PhotographSix year old Rose decided that today would be the day she asked her grandmother about the painting.Photograph2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It always held her interest, magic upon a canvas. Perhaps it was the rich colors that shimmered under the perfect lighting. It could have been the girl captured within the painting. Maybe it was all of those things, but she had an idea on what it truly was—the eyes.
They were created by the tip of a brush, but carried more life than anything she had ever seen. Color of ice blue, they carried familiarity, warming the inside of her chest. The more she stared, the stronger it felt.
Rose entered her grandmother's living room to see her standing motionless below the giant painting, which stretched over four feet on the wall. Every day Rose spent the afternoon over here, her grandmother would stare at that painting, not a single world falling past her wrinkled lips.
Rose tugged on her grandmother's sleeve and asked," Grandma, how come you look at that painting every day?"
Her grandmother looke
The Life of a WriterIronic, isn't it?The Life of a Writer3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Creating worlds with only the tip of my pen,
Lives spun from the silk of my mind,
To be a writer is quite the burden, one that nobody grasps,
You breathe life into human beings,
Their faith is in the palm of your hand,
Because of you, they face their challenges,
Live their lives,
Have their dreams,
Mock us, say we are full of simplicity,
Try to carry this burden, see how your worlds spin,
Until that day,
Do not mock the life of a writer
SlicedSliced3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Blood, bright as cherries, traveled down my arm.
The incision was quick. The knife barely broke the surface but the damage showed. Though the small bathroom huddled in a blanket of darkness, the liquid shined bright, dancing. Drops stained the floor by my feet. Seconds later I was sitting in it.
The cut, so delicate, hardly stung. The knobs of the sink's bottom cabinet did more damage, digging into my back. The knife's sting was what I needed. It's the proof that I finally have control over something in my life.
Why don't you keep your mouth shut, girl?
Do something good with your life and disappear?
A strangled cry rose to my lips, but I held it back. Crying showed weakness, and I couldn't afford that anymore. I was done.
The knife pulled back from my wrist, leaving behind a stain of red-- only for show. This next one is what counts, it's my final act. Everyone will finally understand what they've done. After all these years of torture they'll get what's coming to them. I'll show the
BetrayalCracks slowly growBetrayal3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Patterns dance, almost beautiful
Ironic, isn't it?
How the design is over my heart
Only a day ago
It was whole
It started it all
Tears sting, they burn
Because the one I held close
Was the one who revealed their thorns
I'm TryingI'm Trying.I'm Trying2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
What more do you want from me?
Can't you see I'm trying my hardest?
I'm trying to make something of myself.
I know nothing is promised and I may not be the fastest.
I know my attempts have not resulted in any form of wealth.
What more can I do to prove to you that this is what I want?
I can see you are finding it difficult to get past this.
You think there is more I can do to help myself.
You can see that I'm struggling; I never tried to mask this.
I want you to understand that this is something I must do for myself.
But all that I will ask for you is,
I hope that one day you will believe in me.
Believe in everything that I am trying to accomplish.
You don't have to necessarily agree with me.
But I promise that one day both you and the world will be astonished.
And on that day hopefully you will be able to see the drive in me.
Hopefully you will be able to see the fight in me.
Hopefully you will see the person that I am trying to be...come.
And all I will want you to say is
Behind my sleeves.This,Behind my sleeves.3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
this is for the girl
behind her sleeves
the freezing of lonely nights
the breathing of desperation
the pain of forced smiles
I love you-s.
This goes for the girl
that holds on
onto those almost - broken strings,
while she waits,
for those to break
she also waits,
for someone to
s a v e h e r
This is for every word
put into her [twisted] mind.
For every look,
up and down
of her fragile body...
This is for the everyday struggle
of finding the light
(that one that you find at the end of the tunnel)
Because she only wants
to break free,
free from her demons (there are so many)
those that tell her,
that what she sees in the mirror
is what she really is.
This is for the girl
that is tired of broken hearts
and wants to see
some broken smiles.
because everyone has its heart broken
but no one really knows
how it is, to see yourself
in that mirror, and see that
the only thing you had beautiful
Writing Tournament 2013 ~ Round ICome one and come all, raise your pen take part in this grand literary battle! There are subscriptions, points, and more to be won! You all have until February 19th to enter.Writing Tournament 2013 ~ Round I2 years ago in Personal More Like This
The time is nigh for the Third Annual Writers--club Literature Tournament!
This is a tournament for all writers welcoming prose and poetry! It will be a grand competition spanning three rounds of literary challenge! First of all, you must be willing to write for each of the rounds over the coming months.
There will be judging at the end of each round and those who progress to the next round will have to write a new piece for the next round's theme. A new participants list with the surviving writers will be released upon the announcement of the new round.
To sign up, join the group as a member and add this blog entry to your favorites. From there, feel free to submit your entry to the Tournament Round 1 Folder.
Round I Theme: Immin
Theatre of LiesI could hear the sounds of people entering,Theatre of Lies2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
As I took a peek from behind the closed red curtains.
Watching the, once again massive, audience taking their seats.
I could hear them saying that there was no place like the theatre.
The theatre truly was like no other place on earth -
It is the only place where tragedy, and comedy could meet in the form of entertainment.
That was only allowed thanks to it's false nature.
The stories, heroes and worlds
Were nothing more than scripts, actors and sets.
Thinking that, I was pulled back by the director,
Who constantly asked me about how I was doing.
It only mattered to him because I was an actor -
Pulled by strings to form the story the way he had envisioned it.
Then again to him as well as to all of the others,
The theatre was their home as well as their life.
As for me it was nothing more than a fairy tale of lies.
After all I was an actor -
And actors were gifted liar's so much so that they are paid to do so.
All so they may p
Kindness Passed By (The Scapegoat)Those with a gentle heart get kicked firstKindness Passed By (The Scapegoat)3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
They are the ones who are always taken for granted
I was always that person
I am that person
I am responsible for the actions of those around me
It is my job to make everything right
Even if it is not my fault
I am the scapegoat
I am used for my kindness
And blamed when things go wrong
But I don't mind
I never mind
Because it is my job to fix this
Its my job to fix everything
At the end of the day
You still won't remember my name
You don't remember me
I am the scapegoat
And I don't mind
I can't mind
MasqueradeHidden faces all around...Masquerade2 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
No Identities shall be found
Music notes ignite like a flame
People dance with no shame
For with masks, faces are sealed
No fear that identities shall be revealed
For within a masquerade
All secrets shall be saved
list for ninth october1) your lover is dead andlist for ninth october3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you burn the eggs. grease
streaks the stove. you
sit, stand, switch off
the burner. sit.
the birds chirp. sit.
2) your lover is dead and
the birds are hungry:
the blue-jay funereal
sick ocean grey.
you shore yourself
against the bare mattress,
empty mason jars, your
mother's phone calls,
by desk receptionists.
the author's name
dwarfs the title,
that means it's good.
that means it's popular.
you spill tea
and soak its pages
and sit. sit.
3) your lover is dead and
the tea is cold.
the leaves have settled
in rorschach patterns.
the tea is hot:
when it's poured.
when you walk away.
you open your mouth.
4) your lover is dead and
you can learn no more
languages. dust sheaves
on books, in sunroom-motes.
half-eight, you feed the cat.
she scratches the door.
you say nothing:
5) your lover is dead and
you've fallen asleep.
your lover is dead and
6) you know that mockingbird don't sing
we never had no diamond rings
A Writer's Romance-"You're a writer, aren't you?"A Writer's Romance2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Those were the first words she spoke to me.
At the time, I was packing up, getting ready to leave the library.
I had another long day, spending the majority of my free time at the library, loitering around on my laptop,
Staring at my open wordpad as I contemplated about what to write about.
Just as I was readying to leave this girl, out of nowhere, asks me if I'm a writer.
-"I like to think I am."-
That's the only answer I could give her.
I had taken up writing as a hobby,
But no matter how hard I tried, all of my work felt underwhelming.
Could I get you to help me write a poem?
If that is too much trouble than anything else will do too."-
She starred at me with her big blue eyes,
Long golden hair,
Holding her hands together at her chest -
She was quite pretty at that,
Making me question why such a person would come up a complete stranger such as myself, and ask for something so absurd.
-"Why do you need something like that?"-
The Tapping Next DoorFor most of my life I had lived in the same apartment. It was on the third floor and overlooked the busy city. It was also directly next to another apartment, which means you could hear everything going on behind the right-hand side bedroom wall.The Tapping Next Door2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I would occasionally hear faint noises coming from behind the wall. There would be scraping, which I assumed was the sound of a chair being pulled along a wooden floor. Sometimes voices could be heard. I guessed they were either from the residents living there or from a TV or radio. And then there was the banging.
The banging was a rare occurrence, but whenever it happened it really annoyed me. Why wouldn't it? It always seemed to happen when I was trying to sleep and considering my bed was right against the wall where it was loudest, I was usually awoken by it.
It was loud and frantic usually, like someone trying to get attention. I always thought it was a young child doing its best to piss off its parents, but I was never sure. Mostly becaus
I Love You For TryingDarling, glue cannot hold me together,I Love You For Trying3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
no more than it could a tower collapsing.
Scalpels cannot reach the cause of my pain,
you won't find it,
and you might as well stitch up melting ice.
Medicine is temporary,
just like a bandage,
with the sour after taste of money.
I am a puzzle that you want to solve,
but how can you
if I don't know myself?
I know you want to fix me;
honey, I am already broken,
but I love that you keep trying.