will.i.will.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i will not grant you pretty words
though they burn in my veins
and force me to breathe,
as if my fey-child scripture
ever could withstand you
and the scars you carved in my DNA.
they breed in my throat,
a transcendental code sacrosanct
as the prayers you whisper,
and the vows you took in obligation
only to hide your transgression
(twenty-six years, three months, twenty days)
and write in me the fear
of being erased.
so maybe you can't understand
how i made myself not hate you
when i thought you would die
just in case
i want to throw my fury
at your feeble body and
like zeus to your cronus
though i've always been cast
as hermes instead
for every second i've stared myself down
just to prove the balance of genetics
lies not in your favour
teaching myself to drive stick
so i could run farther
from who you wanted me to be
the six year old boy
with a near-perfect sketch
(but it wasn't
Opportunity-8.FebruaryOpportunity-8.February9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the texture of my missed sunrise
wrapped in amber arms and a smirk
fluxing in the newborn light:
I'd've flung myself in arms that begged to hold me
if I'd known they were there
I'm staring into your distance, someone
singing in my buttoned ears
—chops for my cubical existence
there's cement beneath us in springtime, still cold
to the touch of jean-clad cheeks,
this tank top rag doll
folded into your lanky figure,
patient for day
I'm trapped, sometimes,
in fleeting shadows—moments that shouldn't feel
like midwinter sun taunting,
tangling the air, hair
falling in your solstice eyes,
but they do
Cirrus BreakersSo feeling breakersCirrus Breakers4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
pass the edge
of a cirrus strewn and circular sky
In another summer
in another place
I have that bed on which to lie
In grass and thoughts; a fading trace
Of watching you
behind an eastern air.
No ancient halls of Rome did speak
of beauty like your hair
That fell in spells and drew me down
still closer to your mouth
I keep these passing moments held
Of summers in the south
thalassophobic.when i arosethalassophobic.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with the sun-tinted curtain shifts
in my room, my jaw unlocked
from the rest of my body
like a missile from a submarine.
water flowed between
the cracks of my skin
in an new exodus from egypt.
starfish clung to my elbows,
sucking out all flexibility.
a piece of seaweed stretched
across my mouth like
your letters to my doorstep.
i couldn't breathebreathebreathe.
tentacles drifted from my eyes like the grain.
sea wasps charged towards me
like honey bees with their undulation cries.
they engulfed me, and
the only colour i could
see was black.
and then i tumbled
down into death's arms,
open wide from too many
Four Thousand PiecesWe met outside the morgue. You were there with your hair too bright and clothes that we had fought over that very morning. You were crouched, your body looking impossibly small and broken.Four Thousand Pieces3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
You can't wear that out. You look like a prostitute.
I'm eighteen years old Mum, I can wear what I like.
All at once you were the brand new baby that I had held in my arms, sobbing over the tiny miracle that your Father and I had never thought possible. Then, you were five years old, and it was time to begin school. You had looked up at me with big green eyes and a serious smile as you proved over and over that you could fasten the Velcro on your brand new shoes.
You smiled at me now, outside this place that we didn't belong in, and I saw the stabilisers that Gary had taken from your bike. He had watched you cycle down the road, ten years old, the proudest Father at that moment in time. I could tell you that he hid tears from you that day. But I don't.
Instead I ask you how your day wa
Across the Barren DesertThe silence lies over us like dust. He sits in his chair, the newspaper spread before his face. My legs are curled beneath me on the couch as I watch television. The living room is cold.Across the Barren Desert4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
A steady drip from the kitchen faucet reminds me that he has not yet fixed it. I mention it, and he nods noncommittally, murmuring something about the weekend.
My bones ache from this strain between us.
I announce that I am going to bed as soon as the ten o'clock news finishes. He offers me a perfunctory smile as I kiss him on the cheek and ascend the stairs.
Another evening exactly the same as the last.
I feel like my soul is withering in this empty monotony.
Undressing slowly, I hang each item up with care. I hate wrinkles.
The bed is chilly but I have become used to sleeping alone. He usually comes to bed late and I cannot remember the last time I fell asleep with his warmth beside me.
My night stand is empty. I hate for him to see me cry, so I long ago removed our wedding photo.
It rained the day
Sweet Tunes - FFM 2010The only way to appease the creature was to play music at it the older music the better. Whenever the music stopped, it'd stop its melodic swaying, freeze, and then let out the most terrifying and deadly cry. Eardrums bursting, glass shattering, electronics exploding, eyeballs melting that kind of cry.Sweet Tunes - FFM 20104 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
After that, it would disappear, only to reappear at the most inconvenient place imaginable, ready to explode again. If those around it valued their spleens, they would start digging for their MP3-players right away. The more musical amongst us might start a serenade, or some kind of ad-libbed drumming session on whatever's nearby.
But the creature's appetites for quality only increased as the days passed and no-one had yet figured out a way to communicate, capture or otherwise kill the thing. The tinny sound of a radio would only calm it for so long, sometimes even making it angry enough to lash out a protuberance and destroy the offending equipment. Then it woul
CenterStaring up at a ceiling, blank.Center4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Questions, constant, you don't know
the answer, you can't know the answer.
So why bother. Restless and immovable,
how could anything possibly change?
Every dream, every thought, every purposeless
moment you're in this world... can you
figure it out yet? No. So move on,
escape from the bustle, the technological
prowess and the endless noise. Surround
yourself with symbols of peace and love,
see where it gets you. Bring on the feng-shui
masters and throw away your television, because
that's going to help isn't it? Has it gone yet?
Of course not. You know why, but daren't question.
You know who, but cannot sum up the courage
for confrontation. And as for where?
Life just is.Everything is as though the beautiful, night dreams which keeps on pursuing and binding the live of me when this all is in fact a bitter reality that I am facing through. The laughs, the loves, the tears, the hatreds, the strengths, the weakness, the determines, the pain, the regret, the happiness, the inspirations, the rising, the hard resolutions, the questions and the answers. As the seconds turns to minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, cycling through years and years of tumbling down and revivals. Surviving and dying. It's coming out to me way too fast, I don't realize it's almost a decade now. Crumple in between my hands now is an old, dusty paper that's almost turn into yellow which I hide inside a white, shoe box behind the cupboard over a year ago. There's a written list on the paper; it was full of my writing beginning from when I was just eight summers of age until I grew up and maturing. A tear slides down my cheek and drop on the paper, making a silent sound deafening the eLife just is.4 years ago in Emotional More Like This
More RenaissanceGreen giant with your baying hordeMore Renaissance4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
of vegetables, Oh worshipped Lord;
The parameters of my ephemeral heart,
burst with the art of centuries.
In part my fears of transcience
sink in the waters of poetry.
So past careful thinking, it is said:
I have no need to rest my head,
between the sweating knees of the church.
For when word's spreading of my death
there'll be no fire underground.
Just shrinking flesh and words to sound
for years in print or loving breath.
The key to life.Today,The key to life.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
When you still have that fresh eyes,
And hands so strong it crushes ice,
You can't easily forget all the dramas and lies,
When you have wrinkles on your face,
And a heart so weak it wants to rest,
You can't ever forget that key to life is happiness.
- Mia, 2012.
MiaSo precious and lovelyMia4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Generous and selfless
Just a young woman, really
Who has lived just seventeen years
But who has helped so many already
She deserves so much more
Than all this pain that she has been carrying around
She deserves so much more
Than to be lying motionless
In a coma
She deserves your Angels to come down
And heal her
Ten thousand Angels to lift her from this coma
To bring her back to full health and spirit and energy
There are no words
To say how undeserving
Mia is of this pain
That has been beating down on her
For so many years
Wicker Chronicles When the pastry shop opened up next door, well, that’s what did it. The Cakers left a box of iced strudels on the porch as a neighborly gift and, to Mr. Wicker—the world’s most devoted hater of sweet things—it was a call for war. While I sat on a stool eating the cherry-centered strudel of the bunch, he put together a concoction of his strangest ingredients and packed it all into a reeking glass bottle. I was munching on the lemon-centered strudel and watching from the attic when he threw the bottle in their open window and absconded indoors.Wicker Chronicles5 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
The more righteous people in town were always ashamed that a curse-maker lived in the city limits and sold his ill-will to others. When I do the shopping every week, at least one of them asks me if Wicker’s gone broke yet and I tell them straight-faced that he most certainly hasn’t, because whether they like it or not lots
StorytellerSee comments for the NEW LOCATION! Please fave there!Storyteller3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Adrian Gordon was an amazing writer when he was intoxicated enough. It seemed that one morning he awoke with a terrible hangover, and found half a novel manuscript open on his computer. The cursor blinked at him expectantly, but try as he might, he couldn't finish the story. The sentences and paragraphs and characters seemed to have lost their flowuntil he got himself drunk again.
That was how he told the story, anyway. And when Gordon told a story (the drunk Gordon, of course,) I was always left feeling like it was a story I'd known all my life. Like that story was only a chapter of all I'd experienced, something I'd gone through and remembered and romanticized all on my own, even when it was the story of a group of outlawed doctors disobeying laws of population control, or the tale of a time traveler bringing a famous book to it's young, unaware author. No matter the story, I became that doctor, that authoror th
To My Dearest LoveTo my Dearest Love,To My Dearest Love2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
My noble demon heart does pound like nothing before heard by the whole
worlduniverse. My blue eyed vision has been blurred by sweet, sweet hallucinations, calling to me like a skilful temptress. And although I am but a handsomegallant prince of royal darkness, I cannot but fall into the arms of sweetened daydreams. And is it customary to have heightened senses when the mind is invaded by such toughpowerful emotions? For every rose I smell has a oddwonderful aroma and the earth gives away an earthyearthly scent wherever I walk.
Indeed, only one thing I can name can cause such a
weirdstrange feelings for my poor but magnificent soul. My Dear, the only thing that inflicts me so is the love I feel for you.
Yes, I will tell you, gentle
angeldarling that my heart has captured by you.
After I first met you, I cannot help wishing that
My Life as a Companion Ch. 6Mathias and I both awoke to a girl's frightened screams. Libellia sat a little ways away from us, her blond hair covering most of her face and she was clearly embarrassed. "I... I'm sorry," she mumbled quietly. Alarmed, the two of us said it was quite okay.My Life as a Companion Ch. 64 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
"Are you alright?" Mathias asked and moved closer to her. I rubbed sleep from my eyes and noted that the sun hadn't risen yet.
Libellia was nodding when I brought my gaze back to the pair. "Yes. I'm sorry to have awoken you two."
"Don't worry about it," Mathias and I said in unison, then looked at each other funnily. That one expression caused the Princess to smile slightly.
"I really am sorry. I'm sure you must be tired." She brushed her hair out of her face and I saw she looked pale.
"Is there anything I can do?" Mathias asked gently.
She shook her head. "No. It was just a...nightmare. I'm really alright." She tried to look happy.
Just Like The MoviesLove isn't like the moviesJust Like The Movies8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
If it was you would've realised I was
For you and we'd all be living
Happily Ever After
Love isn't like the movies
If it was you would've noticed all
And have fallen secretly
With me too, but be
To act on it
Love isn't like the movies
Not everyone has a
They can fall for
And not everyone is secretly
But hidden under
Glasses, braces or clothes
Love isn't like the movies
Lies and Deciet
Can be so easily forgiven overnight
Not all problems can be solved with an
"I Love You"
And sealed with a Promise and a
Perfect First Kiss
Love isn't like the movies
Isn't staring me right in the face
While I pursue someone who
Isn't Worth My Time
Love isn't like the movies
Because if it was you would read this
And chase me as I speed away in a
To tell me I was wrong
That you love me
And that love is
Just Like The Movies
Late Night Investigation 12"Harry. Harry Harry! Come on leave it. He's not here."Late Night Investigation 123 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Of course he wasn't here. That was the point.
"Seriously, it's dark and cold and he's probably gone home. Jesus Christ Harry, it's pitch black you're not going to find him."
Why would he go home without telling me He wouldn't.
"Maybe he's with that guy? He was pretty cute "
"There was a fucking pool of blood on the floor Jess!"
"Do you know how many people was in that place? It could be anyone's."
"It isn't It's not just anyone's "
Just one of those things you know.
" Look. It's fucking 3am, it's freezing and he is clearly not here. Let's just go!"
"Gods sake, fuck off then! He's my friend and I'm not going to let him down."
Quicker by myself anyway.
"He's my friend too "
I Want New ClichesI Want New ClichésI Want New Cliches4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I want to see clichés
I want to see the muscle-bound
on his knees holding his bloody lover
the home they've built burning in the background
as he swears revenge and screams at the sky
and I want that dying, handsome lover
to be muscle-bound as well
I want to see a father and son
crying on the checkerboard tablecloth
holding each other fiercely, trying not to try
to listen to what's beyond the white picket fence
where Mama took Old Fido and the shotgun
I want her to be the only one brave enough
I want to see the small-town, southern sheriff
fat, white, kind
hustle through the door, smelling welcome-home cookies
find happy children, not needing platitudes
or sad ones, too smart to believe them
I want him to give his almost-as-fat wife a kiss
that lingers too long for modesty, as his hands
gently brush the flour from her black skin
I want to see fictional families, for once,
like real ones