Number 20Number 205 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
From time to time I wish to die,
Those times I cannot breathe,
This feeling is extreme.
The times that life elates me are,
So few and far between,
This item I believe.
The time between these two extremes,
Is simply empty space,
I dwell on what I need.
a paradiseEveryday, a sticky sun squeezes its viscous light out of the corner of the sky. It oozes out, slowly dripping down the throbbing walls of the earth. The walls aren't brittle - they're hard as bone, strong and thick; so thick that they let no sticky, yellow light leak through. Everyday we stretch out our arms, just to imagine the feeling of that sticky, yellow light touching our fingers.a paradise3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Every night the sun gets washed away by a river of tiny, white lights. Every night we tilt our faces upwards, religiously, almost asking the lights for forgiveness. Forgive us for our pain, forgive us for tearing our muscles as we reach for the sweet, warm light during the day. Every night, thousands of us gather under the lights, each one a link on the pulsing chain wrapped around the face of the earth.
What shall we do with this monster? His round, bright face smiles down at us, his condescending beams illuminate our steps. I want to watch him burn - but how can one set alight a glow
Darkness, I...Darkness, I...3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Every night I pick a star in the sky
and persistently follow the path
that leads to it.
But soon I realize:
the star that once lit the way
is now dead,
and has been so for eons...
Tonight I shall choose a new direction,
one with no light
and I will navigate on it,
and witness the birth and death of galaxies
as I go by...
But I won't stop,
I will go on
Oh, Darkness, I...
home is the place
you launch your ships from
I'm Different Than My SisterIn her teenage years, my sister wore "boy" clothes. She said she hated make-up, hated dresses, and hated anything else that was considered "girly". She played videogames, listened to "guy" music, among many other things. She also claimed to be bisexual. She'd date guys, and flirt with girls.I'm Different Than My Sister5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Then once her teenage years passed, she "changed". She started wearing skirts and dresses, wore make-up, and started being more "girly". She then admitted that she was straight, not bisexual, and was only saying she was bi for attention.
To her, acting and looking "guy" like, and pretending to be bisexual, was a game. Something she did because that was considered "cool", and "different".
I'm different than my sister.
Here, in my teenage years, I wear "boy" clothes. I hate make-up, hate dresses, and usually dislike things that are generally considered "girly". I play videogames, listen mostly to music considered "for guys", among other things. I am also bisexual. I can truly love others of either ge
EntenteProfessor Scudder's study was hot, dark, and crowded with memorabilia from his years in the tropics. Doctor Myron Handley sat and sweated in the uncomfortable plastic seat usually reserved for undergraduate backsides. He tried not to look at his colleague as the large elderly gentleman held a chocolate éclair in one hand, a glass of warm Cognac in the other, and alternately conveyed the two towards the general region of his mouth. Doctor Handley was all too conscious that he needed Scudder for the project to work at all, but that didn't mean he had to like it.Entente4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"And then, '46, we had a spot of bother," Professor Scudder spoke between swigs and chews but occasionally and disastrously mid-chew or mid-swig. "I saw some action, of course. Got wounded near Bombay. You a forces man?"
Myron Handley swallowed his revulsion. "Uh, no. All a bit before my time, really. I, uh, concentrated on more academic
To the VysehradTo the Vyehrad, Prague (May 13th, 2008)To the Vysehrad6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I left a sliver of myself adrift on the Vltava,
the mother river. Not a piece of my heart, no-
nothing so yielding or moveable as that.
A curve of rib perhaps, or the third digit
of my left little finger, the largest vertebrae
or the deep roots of my wisdom teeth.
I shed a bone-it slipped out from beneath
my skin in the late afternoon,
when the sun on the new, smooth headstones
covered my eyes with blindfolds
white and gold; it fell
into the foreign trailing arbutus
without a sound.
When the rain came, later, it rolled
with the black grave garden dirt
into the river and settled, cleaned
and smoothed by the stones at the bottom.
I was already in a different country,
so I didn't feel it then.
And the color of scoured bones
is like good marble, so who can blame them
for drawing that piece of me from the water, thinking
it had slid from a statue, or a church, or a castle,
or the white columns of the St. Wenceslas vineyard?
There was a hi
SnowMonths grouped together like careless footstepsSnow8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
stroll upon the lashings accorded to me by the sun.
In January I am caressed by ghosts
or something as cold and invisible.
They intrude upon hair, clothes; books
dampen with monstrous hand prints.
Are these shells of half-dead creatures
holding themselves, ancient in a cavern somewhere
or tethered to the earth by thought?
Bits of cloud, the flesh of heaven
picked off like a soft disease
nestle on my shoulder as if pulled from my sweater.
they emerge quietly like droplets of blood. Whisper:
we are the teeth of ancient things.
White drift presses upon the house
and the window. Its cool breath scales
my chin, pries open my mouth like a tenacious lover,
and settles with a small sigh on the tongue
like a hiss of steam.
We have made and unmade warmth.
La Ciudad Negra ILa Ciudad Negra I4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
La Ciudad era espesa y negra. Hacia ella se deslizaban incontables seres deformes, excavando para encontrarla de nuevo. Cavaban y cavaban sin descanso y, sin embargo, la Ciudad no aparecía. Consultaron lo mejor que pudieron los mapas grabados en las paredes. Sus extremidades, tan diversas, trabajaban conjuntamente para encontrar aquel lugar.
Buscaban la Ciudad, la Ciudad que les devolvería la luz a través de la oscuridad.
Consultaron, incluso, a los más deformes entre ellos, aquellos que ya ni siquiera se movían. Su tamaño había crecido y poco hacían ya, aparte de ocupar cuevas enteras. Los llamaban Enormes.
"Retrasan nuestra misión" -dijeron.
Pero los necesitaban. Preguntaron, adularon, les prometieron fortunas, pero las gelatinosas masas inmóviles no respondieron.
"Cuando lleguemos seréis los primeros en cambiar"- les garantizaron.
Leves chasquidos de pinzas, miradas desdeñosas desde 20 pares de ojos o resoplidos bajos y ent
Stop the StigmaEveryday is a struggle,Stop the Stigma1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
waking up and just wanting to sleep.
Everyday is an effort,
to live yet another day in this life.
Everyday is a threat,
hoping that people arent around.
Everyday is overwhelming,
dealing with problems that cant be handled.
A mental illness is a struggle.
Dealing with depression
Everyday is a struggle.
There is no need to criticize
or judge someone for their behavior.
Stop the stigma,
and help those that need it.
Before its too late,
and suicide is their only answer...
VoicelessVoiceless6 years ago in Emotional More Like This
I was weak before then.
That's all there was to it.
Before that afternoon, as I suffocated in the burning air thousands of miles from home, I was voiceless.
My friends were all around me, behind me, backing me up.
Some of them were going up before the house, telling their stories to the kids inside.
No, not even kids. Some of them were older than me!
They were telling about their hardships back home, the pain they had suffered and survived through the hands of others and the hand of God. How I wanted to say that! To say that I had a story with a happy ending, or even any ending at all. The number of speakers dimmed, until we were left with an empty stage; the cracked blacktop empty.
They were waiting for us.
No one came. I knew I had a story, something dying to come out, clawing against the inside of my chest.
Don't even think about
relative junkierelative junkie12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In the swelling bubble of a city
where stop signs are seen
as formal suggestions,
where love is a collision
at the intersection
of lust and one-way chance,
where the dingy aura
of metropolitan paranoia
steals stars from the night,
where plants have evolved
into chain smokers
and clear skies are rare
as winter birdsong,
where smiles are common
company of abetting pitches
or condomed invitations to a motel
that charges by the thrust,
where the abortion of hope
hurts less than the fever of living,
I am trapped as a fetus
umbilically bound to a mother
addicted to speed.
CowardI’m still hurting,Coward2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Plagued by a storm of ‘what-ifs?’
There’s no closure here,
No answers to my countless questions,
Well, except one:
Who’s to blame?
I’m a coward, you see?
You can prompt me,
And I’ll still keep quiet.
Happiness one action away…
Met with trepidation!
Let me hesitate!
Let me vacillate!
So I can cry about it later,
Soak myself in sad songs and ethanol,
Hide my true feelings,
And pretend to a victim.
WomenWe are NOT just sex toysWomen7 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
We were NOT just put on this Earth to satisfy you sexual needs
We were NOT made to do all you cooking and cleaning
We were NOT made to do your bidding.
We are all special and unique in our ways,
We are precious jewels,
We shine in our own ways,
We have dreams, goals and futures,
We have brains and beauty,
We belong to ourselves,
Not to you.
We wish to be treated with respect,
We wish to be treated right,
We dont care all about sexual things,
We want more in a man than a body,
We want men with personality.
Dont tell me what I can and cant do,
Dont tell what I should or shouldnt do,
I dont need you to tell me what I am capable of,
I belong to me and no one else,
I can do whatever I want and theres nothing you can do to stop me.
I need a man to treat me like I was always meant to be with him in this world,
I need him to listen to me,
I need a man to be there for me when I need hi
My Dear MamaMama-My Dear Mama4 years ago in Emotional More Like This
I don't understand. You've already accepted me, right? You said "I will always love you, no matter what." but what did you mean by it?
I know it's confusing. When just yesterday I would wake up and ask you to braid my hair, or when you would dress me in my best green dress for Christmas service. I know it seems like just moments ago I had ringlets of hair that bounced at my waist. I know it seems like I'm taking this from you, these memories you hold dearest of me and my childhood. I know it panics you to think that that little girl of your dreams is gone forever. But mama, I'm still here. The same person you created and brought up. The same person you said you would love no matter what. It's me. It's always been me
Do you remember mama? When I would play for hours with toy guns and rodeo sets? Remember? I was always too demanding for a little girl, never quite proper enough, but you loved me. Right? When I ripped my dresses off at the first chance I could get and ran into the ya
BiographicalitiesFIVE DECADES 10/05/10Biographicalities5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when i was a child i lived within a bright circus of illusion
it surrounded me, but i could only see it, not touch it
i was in the center ring with the dark lions nibbling at my feet
the light dying out before it reached me in my small prison
where was the spotlight, and someone to tame those damned lions?
that was the sixties.
when i was a teen the darkness fell and the clowns went mad
no light nowhere, even the illusion faded to black and died
i was in a corner of the abandoned circus tent chanting for its return
the few things i loved began falling apart all around me
where was home, and comfort, and salvation?
that was the seventies.
when i was a young man i tried to forget the circus and light
i hated everything; the darkness; myself most of all
my heroes were dead, the clowns insane, the lions starving
i cannibalized my brain and spawned motherless children
where was the path to anything, maybe just to a full-color world?
The Art of Un-KnowingGive your burden the mane of a lion. Of yourself,The Art of Un-Knowing5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
make a kraal. Split your heart
and fashion its two halves into a pair of goats.
Tether one to a stake. Then pull all the shades
for darkness, barricade the door,
listen for a nervous bleat, a skitter of hooves
in the mind's dirt. Feel nothing when the animal
screams. Believe: it's only a goat.
And here, the art - a bloody thorn, a twist
of hair will show you how the lion gets in, where
to dig the trap. When it is dead
burn the carcass. When the winds have drunk
the last of its ash, you'll still have one good goat.
Star flowersStar flowersStar flowers5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Shatter the instants like musical notes,
I toss them from one brain hemisphere to the other.
There's a symphony of
unnaturally beautiful views
from our star,
the one we found when we were loving each other
in fields of bed-straw and jasmine
You smelled of rainbows and stars,
you pointed them out to me
and i saw flowers there,
flowers no botanist ever found.
Our love had the strong fragrance of a dream come true.
You promised you'd weave me a crown
of star flowers and dreams come true
Half star, half man
you faded with the stars at dawn.
GirlsThis poem is for the girls.Girls7 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
For the girls whose favourite colour growing up was green,
For elementary school princesses still dreaming of being royalty
For the cheerleaders and the songwriters
The girls who loved fairy tales, who love romantic comedies,
For the girls who will not let you blame their anger or sadness on PMS
Regardless of what time of the month it is.
This is for Hillary Rodham Clinton:
Too emotional to hold the presidency in an emotionally absent democracy
For Angela Carter, letting loose her lions,
For Britney Spears, once sixteen, once Mousekateer turned Catholic School pedophile bait,
Begging in costume for sex or
This is for New York, the woman
For Rock of Love Charm School and Bridezillas
For Carrie Bradshaw
For Paris and her new BFF,
Successfully helping a gender regress
This is for the runaways
For the girls fainting down runways
For the girls who played their Barbie dolls into doctors and teachers
Made them something more