WaterAll I asked was for a single glass of water. A glass, a cup, an ounce, a single drop would be enough. I knew you could see me dying there, my body draining itself of whatever resources were left, I know you heard me crying in the night, wasting precious tears in the hope of a little mercy. I licked them away as they fell as best as I could. I couldn't afford to waste them. It was a wonder I could produce tears at all, and there came a day when they finally stopped.Water5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
And I thought you had broke, when you came to me in the day, when the sun stole what little I tried to preserve. You held the thing I craved, you held life as far as I was concerned, and I drank without thinking, and you watched as I threw it up and convulsed. You tipped over a bucket of rainwater and watched me lap it up from the floor like a dog.
I asked for food. A crust, a crumb, anything to end the pain in my stomach. You gave me meat, stinking and crawling with maggots. You gave me bread hard as stone, my feeble
Liberty Burger Life, liberty, and the pursuit of freedom fries. Patriotism thrived as the brand, er, maybe the franchise at Liberty Burger. Red stripes, blue bells, and silver stars sold portions of prefabbed meat by the tonne. One could glare into a plastic star for minutes while the line slowly trickled through the corralled paths which lead to the half-franchised thrones of young go-getters taking just one "year off" from college to find themselves in a line of crazed quaffers. Those shines of plastic took your mind alright, but not off to a place void of processed flesh and cheap enticements where the mind could rest contently away from the wafting smells of death permeating from the rusting fryolators, rather back to the wax-paper flags used to wrap our gluttony sandwiched between two frozen sesame buns and a sprig of lettuceso we could feel alright. Sure they lacked the comfort of the several cardboard bald eagles notifying customers of the weekly meal deals,Liberty Burger5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
This Time It's to Me...Just because he's your newly discovered twin brother, doesn't mean he won't be gone in a few months, unexpectedly and without a goodbye. Or a memory of the last time you saw him. Don't spend forever trying not to forget. I'm still working on that one. I just wanted to let you know, because it almost killed me Which means it will almost kill you, too. Don't let it. Skip class to be with him, play Wink in the rain. It's so much fun. Remember to have fun.This Time It's to Me...5 years ago in Letters More Like This
Don't cry over those girls. The one you're with now, or the one you'll be with in a couple months. They both end up leaving you, but it all works out, and they happen to be your best friends, still, years later. There's another girl, though, and this one you really love. You've been dreaming of her for years, and knew she'd never be yours.
You get her in the end, don't worry. She's yours for life. When you get there, send her flowers and hold her hand. Tell her that you love her all the time, and that she's beautiful. Maybe someday
Education is a GunEducation is a gun. When you first pick it up, you may not be sure how to use it. You may not be aware of its potential. Heck, you might not even know what the point of it is.Education is a Gun5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
But gradually, you will learn. You will learn how to hold it and marvel its body, so mechanical yet so full of life. You will learn to load it, hearing the bullets of knowledge click past your ears. The noise will scare you at first, and doubt will assail your thoughts. Are you really good enough to wield it?
Eventually you learn to cock the gun. The readiness, the excitement that bubbles from the gun makes you smile. At last, you are in control. Your teacher then asks you to point at the target. A boy grins at you. You recoil; you can't shoot a child, surely. Then the child transforms. It becomes square-ish, box-like; it becomes a TV. Propaganda blares out from suited leaders, deluding hundreds of poor, illiterate people clinging to hope rather than fact.
Your teacher steps in and utters the word.
Skies Can't LimittheOptimisticPacked next to mySkies Can't LimittheOptimistic5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
make-up bag I've
nestled away a few
In my wallet I
scrawled on torn
notebook paper and
I'm horrible with
numbers (as you know,
but one plus one equals
two and two is still better
Tangled around twenty
dollar bills is the
sterling silver necklace
you gave me for
(four months ago, and
I'm wearing the one that
came with an
unwritten and acceptable
Hidden where I should
keep my liscence
(if I had one other than
to the one I have to live)
is the note where I
tried to get you to write
like me, poetically
(because we're all searching for
the someone to complete us).
The scribbles there only
repeat three things:
how you love me,
how much you care about me,
(because time is our
only limit and they
lied about the sky).
Too Gay follow-upAfter all the responses I got on my first piece, I feel like I need to clarify why complaining about people being "too gay" is harmful and the (often unrealized) implications of those words. I present the most common argument I heard.Too Gay follow-up2 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
"I have no problem with gays. I have gay friends, but they don't act flaming/butch but rather like normal people. Why can't you just be gay and not have to act like it or let everybody know?"
Implication: "I have no problem with gays so long as they act like me. I am uncomfortable with people who act in a stereotypically gay fashion because it is not "normal". I see gender non-conformity or homosexuality as inherently wrong or inferior and therefore as something to be suppressed or embarrassed of. If you are gay, that's fine, so long as I don't have to be confronted with something that I disagree with."
Why this is harmful: Telling someone to suppress a part of their personality is offensive in gene
I'll Not Be Your Excuse"I'm gonna miss you."I'll Not Be Your Excuse5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I could hear you snicker,
and I could hear my heart
beat in time with words.
Hang up now
or you'll never.
You said the word a second later
just the same as I did,
aprehensive with your
heart breaking (I don't know
about you but mine was snapping
and crackling and popping more than
any cereal ever could).
Moments before you
let the dial tone fly,
I muttered the cliche
and I almost
let the whispers that
haunt me in the night
trickle down the phone line.
But I stopped myself.
Now is not the time to
give you more excuses
not to hang up the phone
(and come find me just so
you can give me proper
goodbye hugs and kisses).
MothMy dear, I was never your butterfly,Moth5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I was simply a moth that wished she was beautiful...
The Wrong FaceThe Wrong FaceThe Wrong Face5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The congratulatory smile painted on Sarah's face faded as she watched the argument. The company had been anticipating it for weeks. Muri had made it clear he wouldn't stand quietly in the wings anymore.
'Well Muri, that's a matter of personal opinion' the Director responded. 'But, you're not right for the role. Hamlet well well he's from Denmark and '
'It's the demands of the script, Muri. And there's other factors. Hamlet's a grown man and you, well, you're ' he trailed off. Muri stiffened for a moment, then strode across the room and slammed the door behind him. The bang compressed everyone to their seat.
Sarah moved first, lifting her handbag and Muri's jacket before stepping softly across the
our sex. your hair.it's nights like theseour sex. your hair.7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when I love you most. when
you're gone but I swear
I can feel the tips of your fingers
on my shoulder blades
or pushing the hair
from my eyes,
my lips (my lips on
you leave me hot
and flushed, not sleeping,
not breathing but craving
your arms, your teeth,
your body. run my hands
over your trembling stomach
ragged and breathing
on top of me, like
I could burn imprints of
myself into you. to be all yours.
but you're not even here.
I want to give everything I have
I cry out your name like
angels sing (like
heaven came inside of
until I wake up wet and
collapse into the pillow and inhale
the smell of spring,
sex, and your
Girlf Friend.sometimes i write letters to my girlfriend with a crayon.Girlf Friend.6 years ago in Other More Like This
i try to draw cute pictures like animals of sorts,
i try to call her on the telephone,
but she never answers.
she never writes back,
and never talks about my cute animals.
i dont understand,
my math teacher told me when i dont understand i should use a calculator to check my work.
so here i sit with a calculator.
plugging numbers in like crazy, symbols iv never seen.
i still dont understand.
my mom says that she probably doesnt respond, or ever want to talk to me, because i dont have a girlfriend.
i thought i did.
Dreamers"Mummy, I want to be a dreamer when I grow up."Dreamers5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The little child sat propped in her bathtub, foam covering everything except her head, which burst with wet golden curls. Her hands scooped at the foam before her, covering her skin in bubbly snow. She threw her hands upwards, letting the bubbles fly, watching them take flight and descend on her mother's hair. They popped, one by one, and she giggled.
"You can't be a dreamer when you grow up," said her mother, sitting on a pink stool next to the bathtub. Her sad tawny eyes surveyed her only child, her mistake. Bitterness tore at her features, turning them haggard and twisted, but the child saw nothing but the hazelnut face of her mother.
"Why not, Mummy?"
"It's not a job. You can't earn money from it." Despite her bitterness, the mother allowed a small smile. Innocence was such a smile-inducing phenomenon.
"Well, I don't care," the child scooped another handful of foam, letting it sag in her petite hands, "I want to be a dreamer wh
Placed in the AtticYouve broken me down,Placed in the Attic6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
torn me to apart to nothing.
Left with a blurred self image,
distorted by years of torture and affliction.
My potential yet to be fulfilled,
my dreams still far from reality.
In a world of lies and empty promises,
just another person to be letdown.
As I walk through the noisy streets,
putting my mind to peace,
feeling the rain softly beat down on my back,
i let my imagination run wild.
I can't help but let the past linger,
ignoring the present, the moment im in.
Stuck in a recurrence of depression and empty days,
watching my future slowly slip away from me.
I'm just a picture void of meaning,
a failure of a creation by a starving artist.
Thrown into the attic to collect dust,
to serve as another forgotten memory.
revolt against human living.and here (here here) is a secret: i write only to break my own heart. because that is what humanity is all about. we love to hurt, we love to be told we'll be worth something. (we love)...revolt against human living.5 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
the thought of love
life and/and death
(anything but ourselves)
we walk around with white powder under our noses and cigarettes placed to our ugly lips. we peel our scabs until we realize just cutting open the skin is so much better. we leave loved ones because we don't bel
_classy girls sometimes i'll watch you while you talk,_classy girls7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the way your perfect mouth seems
to form every
The Bitterness of AgingHow bittersweet the aging of childrenThe Bitterness of Aging6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when the last threads of innocence and childish wonder
slip away into reality and rationality.
Losing the possibility to love everyone,
losing the naïveté we hold in our candy-coated world.
Losing the hope that everything every where has a chance.
When responsibility takes over,
and snow is too cold to play in.
When our goals are based on how much money can be made
instead of happiness.
When faeries, Santa Claus, and magic carpets
are no longer possible.
How bitter the loss of possibility.
GermanySoft River,Germany6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Green Rolling Hills,
Terraced for Miles,
-Stealing our Eyes.
Hours on the Rhine River.
Listening to Music
and Each Other,
Until 2 A.M.
-Stealing our Hearts
I Don't Believe"You have no faith in anyone."I Don't Believe8 years ago in Transgressive More Like This
I stayed quiet.
"Do you know what happens when you don't believe in things? Bad stuff. Take faeries for instance..."
"What is it with you and these damn faeries?" I finally yelled. "Christ."
He continued on as though nothing was said. "If you say out loud that you don't believe, a faerie somewhere dies. You have to clap your hands to make it right again."
"I don't believe in faeries."
He looked up at me with pain in his eyes. "Don't say that, May."
I looked at him with anger. "I don't believe in faeries."
"Since when, come on May stop kidding around."
"I don't believe in faeries."
"Stop it!" He started getting angry.
"I don't believe in faeries," I said again.
His hand connected with my face just like I knew it would. "Damn it May."
"I don't believe in faeries."
His anger flared again, a fire in his eyes, but this time he left me, tears sliding down my face. I slipped down onto the ground and waited until I knew he was gone. I crawled into a corner and st
MaskA smile conceals the wounds so deep,Mask5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Outside you laugh, inside you weep,
At night you cry yourself to sleep,
Upon a bed of broken dreams.
A tainted world of hate and lies,
Where love is gone, and laughter dies,
This rotten world before your eyes,
Is it as bad as what it seems?
Beneath the mask, it's black like sin,
But if we dig down deep within,
A beam of light, though weak and thin,
A ray of hope through darkness gleams.
gabrielle.the first time i met her, she said :gabrielle.5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
when youve been hurt, you dont expect anything from people because youre scared it will happen again.
thats gabrielle. she always has her head in the clouds, why? because its easier for her to get lost and not be found. always thinking she was not original, a teenager oh-so-typical, she tried to stand out from the crowd. converses with white skirts, singing cross my heart and hope to die out loud in the schools corridors and saying she wasnt scared of anything, not even spiders, future, water and peoples thoughts.
but deep down inside, she fears the phantoms from her past.
the first time i tried to had a conversation with her :
hey, just like that, whats your favourite flower?
youre kidding right? its not even beautiful
exactly, it looks just like me
she always wanted to travel, visit
tickle me pink"i don't know what's wrong, he's just gone limp."tickle me pink3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
that's all i hear, and i guess i'm still coherent enough to take that as a sexual slight. i go to open my mouth to tell helen she's being a cunt, telling someone about our sex life, but my lips won't move.
"uh... coke maybe. ecstasy definitely. i don't know. please, just get me someone here, i don't want to lose him."
i realise she's not talking about my dick, so i'm pretty sure i didn't pass out during sex. no, i'd definitely remember that. i want to tell helen i'm sorry, but my lips won't move.
i hear footsteps, and then hands on my hair until my head is resting in a lap. helen gasps, says, "fuck", and eases my head back down to the cold tile.
next thing i know, there's a towel wrapped on the underside of my skull, so i guess i'm bleeding. i probably fell, but i don't remember. all i know is i wasn't fucking her when i did, so it was ok.
Status: Positive Part OneStatus: Positive Part One6 years ago in Socio-political More Like This
Status: Positive Part One
I was born to a woman who never loved me. She didnt bother to give me a name when she was filling out the paper work at the childrens bank. I was marked as Baby 214. When they adopted me, my parents were told little about her. She kept clean during the pregnancy and drank very little. What mattered most to them was that she waved the one-year retrieval rights, which came at an additional fee. If they could fork over the two hundred dollars, I would be theirs (as-is). The contract was unconditional. She could never come back to claim me, not that she ever tried.
When I was older, I looked through my records and found out the woman had been a gambling addict. Her reason for transferal was checked as to acquire additional funds. Funds for what? I didnt know. It basically said my mom sold me for fifty bucks and a bus ticket. Im glad to know I was worth only so much to her. My parents would never allow me to feel li
Yesterday You Never KnewTell yourself you'll wait until tomorrow,Yesterday You Never Knew6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The yesterday you never knew.
Let the skies wash away in loneliness,
And the air breathe with your heart.
Remember tomorrow as you move
Through the days gone by,
And dance with the bitter joy
That comes when yesterday was tomorrow.
Today is the moment,
Eternity stretched across
The singularity of time.
It's never ceasing, and ever present,
Yet always never here.
Fleeting faster than the light,
And dancing more joyously
Than we ever could.
Tell yourself you'll wait until tomorrow,
The yesterday you never knew.
Diary Entries of a Dead Girl"Wanted: One heart. It must be scarred along the edges, cracked...but only a little." She sets the pen down next to her, ink balled upon the tip in black, and glances at the diary. Torn and tear-stained pages clutter the space between the covers like tissues in a box, the clasp hanging off-kilter. Broken. A steak-knife and hammer lie near the tips of her left fingers. She picks up the pen.Diary Entries of a Dead Girl5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
"It must not age, but stay naive forever. It must be fitting for a girl of sixteen to still be able to dream with. It cannot shatter." The down-slanted scroll, learned over eleven years and many alterations, blares the thoughts of a young girl's life. Twelve pages from the end, the script begins to change, to mutate. The last entry is a mess of jumbled words and half-hearted pencil strokes. Despair.
"Wanted: One heart in mint-condition. I