Paper MutantMy hands are raw and full of paper cuts today.
Grandmama had given me a book about origami, but my fingers are too small and clumsy with the paper. Instead of birds, flowers, butterflies, and stars I had mushed together monstrosities that didn't resemble anything beautiful. I swam in a sea of wadded paper that evening and I felt terrible. Mother had told me I was wasting my time. Grandmama told her that all the lessons we need are etched into our hands.
"Why can't I do it, Grandmama?"
"Of course you can do it, haven't you been practicing?"
I sighed and pointed to the mess in my room, papers slipping between floorboards and hiding beneath piles of clothes. They didn't want her to see my failure. She didn't say anything as she took the horrible book from my dresser.
"Where are you going?"
"To bring the book back of course," her teal shoes shuffled past half-folded stars, making their way to my door.
"It's not the book!" I reached out for it, as if I had loved it with everything my
Before I Even Met YouHe built me a house out of willow bones. I didn't know how to thank him, so instead of smiling I said "We speak with different hopes," I pretended like his laugh could make me smile, make me forget the ridges in his palms were like severed river beds.Before I Even Met You3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Of course we do."
"You're never serious."
"Only about you."
"You joke too much"
His embrace was erratically cold. Irony didn't begin to describe it. I guess you loose warmth with age. Or maybe it's with lies. I may never know.
Winter curled up inside his eyes as we stood with our toes pressing against the first steps of the run-down church.
"We don't have to go inside."
"I could describe it to you."
"Grand tour, remember?"
A hollow wind began grappling at his lips while we climbed the short flight of stairs. He spoke but I couldn't make out the words, I was feeling dreadful for even thinking of returning here, again.
"Stop feeling bad. I like coming back here."
Unlove MeHe looked at me, with those oblong eyes of his, and said, "Sarah, I don't think I love you anymore."Unlove Me6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
I didn't move and I'm pretty sure I didn't blink. I just stood there, expressionless, while looking at the half-chopped carrots in front of me.
"You know, it's going to rain tonight," I said, my fingers re-clutching the knife and continuing to chop the carrots.
He looked at me, with those malachite eyes of his, and said:
"You're not yourself anymore. I..."
"Josh, can you hand me that pan?"
Red. I try my best to scrape away every last ounce of the colour. It's everywhere. I know he wouldn't like it if his parents came over and the house was filthy. He hated that.
"I'll have to change," I said looking at my dress, covered in orange and red.
Icebound DevotionFlame frozen forever encasedIcebound Devotion5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Ice crystals melt within it's heat
But manages to stay its shape.
Frosted wasteland devoid of life.
See how easy it is to weave a web
Of illusion with lies?
I've painted a picture you see as truth.
Not one part did you question
And you say I can't fool you.
I am the greatest deceiver
Against me you stand no chance.
I've been feeding you lines from first glance.
Let's play hide-and-seek with land mines
sprinkled across your ramshackle front porch.
Oblivion goes on for miles; you're
still willing to submerge into my deceit.
I'll cover you like a wanning blizzard
appendages only half frozen,
mouth still trembling with unthawed words.
Once, I told you that my love isnt real;
I consist of summery glaciers
that never erode quite enough.
I stand solid, block of ice
Your so called warming smile
Can't even fracture my cube of petrification.
Snow flakes fall in desperation
From the chunk of sleet I reside in.
Even time cannot thaw my prison.
Your pitiful attemp
Translating the DifferenceSing to me songs in languages I do not understand.Translating the Difference3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Let me pretend I speak them fluently, their letters stumbling leaves
and I will catch them,
whispering new life into each foreign syllable.
When I repeat after you, they will still hold sway
with each rise and fall.
It will be sunset and sunrise, a collaboration of undertones
pulled together by circuits of moonlight.
Perhaps my translation will speak more to you
from the backs of seabirds, spilling across their beaks.
I will not become a spider,
legs aching from spinning, spinning, and spinning
every phrase you divulge to me.
Each sound will be stretched across a nebula,
my werewolf words becoming our mantra.
When this is over, we will understand each other.
The Tails of Falling StarsShe was awestruck by the backs of moons that wereThe Tails of Falling Stars5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
too far away to see with her unaided ocean eyes;
her petal fingers lace around the necks of stars.
Tracing their distant narrative, she becomes
an oracle, picking at Castor and Pollux;
the innards of sacrificial lamb becoming
the threshold of her prophetic quasar.
Always in search for the answers
that remain as churning syllables,
rotting at the bottom of her myrtle lungs.
She harvests the tree-branch limbs of galaxies,
to appraise the fruits of fate;
calculating the depths of nebulae, nuances of flesh.
She remembers how she grew to fear space.
We Will Never Be PerfectA dilapidated, small house--a single light is on inside, barely illuminating the silhouettes of hunched over figures. DANIEL, a some-what well-dressed man is at the door, obviously out of place with his ragged surroundings. He seems fidgety and agitated. Someone opens the door on the inside; Daniel walks in.We Will Never Be Perfect5 years ago in Screenplay More Like This
A woman, NICOLE, is smoking something indistinguishable while sitting next to an open window. Two people are sitting off in a corner, another is strewn about in the hallway. Two others can be heard giggling in an adjacent room, just out of sight. Daniel stands in the door way and looks down the hall to Nicole, she is close enough to speak too.
"Sometimes, I know you don't love me."
(He flashes her an insincere smile as he begins to walk towards her.)
You aren't always faithful yourself. (She pauses.) Just ask your wife about Cheryl or Lauren.
"They were a mistake."
VigilantI heard the waves crash upon the sandy shores and the screams of mothers and children. I could feel the panic seep through their bones in the form of violent raindrops and wailing winds. I listen as I hear the breaking of boards and houses. The sloshing of mud as it hits furniture and peoples legs.Vigilant6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
The water is cold. Actually it's just a little chilly. Like the first steps one would take into the ocean. I'm soaking. If I had bones I know they would be soaked as well. But my stuffing is the only thing that feels soggy now.
I wish I could sit up straighter. I can't quite see over some of the debris that liters the ground. It's a horrible sight and every so often I see eyes, like mine, starring back at me. Not completely lifeless, but unanimated. Unable to see but aware.
Eyes that scream, that beg, that cry endless and invisible tears. A sadness that calls to the birds that circle overheard. Hungry. Gnarled. Wretched birds. I see the greed in their eyes, just as the men that scavenge the
Chameleon Smiles"I always wanted matching straight jackets," she said, pressing her minuscule fingertips against the bent backs of dandelions and clovers. I only managed to blink back the laughter because even though she smiled lovingly at the sky, her eyes said "sometimes-I-think-I-belong-in-one."Chameleon Smiles5 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
"Don't be ridiculous," I say, leaning back onto the blanket of sun-worn grass.
She pouts with her all ready withered twenty two year old lips, "I'm not being ridiculous."
I smile and close my eyes as her innocence laden voice rambles on about why the sky really turns black--she is adamant that it's because a monster-star swallows up all the colours then spits them back in the morning. While the other stars are only there to avert suspicion by sparkling not-brightly-enough. I laugh and shake my head as her hands wash over my arm, trying to pull me into her descriptions. She never lets me forget how wrong about her I am.
"You could at least listen to me," I can imagine her rolling her eyes at me
Affliction of GravityWe were spinning in a violent orbit,Affliction of Gravity5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
fragments against a time continuum,
with the shock signals of past events
coursing through our brain waves
and hovering away into unwanted space.
Your spiral fingers clutched twenty-two street lights,
coalescing them into supernovae
to gather their unseen veils of jade.
Our feet, skittering across the worn concrete,
were blazing a new trail of the universe.
The pale glass panels of the skyscrapers
showered down small meteorites,
illumination for our blind and careless eyes.
We'd point to buildings that grazed each star
off sideways perches made from skeleton clouds;
then I'd trill my laugh off sidewalk chalk.
I wanted our love to be like a hurricane on Neptune,
fiercer than Earths fizzing clouds
but dim enough so Galileo only pauses for us.
You wanted our love to be a shooting constellation,
furious and wild at the surface, brightly ablaze
until the gases stopped billowing, the spark diminishing.
There would be no trace of us left on the map.
Periwinkle laces will save her.Breaking in new shoes was hard. Willow didn't like that. It was so much easier to slip inside the imprints of someone else, to contort her way into the soles of their life. She lived up to her name, becoming willowy: bending and shifting as if she was always set against a breeze. She thought it only fitting that toe-marked shoes were the best fit for her because of this.Periwinkle laces will save her.2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Her mother would always sigh whenever she found Willow grasping onto last year's pair of shoes. Sweetie, you have new ones. You don't have to keep those. This time Willow had left her old shoes at home, deciding that perhaps her new shoes deserved a chance at an adventure. Or at least as much adventure one could have while walking to the local park.
She dodged the occasional crumpled leaf that pounced at her from the trees along the sidewalk. The playground always looked the most beautiful with that extra bit of sunlight from when the trees began to undress for the winter. A flutter of air sought out every crevi
Of Half-Filled WordsShe is not a flutterbird.Of Half-Filled Words3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Her fingers are skittish,
her smile is not.
Do not fear that you will
drive it away.
Sadness is her fumbling limb.
It is unwanted, yet
When it is January
she will tell you,
"I am still struggling.
And I am becoming so many people
all at once.
A conglomeration of beauty that
I have managed to mangle.
Please, do not be sad for me."
Sometimes her sorrow is
meant for you. But mostly her.
Those specks and spots
of ocean storm lulls
reveal her truths:
ones she does not want
to extract from herself.
Her heart is not a rabbit.
When it beats
faster, faster, faster,
you need not
run harder to catch it.
Allaying Alideya (2)Alideya was going crazy and Cal didn't know how to help her.Allaying Alideya (2)1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Cal remembered back to this morning, when the Fosters came to his door. They looked more like they were there to beat him then give him any kind of news. There's been an accident at the factory, please have your parents report to Saint Felia's Hospital, Wing B as soon as they return home. The curt thank you at the end was like a lash across his face. The eerie politeness meant one thing, something terrible had happened.
He had pleaded for more information, but the men gave him no further answers as they walked down the cobbled path and back to their posts. They didn't care what happened to some seventeen year old girl, they weren't programmed to. Fear placing careful lines across his face, Cal turned back into the house.
He began scrawling out a note to his parents explaining what had happened before leaving both of his parents messages with as calm a voice as he could. Then he ran. Bursting into the B wing of Saint Fe
imaginary conversations I“But it’s not like you just say, ‘oh, you have the attributes which I seek in a mate, so I will now proceed to fall in love with you.’ You can’t turn love on and off like flipping a switch. It doesn't work like that.”imaginary conversations I1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
“In a way, it does, though. Because any kind of real love—not a crush or an infatuation: real, deep, lasting love—centres around a similarity in the core of their being and the core of yours. You have to have a reason to love someone—to really love someone, I mean—whether it be their integrity or fortitude or kindness or intelligence or something else entirely. And if you find out that that person isn't who you thought they were—if they change, or you learn that you were mistaken—well, it’s sort of like if the sun suddenly disappeared. You can only go on orbiting empty space for about eight minutes or so before the whole thing collapses.”
selfishearthen toes, he saysselfish3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the branches to his soles
in his bones
sun's blare to corneas
i am the you
searching for you,
so turn me away
rip me out of
stonei know hearts break easy,stone3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but i've still got a couple
beautiful things never come easy.when i was youngbeautiful things never come easy.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i'd have this dream
where i'd wake up
a girl with normal traits
doing normal things
and being as normal
as could be.
i'd only wake again
and cry myself back to sleep,
a true poet that does not write
but keep all her words under
her tongue and her feelings in
lumps in the back of her throat,
choking on dusk, hands, the asinine voices
that tickle the back of her neck.
now sometimes, i choke on fire,
with nightmares of bony knuckles and lips.
there is a pink serpent tongue,
pink, cracked nails with mine,
and flowers for eyes,
and a book for a mouth.
and the pages are blank.
but with me, unlike they,
she speaks no lies,
and i don't wake up
because i was never asleep.
hungoverwaking up is hard whenhungover3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i have you sitting on my
SorrowbirdI watched him flap helplessly between the teeth of a barbwire fence, screeching for help.Sorrowbird2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Papa, look Papa! A boy!"
My papa stood dazed for a moment, dust billowing at his legs, his eyes teetering along the field. It wasn't until later that evening he told me he hadn't understood what I had seen. What he had seen.
With grass tickling the backsides of my legs, I bounded toward the boy, "What are you doing? Are you okay?"
As I approached him, I felt his skittish eyes rake across my every movement. With his ten-year-old arms slung inside the gaping maw of a fence and darkened feathers pasted along the creases of his face; he looked squarely at me. I could hear his bird-bones quaking at my voice, he pushed harder against the fence. I winced for him.
"Hold still, we'll get you out," I turned back to my papa who stood alongside the road, "Papa," I pleaded, "Please! Help him!"
Reaching out, I touched his shoulder, "Don't be afraid. We're going to help you."
He didn't pull away from me. I thou
general romancemy spine is what's softgeneral romance3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and hands are the cold
being under my skin
lips are the
the vacant ears,
and even though
rain does not come
every season, fingers
are the pattering
to my skin
in retrospect love is like a damaged humanthere's something coldstone in her chest- a weeping lung.in retrospect love is like a damaged human3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the kind of thing she fights with in the sheets- a tangle of
black hair mane, pale clammy skin thin like paper over the
scattered fabric. she breathes
and she turns over and stares at the ceiling, her breasts poking
like ghosts through the fabric of her shirt, wet but a shelter
over her skin. goosebumps appear over the paper of her arms, a
thousand moons, and the dry looks in her eyes are like shadows when
there are just some things not worth living, she said.
in blueblinking eyes,in blue3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
why can't i have all the smiles
of dustened piano keys
breathing roses and parting lips,
the closing me with the folds
of the blues in concave,
rocking eyes and cradled
you are the burning touch,
the burn to the touch
when you're under my skin
i don't know what beautiful
means anymore, what beautiful
because art won't take me back, i say
it drowns me under covers and sheets
and burns my fingertips with all of
the magazine covers, pillows and mourning
and leaves your coffee-stained skin
So you want to write a poemSo you want to write a poem?So you want to write a poem4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It's easier than you think
Just get some paper and a pen
Start writing it in ink
There aren't that many rules to follow
As you will surely see
Just find the words deep in your heart
Unlock them, set them free
Now don't misunderstand this
Not all poems have to rhyme
They need to have a rhythm
They have to keep in time
A poem is a silent song
Without a melody
Just let your pencil sing it out
When it's done, let it be
No topic is forbidden
So write until you're pleased
There are no chains in writing
It's a fortress to be seized
So don't hold back your precious words
Don't keep it in your dome
Just let your heart have wings to fly
That's how you write a poem.
hint: these are wordsi am lethargic. my arms are sticks and my knuckles stone. my bones hurt to work. they are only placebos lying to me under my skin. but my skin is not so deceitful. and neither are my nerves.hint: these are words3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but my spine holds too many memories. i wish i had two- one for myself and one for you. one can be to touch. it doesn't mind the feeling of sticky appendages or ghost kisses. another can be to feel. it can let me forget. it can let me be strong again, a girl with thick backbones and healthy things honest under her skin.
sometimes i wake up with a sore chest. i wonder if my organs are beating me in my sleep. they feel glued to the bid of my ribs like serpents' tongues. my eyes are so dry i can't see. it hurts to see. but i can still see under my eyelids.
and all i see is your back.
printblue windows, he saysprint3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
why can't i have all the blinds,
choosy birds and clouded eyes
too wide open, he knows
but the winged fingers, beaked lips
and beaming eyes
are all too tempting-
why can't he have it all,
the rivered skies and blurred
whites, the flaking palms and
kaleidoscope eyes, branched feet
and lipped suns,
but the newsprint says no,
too far from glass it says, and he knows,
but blue windows lie.