One LoveI'm not enough.
I'm not super-human, not a hero either. I'm just me. Me. And what I am might not be what you need.
But I'll try.
I can promise you as much. I can try to be what you need and I can do it for the rest of my life. If I could just nearly be what you need, what he was, it'll be enough. It has to be enough because I'm not the perfect piece, I'm misshaped and confused and so madly in love with you.
Yet I'm not him.
I'll never be.
You loved him. And part of you, the one he took, always will. I can only hope the small part left can learn not to long after the one missing. I can only hope it'll learn to move on and someday - perhaps who knows? will notice me.
Sometimes I just I I just want to be everything to you.
People don't call me a fool for no reason, you know? Though I prefer to think of myself as an idealist and show them wrong. I know... I know they're wrong. I can be everything to somebody else; I can fulfil my lover's every need
The Man in the Coffee ShopThe man who works at the coffee shop looks like you. I noticed this some time ago and have since frequented the place. He recognizes me now. He smiles at me when I come in. His smile even looks like yours. He doesn't say hey though- you always said hey.The Man in the Coffee Shop4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I still work at the library even though you're not there.
Sometimes I look over to your desk and expect to see you typing at your computer, but someone else is there now. It's not you.
Sometimes someone will come in who looks like you. Maybe he will have the same hair, same stature, same profile, same laugh, same voice. It's never been you.
Sometimes I drive myself crazy. I pull at my hair and scream 'till my lungs burst. I scream for and at you. I ask how you could have left me here.
Sometimes I allow myself to believe that I will see you again. By chance we will run into each other in a Wal-Mart far away.
I go to the coffee shop on Tuesday afternoons. I order a small chai tea with milk.
Sometimes the man is working at th
Coffee-Stained LetterDear Stranger,Coffee-Stained Letter4 years ago in Letters More Like This
You don't know me. And I don't know you. Maybe it's better that way. But then again, maybe we would be happier if we did know each other.
Right now, I'm sitting at my desk, with the sunlight streaming in the window, writing this letter for you. Hopefully I'll finish it by tonight, so that tomorrow I can take it to the coffee shop on the corner and drop it on the floor, or in your lap, or maybe in the lap of the person next to you so they can give it to you...because they don't seem like the type to read it, so they'll obviously just pass it on.
I like music - except terrible rap. And I love the written word more than most, it baffles some of my friends sometimes. I wonder, do you like to read? I have the tiniest tattoo I've ever seen, it's a tiny fairy on my ankle, but you can't see her unless you're looking for her and know where to look...like a real fairy, they're good at hiding too you know. I saw a fairy once. She was hiding behind the strawberries in my garden. I t
StarsIt isStars4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when our eyes
I see you
reflected in your eyes
you don't feel
Faithi.Faith4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I must have lost myself
in the distance between
what was and what is
trying to look towards the future
and towards the past
and instead just getting
confused about forwards and back
I must have taken
a wrong turn between
almost and already there
because this distance is
supposed to be short,
but I've been walking
for miles and miles
and my destination
is nowhere in sight
I must have the knack
for falling into pit holes in the
roads that separate the beginning
and the end
because I never seem to finish anything.
And maybe I'm just too good at quitting,
but I've walked this walk four times too many
and still, I've yet to see the end
I must have walked across
the line between black and white
too many times because
I've found myself in this strange gray area
between truth and lies
but life's too boring with only three colors
so let me leave this maze of mess ups and mistakes
let me step out of this monotone world
so I can search for the other side of the rainbow
Writer's BlockThe numbers on my desk calendar started to blend together as my eyes began to close and I dozed off. I regained consciousness with a start, and I involuntarily slammed my hand down to what should have been my desk.Writer's Block4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Wh-where am I?"
"Oh my dear! We certainly weren't expecting you today; we would have cleaned up a bit. Heh, you see, we're having a bit of a well technical difficulty." Said a round, rather pleasant woman wearing a polka-dot dress with a nametag simply saying "Dot."
I looked around; I was in a large, disorganized office with people and papers scrambling with bundles of copy paper. I grabbed a paper from the desk beside and read:
Boy with schizophrenia and his life with his imaginary
The ink faded out and I couldn't read the rest.
I picked up the paper and held it out to the woman demanding an answer.
"What is this? Who are you and what sort of place is this?"
"Well dear, that is an idea, yours actually, we've been having a problem with our machine, we see
Dead for YearsToday,Dead for Years4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You told me you loved me.
I think I stopped believing you a long time ago.
I told you I loved you.
I don't think you ever started.
I lied to you.
I think it was the first time you've trusted me.
You asked me to marry you.
I hesitated saying yes.
You kissed my flesh and told me you wanted a child.
I wasn't ready;
I stopped taking my pills and started fucking you more.
I gave birth to your daughter.
You say she'll have a beautiful mind.
You took her to the museum.
I've never seen you so alive.
I watched your eyes light up.
She'd whispered something into your ear.
I'll pour myself a tall glass of cyanide.
And give a toast to all that's left.
I'll be dead.
But right now in this moment,
I want you to know,
That despite what you've thought;
I've always loved you more.
instead, instead, insteadi can't remember the last time i saw you.instead, instead, instead4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
instead, i trace your name
along my arm:
goosebumps like braille, raw
the soft side of my wrist
you've never touched.
i know me better than i know you
and i don't know me at all.
i can't remember the last time i spoke to you.
instead, i erased your number
from my phone:
i'll miss your static, my poor
pretending to have nothing to say.
you never guessed that i was penning novels
beneath my tongue.
what i do remember is
the last time i was whole:
my hand and yours
now i'm left with splintered palms and
ghosts between my fingers.
Hollow SuicideI love this world.Hollow Suicide4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I love it even when it's so beautifully achingly lonely that I can feel the drum of my pulse throbbing just under my skin, a constant reminder of the hollow center the veins connect back to.
Sometimes I think I want to build my future in the forest because the trees are so lovely but then I realize that I would be missing out on the vast, limitless blue expanses of oceanwater and the sound of the waves lapping at the shoreline. And then I think of the view from the mountains, or the honey-golden tones of the desert at sunset, the neon lights of the great cities, all the beautiful places in the world I have to choose from, but which one is the most beautiful in the end?
I think about the end of the world, how the forests would burn and the seas would dry up and the mountains would crumble and the cities would fall, and the destruction would still be hauntingly beautiful because it's a reminder of our own impermanence. A gentle memory of that faint
Piano PlayingI am a pianistPiano Playing4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And you are my piano, dear.
I play minuets along your ribcage,
Write love songs on your arms,
And press your vertebrae like keys
To let soft chords fill the empty space.
Your hairs are the resounding strings,
Your lips are polished brass pedals
That make everything loud and soft at the same time.
Kissing you makes the whole world shift up an octave.
I am a pianist
And you are my piano, dear
So let's write a duet in the dark.
CalamityI keep expectationsCalamity4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in my back jean pocket
and i tuck disappointment
into the folds of my shirts
they stay with me always
while confidence makes friends
with the dust bunnies under my bed
I store empty promises
under the weight of my spine
crushed by back bone shoulder blades
turned from fragile bones to wings that will never fly
and there is always anger
hidden beneath my fingernails
flooding my lungs until I can no longer breathe
while pleasure and pride
become the lost love child
of closets and old shoe boxes
frustration sleeps in my veins
accumulating like blood clots
incompetence makes itself at home
in the spaces between bones
and happiness loses itself
in shoes that don't fit
and sweatshirts that no longer hold warmth
Helloit's time for goodbyeHello4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but I scream, "hello"
for every time I was silent.
you don't know how badly I ache
to change all our exchanges
into long conversations.
I stayed away but now find
we're out of time without warning.
even now I can't speak
afterall, how can you say "goodbye"
without saying "hello"?
I'll always dream of what could have been
while you'll never know.
so let this be my first and final
And So Ii.And So I4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I wrote our love story on the Internet for the world to read. The bored teenagers with their witty usernames commented on every sappy blog post, wishing me luck and cuddles through a combination of punctuation marks and letters that was supposed to resemble a face.
And it was glorious.
I reveled in you like my dog reveled in the snow that sometimes fell at the beginning of January excited, but too small. And so I sank.
Come to think of it, I never particularly liked snow. It makes the world cold and is only pretty until people mess it up. Plus, the snow that we get around here is never more than slush, and the only reason to cancel school is the black ice on the roads.
And, come to think of it, I never really needed you.
Who are you? I suppose I'll never know. I do not even think that I want to. I never even knew you back then you were a fantasy, something my disillusioned teenage mind conjured up from a tangle of hormones and a misplaced compliment.
All I knew was
The Lies We Tell OurselvesI'll stop pretending to be okay,The Lies We Tell Ourselves4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'll stop lying to myself and accept that
I'm in total disarray. I blinded myself with
a lie saying I didn't need you.
I lied to myself when I said I can be
happy without you. For awhile it worked
exactly like a perk, it made all my pain
disappear, all my agonies unreal, but my
uncontentment reappeared. I see no color,
I see no reason, I see nothing but a void
without a proper decorum. For once I wish
that I could turn back time, relive the moments
that made me feel so alive, because all I want
to do, is live my life forever with you.
As I got lost in my memories, oh the bittersweet
sensation, your angelic smile gleaming through the
white abyss of damnation. So this would be my
last confession, to save myself from utter
humiliation. How I wish you could see the pitiful
state I'm in, oh how I wish you said "you too"
when I uttered the words "I love you".
Mr. LizardI remember when I was finally able to convince my parents to buy me a pet lizard. I was so excited! It lived inside a wooden cage with a wire mesh in front. I named it Mr. Lizard. I wasn't very good at coming up with names.Mr. Lizard4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Everyday, when I came back home from school, I'd go to my room and would feed Mr. Lizard a cricket. I thought that was the neatest part about having a lizard. It was fun to watch as the cricket hopped around inside the cage as Mr. Lizard eyed it. I kept thinking, "Oh man, I wonder when he'll eat the cricket!" Then "Munch!" It was done. I was somewhat disgusted by it, but at the same time fascinated.
One night, I was watching a nature show on TV and the people in it were trying to rescue some animals that were captured illegally and being sold as pets. They managed to save a few and then released them back into the wild. Everyone was hap
Recipe for Disaster196 NationsRecipe for Disaster4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
1 Nuclear Strike
1 Retaliation Maneuver
6 Billion Dead
Don't bother baking -
the radiation will take care of it.
KeystrokeThe keys feel nice under my fingers, soft and indented from manufacturing supplies and my own abuse. I like to type moreso than writing with a pencil or pen. It brings me comfort to spill words onto a nonexistent page and be able to erase them just as easily. No eraser shavings or crumpled paper to serve as evidence of my musings. The keys are like home. They call to me even when I have nothing to say. I'll spend hours typing nonsense logic into a word processor only to delete it because I didn't really want the words so much as I wanted the comfort. It's like holding my father's hand or leaning on my mother's shoulder as she wraps me in her embrace.Keystroke4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Their thin constructs are so fragile under my deft pads, and the feel of the push and give as I press on them brings life to the inanimate things. Each one is separate, an individual with a personality all their own.
J and F are my homing beacons when I rest my hands on the keyboard; their indents merely physical attributes so that
The Architect's DaughterGrowing up, the drafting table was a strange contraption lording over the basement and over the crown of her then small head. As she slowly came to understand the table's function, it came to teach her that A) work and home are inseparable, and B) the world is flat. Skyscrapers collapse into thin piles of layered printer paper and torn, pen-marked transparency sheets. Mountains and forests reduce to stacked shapes. Fathers compile into cramped calendars.The Architect's Daughter4 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Now the early lessons are thoroughly embedded. Art and architecture are inseparable in her mind. The easel is her own table, similar to a draughtsman's and yet completely different in the ways that matter. She is not a draughtswoman or a designer. Instead, exactly like children imitate their parents naïvely, she plays at being an architect, mimicking the actions but doing them backwards. Architects use flat means to create real objec
Grandfather's BirdGrandfather had a pet bird. Just a small, yellow and white parakeet; he named it Georgie, after Grandmother. Every morning, he would wake up at 6 o'clock, make a pot of coffee, grab the newspaper, and feed the small bird a small pile of birdseed. And he would gently carry the birdcage, and place it on the table and talk to her as he drank his coffee and read the newspaper.Grandfather's Bird4 years ago in Scraps More Like This
"Gas prices are up again Georgie, geez, remember when we could pay 20¢ to fill up our car?"
And sometimes the bird almost chirped in response. Years and years went by, and Grandfather grew older, and he could no longer carry the bird off the shelf, but he would still feed and talk to her at 6 o'clock.
One morning, Grandfather found himself barely able to make it out of bed. He still made his way into the kitchen to feed his dear bird. His hand shook and some birdseed fell to the floor as he carefully moved into the tray into the cage. He slowly made his way to the table so that he could sit down.
I'm finePaint splattered like dying sobs across the wide emptiness,I'm fine4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Running away like ink from bloody fingertips.
It's close enough to midnight not to matter
And these words are written with hands
Shaking from forced apathy.
A voice lingered,
It sounded like yours,
Or else it was the pages falling closed,
A regretful sigh in the early hours of the end of the world.
The television's on repeat; it's crying for help
And I thought it might have been you,
But it was the angels instead.
They circle like carrion
And steal all of what I wanted to tell you
About the meaningless feelings I've been having,
Replacing instead with the poignant:
The lie is beautiful, undeniable, evident
And so firmly established that questioning it
Would be the action of someone who cares.
The light is thick and liquid
And seeping into my veins in order to cut off circulation
To something that's supposed to be important,
But I've forgotten somewhere.
Somewhere in a place where the snow falls black,
The birds are
Inspiring a Teenage BoyIt was late morning when I got to my friend's place and knocked on her door. She opened it, smiled, and then let me in. I looked around and saw that no one else was in the apartment. I asked her where everyone was at and she replied that her younger and older sisters were out shopping, while her parents were still at work.Inspiring a Teenage Boy4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
After some idle chitchat, she invited me into her room to listen to some music. I shook my head and said, "Didn't your mom say you weren't allowed to have boys in your room?"
She laughed and replied, "Don't worry! She won't be home for at least a couple of hours."
I remembered the stern warning my friend's mother had given to her; I happened to be there. I could have sworn she was directing that warning directly at ME. She frightened me.
"So? You coming in or what?"
I stood there pondering the consequences if I were caught in her room. I imagined myself being
82 FuneralsSo I hope you are happy,82 Funerals4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
safe in the comfort of your home.
It's been very bloody lately:
bombs, raids, attacks of the drone.
Look at my empty heart,
bleeding just incessantly.
Well, it's been torn apart,
like those millions of others you watch daily.
But I should thank you, you see
for leaving another city in screams.
This city, which is my home, being shred
to pieces for peace. But I should
thank you for saving us. I should.
Before blood by blood and shot by shot
all that is left
is another land of the dead.
HomelessIt's got to be said, that using a cardboard box, with its sides split, as a shelter from the rain isn't the best idea ever. After receiving so much moisture, it begins to sag and raps around you in your sleep, often without you realising. When you wake up, and you push away the sodden remains of your temporary home, your entire body shakes. Often, certainly half a dozen times in my case, this will later be followed by a severe cold, or on two occasions for myself, pneumonia. After going through the ritual of checking you're still alive, it's off to work. If you've ever been so unfortunate as to lose everything, except the clothes on your back thankfully, you'd understand just how soul destroying it is when those with so much refuse to give you anything, not even a moment of their time for a chat.Homeless5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Of course, it's entirely my fault I'm in this situation. The recession was my fault. My wife having an affair and leaving me for Richard, with his flashy car and crisp tie, was also entirely m
For My DaughterDear daughter-I-do-not-have-yet,For My Daughter3 years ago in Letters More Like This
You will be my perfect. You will be my proudest moments in one small person. You will be made in love, or maybe anger, or maybe even desperation. But that won't matter. What matters is what you will be made into.
You will have Daddy's hair and his nose, and my eyes and my smile, the smile that happens not because someone with a camera told you to, but because you're genuinely happy. But you will have your very own heart and will be full of all the things that give you your you-ness. Whether you sing in the bath or make Valentines for everyone in your class or give your last homemade chocolate chip cookie to the boy sitting alone at recess.
I will write you poems and stories about how you are my miracle. I will read them to you sometimes, just to remind you. As you grow, not a day will go by that I'm not thankful for everything you are. You will be dazzling and beautiful and brilliant and compassionate and playful and curious and all of the things
True LoveI love these cold nights alone;True Love4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
By the golden orange fire,
'Neath the forest overgrown.
We talked as stars rose higher,
While gazing at the bright moon;
Far from humanity's sight,
In our own world a boon.
The feeling of you 'gainst me,
A wing draped over my chest;
Your eyes the red of cherry,
Your undying love expressed.
Soon we fall into deep dreams:
A peaceful romantics' sleep -
Emotions are what they seem.
I recall when we first met:
Our souls in purity,
Dawn of a nameless duet;
Friends are an obscurity.
I helped you out of your shell,
Fed you and gave you a home,
I made sure you remained well.
Now your wisdom outshines mine,
Inherited in your blood;
Now your strength begins to shine,
Your wings risen from the bud.
Now your grand body dwarfs me,
You carry me through the skies;
We ride the vast airborne sea.
Your black scales shimmer in light:
Despite your noble kalon,
You must be kept out of sight.
For people fear your talon,
Your unused flame and sharp tooth,
They wonder why I come