i
Once Upon This WorldOnce upon this world, I was asleep. Asleep and content, blissful unawareness had overtaken me and I loved it. Once upon this world I saw what I wanted, however briefly, it was no less mine. Once upon this world, there was nothing that could make me happier than time cast into oblivion carelessly abandoned in the ether. Once upon this world, I woke up.Once Upon This World1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She Was a Stormcloudshe was a stormcloud, and you loved her,She Was a Stormcloud2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and the two of you took walks and wore
nothing but promises,
broken chains and
strands of pinkish pearls.
and the two of you kissed under trees that attracted silver lightning
(metal branches scraped the sky, and you, always faithful,
tipped your coat over her head to keep her dry.)
but she never stayed that way.
in an instant, she had whirled into the rain
and danced without clothes,
and she left you
with the pain of frostbite on your naked skin
where you trusted her to kiss you warm,
and you thought you heard her laughter
when the sun came out again the next day,
and the next.
she was a stormcloud, and you loved her,
and you didn't know it at the time but
(and they never
Was it easyI used to believe that the world was small, that it was mine, and everyone else was a character in a play, and when I died I'd be born, my life a foetus dream, that would just carry on. I used to believe and that was enough. That people were honest.Was it easy3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I thought that things were easy.
Now I believe in science, and ghosts, and sometimes my gut, but I don't believe in much.
I was afraid of death, shouting, flapping wings, creaks and the shadows on my walls. I'm afraid it'll all get broken. I'm afraid of truth and lies. I'm afraid I understand too well and too little.
Of how little I can believe in.
The dusty light in the morning, stretching over our bed. And how it all gets when I focus.
To our place that was my place, to the morning with the dusty light, under white sheet tents where it's warm. Belong in the nook, the other side of the rest of the world. I belong in the bubble.
I can't do most things.
When I learnt about the universe and my place in it, my slow evolution, and how many thin
She Cries ContentI am countingShe Cries Content7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
wishing wells, practicing
my thesis for every shooting star
in my mirror.
I have to admit, I
don't know what I want,
so I paper-punch holes in your
sky to replace the supernovas I
stole. I needed them
We are unsure,
perforated lovers at perpendicular
angles. All our reasons are
agree that we probably
shouldn't observe them.
I find it funny
that Euler's formula was considered
a jewel when it fails
to count our
cruel edges and
double-faces. I can't use
numbers to solve our mystery,
a still painting of
blindness. You see me
as on a distinct, separate path,
whereas I am...
bendy and neither here nor there, in the
I am omnipresent in my aspirations.
I am the essence of the
New York skyline,
and you are my ferry that leaves
and then snaps back like
a rubber band.
As long as you exist,
I can be content.
Let's not observe what's in that
A Winter PoemA Winter Poem1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
is a poor champion
for this summer-born body,
Yet ,I know his chill kiss
sires the green of spring.
January is the cruelest month.
I have been a fool.
He loves me not.
I love him still.
� L. L. Kelly 2012
Tumbling Down He said he was smart enough to be a Mensa member. She asked what that was. David said it was a group of people who took a test and were admitted to Mensa only if they tested as geniuses. Susanne just looked him, not entirely surpised and not entirely convinced David was right about that. Without knowing, and in light of what David did or didn't do for a living, Susanne went back to reading a novel she picked up on her weekly trips to the library.Tumbling Down3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Susanne and David had arguments now about those novels she read. She read everything from bestsellers to older classics, including children's books (she had no children) and non-fiction about fiction.
David insisted that reading any fiction was a waste of time.
"Why?" Susanne asked.
"Because fiction doesn't teach anyone anything," David said.
Susanne put her current
LabyrinthJulian: "We shouldn't be here Kelse."Labyrinth3 years ago in Sketches More Like This
Kelsey: "Please. How else are we suppos-"
Security Guard: "Who's out there?"
Julian: "I told you."
Kelsey: "Shut up."
Security Guard: "I said who's out there."
Julian: "It'll be a cake walk you said. Bullshit Kelse."
Kelsey: "Shut up and c'mere."
Security Guard: "Do you two know how much trouble you're in?"
Julian & Kelsey: "Sir?"
Security Guard: "Found in a restricted section of the labyrinth past curfew."
Kelsey: "I-We didn't kno-"
Security Guard: "Let me see your hands."
Security Guard: "Kelsey Montgomery and Julian Bailey, you are to report to the guard station and await your parents."
Security Guard: "Any detours and these sensors will sound an alarm."
Julian & Kelsey: "Yes sir."
Julian: "I told you we shouldn't be down here."
SapplingBack in preschool the boys would always tease me.Sappling4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"You're a girl."
"You can't do anything."
Defiantly I would cry back, "Yes I can!" And they'd laugh at me.
The sad part?
They weren't the only ones.
In elementary school my teacher would always look at me in the same, tired fashion.
"Why didn't you do your homework?"
"Why aren't you doing anything?"
My reply would always be this:
"I was told I'm stupid and can't do anything."
Again, this wouldn't be the last time.
Middle school was always a barrel full of monkeys and fun.
Once again it was boy trouble.
They were all so handsome, so hot, so sexy, etc.
But did they find me attractive?
"You're flat chested."
"You're teeth are crooked."
"Your friend looks better than you."
Does that answer your question?
My friends would console me through my tears.
"Boys are just stupid."
Then explain why this keeps happening.
Before high school, over the summer, it was as if I'd been touched by magic.
My once iron-board chest seemed to gr
gold and bonesSully was pretty sure he wasn't cool enough. He had a yellow american appearal hoodie, brown bangs that fell into his blue eyes, and his father's old pentax film camera, but it wasn't enough. He was cool, but not Anthony McCormick cool.gold and bones3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Anthony was effortlessly cool, from the way he dressed to what he talked about. It was cool when Anthony breathed; not that Sully had spent a lot of time thinking about it or anything. On the day in question, an afternoon in May, Sully was walking through the old town district, looking for prospects. He was always looking, wherever he went, framing photographs with his eyes before he ever brought out his camera.
A green fire hydrant sat in front of small brown house where a man was mowing the lawn, sweat glistening on his head, his red plaid shirt tied around his waist. Sully pulled out the pentax, crouched, adjusted the lens, and took the picture. Straightening, he tucked the camera back into his hoodie and continued walking, tossing his hair. His bang
Peace of MindI will say this: the definition of success is the most corrupted idea of mankind.Peace of Mind1 month ago in Philosophical More Like This
Teachers say good grades, parents say good jobs, teenagers say a nice body. “Money, business, sex,” they spit. Because what are you, but a pretty face and a name?
“Where are you going to school?” “Have you a degree?” “Why don’t you get a job.” “Get a car.” “Make a name for yourself.” “Leave a mark on the world.”
What about the marks on my skin, where I stretched myself too far? Make a name for myself? Names are knives in your back. “Katie, that girl from the back of the class?” “Oh yeah, Sarah from church, right? Don‘t know her well.” No you don’t know me. You can have your names and I’ll stay myself. If I want to leave my name behind when I’m gone, then I will call myself Reason a
CostlyI walked into the small tea shop, out of the rain and shook myself off. I left my umbrella by the door and wandered slowly up to the counter to order some chamomile. After paying for it, I turned to seat myself in one of the booths, but found that each of them were already occupied. Mustering my courage, I walked toward one of them, who had only one person sitting at it. He was enjoying an omelet and biscuit by himself.Costly1 month ago in Short Stories More Like This
“Do you mind it very much if I could share your table?” I asked hesitantly.
“Not at all.”
I sat down clumsily and fumbled with my phone, feeling awkward for not engaging in small talk. After a while I glance up at him for a second. He was dressed warmly with new-ish clothes. His hair was disheveled, as though he hadn’t showered, and he hadn’t shaved in a while.
The waitress arrived with my tea and I was forced away from my phone to pour myself some.
“Penny for your thoughts.