happy happywhat a super duper feelinghappy happy11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
what a happy fucking day
what a sunny disposition
what a cheery sunshine ray
its all daisies and kittens
its peaches and fucking cream
its sugar sweet and rainbow bright
its like a fucking dream
my brain bubbles hopelessly
my smile speaks for me first
my happiness on overdrive
my heart might fucking burst
i want to run and scream
like a fucking maniac
i want to do a backflip
but i'll break my fucking back
still.one.still.6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
her name is alice. there is a slight blood stain on the valley where her lips part, and her eyes are two supermassive black stars that can't show anything but hurt. she can't bring herself to look in the broken mirror puddles that are all over the ground.
(and i don't blame her)
she borrows her mother's raincoat because it smells like home. not the homes that are flooded with laundry soap or soft candles burning in the family room, but more like the paint she spilled on the carpet, or the whiskey on her father's breath.
(and sometimes, she swears she can smell her mother's sadness.)
when alice was little she remembers playing freeze tag with her mother. she remembers feeling anxious, and now she feels sick. "if daddy touches you, stay still, and don't make a sound."
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
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
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.
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
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.
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?&
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
Aftermathmy hair smells of stale cigarettes andAftermath5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
accumulated interjections as i think of you now.im pulling
out 'horrors', i want to discard 'quits'. i want to pick out 'CHECKMATE',
and fix it on your existence with large amounts of duct tape and cheese.it should be
in red, it should be in caps,it should yell out how i conquered you, noticing
the way your insides stick out a little from the neck of your shirt, mostly towards the
left.you were a triumph puff after light years without the right kind of breeze.
my feet are cleaner but dry, and i miss having them high up in the air.tomorrow's music is
getting lost in this frenzy. it has found the emergency exit, there is an updraft and
no parachutes.i pick out 'zounds', the notes spill forming a makeshift snowfall and
now its hard to make way to the warehouse, the clocks waiting to be discovered.
where are the corns that i'd tossed at the beggars as if it were a sacred
ritual?the wine is missing,the sunset is brown- settling on our skins like the fa
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
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.
My Last Moments SPOILER HP7"Stupefy!" Damn, she dodged it.My Last Moments SPOILER HP74 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
I heard a voice from behind me. Low, dark, cruel. "Avada Kedavra!" Please not be Dolohov's voice. A sinking feeling inside me told me it was.
I tried to focus myself back onto fighting my aunt but a nagging feeling inside me kept on reminding me that Remus has just died. Bellatrix's face was contorted into a mocking grin that confirmed my worst fear. I shot a few more spells at my aunt but the Great Hall felt like it was going to crash around me any moment now.
I couldn't give up. I have to keep fighting. Teddy needs at least one of his parents.
Suddenly, a flash of red light hit my chest. My heart felt as though it had stopped beating, but it wasn't painful. I was falling backwards and my life rushed through my eyes, specifically the last couple months I've gotten to be with Remus and Teddy. That was the best time of my life.
The moment before I hit the ground I realized what had happened: she killed me.
I only had one thought left.
Teddy, your parents
poetry like teaI never want to know you.poetry like tea6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I want to wonder, want to slide back-down and backwards across your glissandos,
linger over the breaths and pauses,
pour into the warm and dark hollows that you curve into your words,
nestle there like water or skin:
I want to sink into the cracks between consonants, smooth them over,
find the sighs folded into the velvet roundness of an O,
contemplate each brightly fractured e in your name, how it
is wrenched open to the world, wounded, and still
curled tight as a fist over the wound:
I want to drink poetry like tea,
in sips, with sugar,
and then in longer draughts until it washes down my throat like heat
and I forget, for a moment, that winter lasts longer than this
and I am far from home:
I want to find you in dead trees and bathroom stalls,
carved with some memory of permanence into the flat surfaces of my world
accompanied by numbers I will never call
for fear of breaking the intimacy of anonymity:
I want to picture you (a picture of you) wi
291010early autumn is spreading her legs for winter and2910104 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my breath reaches the stale air
like celtic knots, writhing in shapes of
there are subtle clouds
shrouding the sky
and hushed rosemary wind
time spent on wondering which words exist,
peach blossom in a sky of tapering velvet
we both look above
in search of a god, or stars which belong on your teeth
she was is could be a sunset and
he is the sunrise
blissful history, sheltered and surreal
a spine which kisses shower
pupils like a eclipsed moon
arrowed by cupid,
misanthropic and so sudden,
can you talk without it breaking glass?
soothed and sullen cheeks, ribs
attached to a sphinx laying
like stray cats, fingernails wander
blunder and bludgeon
bruises of rhubarb and custard
prey on pretty bones
Weasleys' Wizard WheezesWeasleys' Wizard WheezesWeasleys' Wizard Wheezes4 years ago in Comedy More Like This
Come one, come all
come boys and girls,
come ladies and gents
to the funniest place in the world!
If you want to torture your friends,
then this is the place for you.
'Cause where else will you find,
Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes,
and we live for fun.
Headless Hats and Portable Swamps,
there's enough for everyone!
Our mission in life is to
annoy and amuse.
So come on down
and see Fred and George.
Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes
is a sure cure for the blues!
Excellent choice, my dear.
Hey, don't leave yet,
see what we have here.
This just came in,
I know you'll like it, at least I hope.
Get revenge on your enemies
with a Punching Telescope!
Come visit the shop any time;
we're open twenty-four-seven.
If you like to prank and joke,
you'll be stepping into heaven.
Our mum wasn't pleased,
no, not one bit.
But, honey, I'll tell you
it was so worth it!
So be sure to stop
in our little sh
Soaring FreedomThe moon and stars gave a luminescent glow to the night sky.Soaring Freedom4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The crisp night air felt cool upon his face as he flew through it.
His hair flew back revealing his past, revealing his rise to fame.
On his broomstick he flew
Away from cares
Away from worries
He was free to roam the night skies, away from prying eyes.
This was the only time he was truly free.
The only time he could, himself be.
Oneword: RunawayOneword: Runaway3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
John shuffled home from a long, menial day at work. He drudged up the stairs and stood in the door frame of 221B. Everything was exactly how he had left it. No thumbs in the fridge, no chemicals burning away on the kitchen table, no violin wavering away through the air and no gangly detective sitting in the leather armchair. John glanced at his own chair, despairing the thought of another day sitting in it with nobody across from him.
Instead of taking his jacket off and settling in, he turned back around and hurried down the steps. He had barely remembered to lock the door behind himself before sprinting away down Baker street, trying to escape everything that reminded him of Sherlock.
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...
A Dream is Worth a Thousand Deductions, Pt. 1“It was the dog.”A Dream is Worth a Thousand Deductions, Pt. 13 years ago in Romance More Like This
They’re the first words Sherlock has spoken in over five hours. His eyes fly open, bright and wide and almost inhuman, mouth parting slightly in amazement at his own deduction. He tips forward, jumping lightly down off the edge of the armchair he’d been perched on, and paces in light, long-legged strides across the lounge and back again, hands steepled under his chin. He seems afire with the light of discovery – if brain power and adrenaline were visible, Sherlock would be glowing.
“It’s the dog, it must be, it all makes sense- the smudge of mud on the skirting board, the random nature, no noise, no witnesses, nothing else misplaced, of course it’s the dog, those scratch marks around the edge of his basket must mean he’s been hiding them under the cushion, of course she wouldn’t have washed it yet, she’s only had it two weeks and she’s rather absent minded, so he took them, hid them, s
Red BoatRed boat in the harbour,Red Boat4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
commercial trawler amidst the blue
like a gunshot-wound
on a cop's patrol shirt
undertake the thoughts from myunder4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
mind, strung along a
line to dry
like laundry; dripping
of ill sense. try to
piece them together
in a logical sequence and
from the fumes of
a decayed mind.
watch your sanity
you're a recluse,
is your sanctuary.