WordsSticks and Stones may break my bones,Words5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but words will never hurt me.
she walks through blackness,
hallways filled with snorts and stares,
giggles and snide remarks.
You're not welcome here.
nobody wants you.
There's nowhere to hide,
(don't bother babe, 'cause we'll find you)
and nowhere to run,
(did you really think we'd let you go?)
as far as they care,
she can die. (the more blood the better)
That Ashley was the
FriendlessThere's a little boy who walks to school,Friendless1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Nobody knows his name.
No matter what he tries to do,
It is always the same.
He keeps up with all the trends,
He knows them inside out.
Each one he pulls off perfectly,
Even that selfie-photo pout.
Each week he brings a box of muffins,
Though nobody knows why.
He used to try and hand them out,
Now he doesn't even try.
He shares the muffins with the crows
and eats them one by one.
For consuming that much sugar,
He sure looks miserable when he's done.
He looks down at the empty box
and you see a little smile.
The crows fly off and he lies down;
They'll all be full for quite a while.
The same routine, every week,
I think so that he can pretend,
That in the year that he's been here,
He's made at least one friend.
MotherMotherMother5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
5:39 P.M. and its time for another one of those
Interruptions; I dont know, maybe I was working too hard, too steadily, too quietly,
Or you were tired of leafing through worthless mail: sale bulletins, Dunkin Donuts coupons,
The garish Costco ads just screaming to be noticed (Waste of paper!),
And running chafed hands through blow-dried, dyed hair,
Uttering little murmurs of dissatisfaction like you always do, so goddamn predicable.
It begins. What are you doing? If I sit very still and pretend you dont exist
Will you do me that favor? No, youve already left your indelible
Handprint on my often-battered spirit, might as well hang on a few more years
To dole out more bruises and cuts and if youre lucky, a really deep gash will scar.
Wouldnt that be lovely? Though I am well-trained in the art of silence,
Often mistaken for contempt or reservation, dont surrender, mother dearest!
You alone possess t
The Martyrdom of Saint VivianThe Martyrdom of Saint Vivian5 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
The town was just a town like any other in the deep prairie. Its old wizards' tower had survived the revolution and had been converted into a church, marked with a neon Holy Disc that was nearly invisible against the metallic sky. Towering above it, a radio mast swayed gently in the dry breeze.
There was a caravanserai at the edge of town, its clay walls hardened from decades in the hot sun; nevertheless, someone had driven metal poles into them, holding up a billboard: "Food Drinks Rooms Cheap".
The car that pulled into the parking lot outside was a Bakercraft, probably a Model 6 or 7. It resembled the woman who got out of it: both were aging but polished, built with a utilitarian thickness. The woman was wearing a five-dinar dress and a matching summer shawl, and carrying the sort of heavy purse that some women know how to live out of.
Someday They Will SeeSomeday They Will See5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
You want me to be happy
You need me to be strong
Your expectations are high
The list goes on and on.
I do not ask for much
I have never wanted a lot
My heart only wants you
To fill that special spot.
They say we are perfect
Because we never fight
But what they do not know
Is that something is not right.
You and I have faults
Struggles no one else will see
I only want what is best for you
As you want for me.
My dear, you are my lullaby
The one who helps me sleep
But what you ask of me
Is a wish I cannot always keep.
If only perfect existed
I know we would be it
Someday everyone will see
That you and I just Fit.
What am IGO AWAY.What am I3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
No more than
meat on bone.
We hate you
and you know it.
Oh, you know it
your very heartstrings -
sound our anthem in your veins.
The roaring in your ears
from pillows in the night
You'll not be rid of us.
We'll pull your strings
and break you down
for all the world to see.
We'll pick you up
and throw you down
and crush you into dust.
And all that's left
for us to say
is that you're nothing
if not made of us.
I hate you
Blessed are those who mournDeathBlessed are those who mourn3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the lifetime
of a moment,
he is gone
In greeting Death
he says farewell
to all the worldly sighs
and all the worldly sights
that once he might enjoy.
'Tis passing strange
that what he leaves behind
never says goodbye
to all its full extent.
How we him remember
is up to time,
the price of tinted glass.
This Is My LoveThis is my hand.This Is My Love3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Take it in yours,
And know that I'll always be there.
This is my heart.
Keep it with you,
To remind you how much I care.
This is my kiss.
Meet it gladly,
And know I reserve it for you.
This is my soul.
It's bare before you,
To show you I'll always be true.
This is my life.
Entwine it with yours,
From now until the end of time.
This is my love.
Forever, for you,
As are all of these things of mine.
The coin manThere is a man in the mountains who has a lot of money. Or it would likely seem a lot of money to you and me, but, given the unlikelihood that he'll ever spend any of it, the lot is less like a lot of money, and more like an enormous collection of coins. These coins are not particularly special; not to you and me; no particular countries of origin, no specific years, no arrangement, nothing unique.The coin man7 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
He just likes coins.
He has a wooden house, but no beard to speak of, and he's had a wife- more than once. He doesn't spend a lot time around the town, but he usually has a smile and a wave at the ready.
He is very, very satisfied.
And he really has a lot of coins.
The StrangerSaw pain in your eyes, stranger.The Stranger3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The Bus StopJane came to an abrupt stop three feet away from the sheltered bus stop and stared at the strange boy tucked away in the far corner of the bench. His left knee was drawn up to his chest and his head was resting against it, but her view of his face was obscured by his arm. He was perfectly still, but the brilliant yellows and blues of his clothes made him stand out against the dull grey of the city. Jane swallowed and moved to sit down opposite of him. Once she was safely under the glass roof, she folded her umbrella carefully and set it down at her side. The boy took no notice of her.The Bus Stop2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It was a rainy Monday morning and Jane was on her way to the diner downtown where she worked as a waitress. Each day she would wake up early and put on her rather plain looking uniform so that she could hike two miles to the bus stop. It was a rather boring and monotonous existence, but she couldn't quite recall a time when her life hadn't been that way. She didn't go out with friends. In fact, she didn't