Libre expresion de amorLa estrellada noche, el oscuro cielo, los claros ojos de la chica, la morena piel del chico y una paz que reinaba por todo el verde campo en donde nuestra joven y enamorada pareja, más enamorada que joven , pasaba una fresca noche de otoño. Después de retozar como alegres animales del campo en la tierna hierba, se quedaron admirando la grandeza de los diminutos diamantes que iluminan el cielo con la fuerza de mil amores que ante ellas se han jurado. Un silencio cómodo se sentía en el ambiente, pero una tensión iba creciendo a medida que el tiempo avanzaba y las manecillas del reloj se acercaban más y más a la hora marcada para dar inicio a una marcha estudiantil, exigiendo una libre expresión para los jóvenes estudiantes sedientos de una forma para gritar todo lo que sentían y más.
Seguían abrazados, más por instinto amoroso que por morbo adolescente. Ninguno de los dos quería decir nada respecto a lo que
you can't make them love you.He is beautiful, new, unexplored. He has wanted to kiss her ever since they met one week ago and fell prey to helpless chemistry.you can't make them love you.7 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Dont, she says, moving her hands in a subconscious yes pattern along his arm as he rubs his cheek against hers. You dont even know my favourite colour. The wind cuts through her thin jacket, and his chest is so warm.
Red, he guesses, improbably correct. His ears are cold.
And how many dogs do I have?
Two, he says, and she laughs wildly at his luck as he nuzzles her neck.
Im trying to save you, she tells him, pushing fruitlessly against his broad shoulders. So you dont wa
Riding BikesGoing off medication is like riding a bike.Riding Bikes4 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
The doctor holds tight to my handlebars and lowers my dosage. The training wheels are off, and oh hey, look at me go! It's like flying but not, and I'm doing so well but then there's a horrible accident and I'm somehow upside down at the bottom of the sea with both wheels still spinning.
"Help," I say, and my doctor pats my head, puts a band-aid on my knee, and writes a note on my chart.
I've balanced by myself for months at a time, but I always end up hitting a fucking tree or falling off a cliff or something equally catastrophic because I am a catastrophic person. Except that is an exaggeration. I am an exaggeration.
I like to compare mental illnesses to mundane physical activities. Also you should know that I am sick but trying to get better.
Sometimes I relapse and then write poems about it.
It's not even the kind of sick where people bring you soup in bed and soothe your fevered brow. It's the kind of sick where I'm late to work because
MotherI lived with my mother until I was eleven. She once told me that I was a planned child. Yet when I was twelve she told me she doesn't want me to live with her anymore because "she got her own life now". Now, if she would have been the jetsetting type, I might've understood. When you travel a lot a child can be a burden, limiting you in your personal fulfillment. But my mother spent her newly acquired own life on her butt on the couch, infront of the TV.Mother4 months ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Why do you want a child when you get rid of it after twelve years? I have my speculations about this. She separated from my father when I was five, first we went from one hotel to another, after she went to the lawyer she received spousal support. Even after I got older, she never looked for a job. She just didn't wanted to work, always had excuses. She was lazy. My father later told me it's always been like that, even though he got her a well-paid job in a big firm (prior to my birth), she always complained about work and later
The Wedgie Game Again, I found myself at my friend Breanna's house while her friend Roxanne was over. Breanna's father wasn't home, and we were just sitting around outside talking. Breanna's house was small, and kind of empty outside except for a few bushes and trees. We sat in a few plastic chairs by the house, next to a huge oak tree with strong, curling branches.The Wedgie Game1 year ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
"Hey..." Breanna said, "You know how we've all gotten wedgies lately? Both of you, me, and even Lacie?"
"Yeah," I said, "You had cute panties."
"Well," Breanna continued, getting a devilish gleam in her piercing blue eyes, "How about we play... the wedgie game?"
Roxanne and I were confused, of course. We asked her how to play. Breanna explained the rules. She pointed to the oak tree, and said that if we wedgied someone, we had to hang them by their undies on the tree. She picked up one of the plastic chairs, and brought it over to the tree, placing it under a part
OrdinaryMost people fall in love with the extra-ordinary.Ordinary6 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
You are not most people; never for a moment try to believe you are. You stand out from the crowd, with your quiet ways and subtle humor, and, in the beginning, that's horrifying. But soon enough, you will learn to lift your eyes and set your jaw; you will learn the word no when it comes to fools; you will live emblazoned over the world like a fiery rainbow.
You will learn many, many things in the coming years.
You will learn to smile with all the vibrancy you have tucked away inside of you, and you will learn to be that other kind of beautiful. The kind that dreamers and thinkers are. You will grow your hair out - yes, down to your waist like you always dreamed - and it will tickle your elbows when you laugh. You will define your own fashion sense - not what's popular, but something entirely unknown and entirely you. And it will be more than ordinary.
You will learn to laugh and cry and love and talk. You w
Murder in the First, Second, and ThirdThe first time it happened, she was drunk.Murder in the First, Second, and Third3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Kissing in his bed, hands locked on his face, how difficult would it be? Phone on the bedside, the password his year of birth and high school jersey number and all she’d have to say was that he was going to spend a few days at her place. His roommates would be disappointed but not surprised. Break your heart, break your heart, that girl’ll break your heart. But none of them would count on this, no one would notice until he didn’t call his father or the unfamiliar smell of human death crept into every reach of the apartment. Keys in his pocket, cutting into her thigh, she could take them and head for the coast. Head for the border, even, and slip away. If she got caught, she’d claim she had no idea what was happening when it happened. If she got caught, she’d smoke cigarettes in prison and cut her hair short. If she got away, she’d never think of him again.
She bit until she tasted blood, and then rolled out
throwing rocks.so i want to grow up and get a job and make happy, make money, make forget. i can't though, i'm too concerned with windchimes. i mean, fuck windchimes, right? i lie awake at night and listen to rigs on the rumble strip and the windchimes, (mostly the trucks), but damn, the tinkling is enough to keep me awake all night. but sometimes not, and then i dream i drown or maybe i marry a serial killer who props up corpses in rocking chairs or sometimes i dream about my ex-boyfriend's little sister because why not. then i wake up and it's taxes and credit cards and grades and people dying and shit.throwing rocks.5 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
i don't know what is wrong with me.
i mean i do, though, it's called obsessive compulsive disorder and major depressive disorder and severe anxiety and a bunch of other shit that takes too long to detail, but i'm talking about the pieces insurance won't cover.
also fuck claire danes.
it's just like, when i close the door behind me i push on the doorknob six times plus seven plus seve
encephalitis.she asks, "is it weird to have one day where you really intensely, for no good reason, think of a dead person?"encephalitis.5 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
the intercom was the one to announce that his body had finally given up. i don't remember what i was wearing that day, or how my hair looked, or what noises fell out of my mouth. death has dulled the sharp edges within me. this is what i do know: some people burst into tears and some people sat frozen and pale and some people simply got up and left the room.
"are you okay?" someone asked me, and i found that i was lying on the floor, though i couldn't understand how i'd gotten there. the overhead lights were buzzing and humming, or maybe it was just my heart. confused, i sat up quickly and let the blood rush to my head in one glorious fell swoop.
"are you okay?" they asked again, and i said yes, yes, i am okay. i am alive. i have to be okay. the linoleum is still cold against my cheek and i can still see i am alive i am okay i am okay i am okay.
but sometimes i wish i had t
thirteen steps to falling in love1. i spend the first two years we know each other sprawled out in the back of our school bus, trying to befriend girls with cigarette ash for skin. it takes months of letting tar settle in my lungs, but finally i find myself sitting next to you.thirteen steps to falling in love3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
2. when we are fourteen, you write out my name in an entirely new alphabet of obtuse triangles and right angles and on a chilly fall morning, dare me to guess who it is you like. i lie my way through the entire school year until two weeks before summer, when you give me all the clues.
3. to this day, you swear you fell in love with me the fall my mother was given her expiration date. i tell you the first morning of our sophomore year, and even though we are too scared to touch, your words would mean more than every heavy embrace up until her funeral.
4. you watch me fall down the stairs just once, and after seeing how i fold in on myself, swear never to see me hurt again. for four years you've caught me, and have amended th
numbit is two o' clock in the morning and i can't sleep. or i sleep too much. one of the two, and the pills make three. they stew and burn the back of my throat; the chemicals dissolve and form words.numb4 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
the medical literature didn't say anything about that. or the numbness in my arms and legs. the tingling has crept up my right leg for the past week, weaving itself between my toes and nipping at the back of my knee. maybe it's a side effect, or maybe it's diabetes. or a blood clot. maybe my foot will need to be amputated, and i will have to hobble down the aisle for our wedding.
he coughs beside me, still fast asleep, and i touch one of his eyebrows so softly that maybe i am imagining the wiry hair against my fingertip. will he still love me if i only have one foot? i could ask him. i should shake him into reality and tell him about the burn and the tingling and the wedding photos that i will likely ruin.
"i'm sorry," i say, just to hear the words aloud, but he doesn't wake up.
the one tha
Embarrassing Stories: Hanging Wedgie Growing up in the country with no friends around was boring, even though I was too young to understand what boredom meant (although I had an idea when my mom took me to the bank). The place I used to live had a lot of trees around, so I learned how to climb them.Embarrassing Stories: Hanging Wedgie1 year ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
If you've read the title, you can already see where this is going.
Even after we moved, I managed to find trees to climb. In fact, there were even more around this time. Our new house had a long driveway with a few turns, and trees covered the sides of the driveway from beginning to end. You couldn't even see the house from the road.
The tree that I really liked to climb was right in view of the driveway, so it wasn't very far from the house. It had a bunch of strong branches, and each of them was covered in leaves. One time I threw a Frisbee and it got stuck in the leaves, so we threw a soccer ball up to get it down. The Frisbee came down, but my beloved ball got stuck.
this one's four you three twoher name, if i remember correctly, was laura, melissa and purple.this one's four you three two6 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
a girl stays far away from the swing, too scared to touch the sky and follow in the footsteps of wax-winged men. her mammy said the branch would give in. her friend crowns the tree with whispered words, and tells the petrified bark never to give up on itself.
they learn how to spell, fumbling fingers holding fat crayons in fists, racing each oh-tee-her, el-ih-ay-ar-ning to-get-her. it doesn't matter to them that they don't get full marks even though "l-e-a-r-anne" and "d-e-c-laura-t-i-o-n" are clearly wrong.
they are four and nothing's stopping them from living forever.
[now picture this;
moving away is so much sadder when it's further than just across your backyard, feels like accidentally squirting lemon juice in your eyes when she was your friend and you promised 'best', hangs like eyebags and premonitions because you left her number to be lost amidst the grass when you sat on that swing
You don't seem to notice (my scars)-i-You don't seem to notice (my scars)3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
He and I were eleven when we met, the first day of the sixth grade. No particular moment served as the spark to ignite our friendship. As children do, we started talking as if we were already good friends, and were inseparable from the start.
There were rumours, but we didn't understand half of the words the other kids had picked up from R-rated movies, and neither did they. We were called King and Queen by a crowd of boisterous first-graders who followed us around at recess. He joined the choir and the school play just because I did. It didn't take long before we weren't allowed to sit near each other on the school bus because we caused too much trouble, and eventually we weren't allowed to sit near each other in class either. One day, more quietly than I had ever heard him, he asked me to be his girlfriend; I blushed and said yes.
We never once invited each other to our houses. We each had our reasons, but never knew the other's: a silent agreement to n
Plastic beds and poorly fitting shoesBack when I was still not well and when my mind was still poisoned I woke up in a plastic bed. Lying next to me each in their own plastic bed were my two roommates. The older one was not the brightest person ever. He had told me that he had gotten into an augment with his mother when she denied him a Wii. So he ran away. Hours later he returned home with one. And after giving it back to GameStop his mother locked him up here with me. My other roommate also told me why he was here, but I just can't remember. My mind wasn't the best at remembering things back then.Plastic beds and poorly fitting shoes2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
So I got up from my plastic bed and put my shoes on, they didn't really fit now that they had no laces. I walked out into the hallway and looked around, the door to the teenage wing was on one side of me and on the other was the front desk and the room where they put us for most of the day. A line had already started to form in front of one of the doctors. I got in it. When I made it up to the front I sat down on a stool and t
JackMy grandmother fell in love with my grandfather when his skin was still yellow with malaria.Jack3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
At twenty-four, he had just returned from war, his pockets heavy as his heart, weighed down with souvenir scars and unspent bullets. Gaping trenches hung beneath each of his dark eyes like open, sore wounds, or sorer memories. At nineteen, she had not known the taste of oranges. The first time she held one, she bit straight into the pasty skin, expecting sweetness and coming up with shell-fragments.
In the pictures, my grandmother, radiant in her gray wedding dress, stands before my grandfather. Those trenches are still there, still yawning beneath each eye like caskets, but they are beginning to fold under, to fill themselves in. Standing together, they are joined by out-stretched hands, his free fingers reaching up to hold her cheek in his palm, the pale skin there blushing the softest pink: a single petal, unfolding, held erect in his hewn hands. In the pictures, it is there in the space lef
Notes on a Psychiatric WardJohn Forbes Nash, Jr., was one of the recipients of the 1994 Nobel Prize in Economics — but he nearly wasn't: the Nobel selection body had expressed concerns that he might embarrass them.Notes on a Psychiatric Ward4 months ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Mr. Nash was a paranoid schizophrenic. His illness had led him to believe, among other things, that he had been charged with creating a new world government that would lead to his being crowned Emperor of Antarctica.
Some people might call such a belief mad. Mr. Nash himself, acknowledging what he had been through, said: 'My quest has taken me through the physical, the metaphysical, the delusional — and back.'
The same might be said of my own quest.
After a long and interesting life, Mr. Nash, along with his wife, died suddenly and needlessly in an automobile accident. I was on a psychiatric ward at the time.
The point of these brief, loosely-structured notes is to speak a little about some of my fellow patients, and to illuminate the often obscured truth that people with a mental illness
I lead a quiet rebellion.When I was five years old, I wanted to be a taxicab driver in the streets of New York City. I dreamt of meeting people from all walks of life, and learning about them as we explored the urban jungle together, if only for a few minutes. Even as a small child, I knew I wanted to help others find their way in the world. Most people spend their entire adolescence figuring out what they want to do with their life, so I wore my decision like a politician's campaign button, and told my dream to anyone who would listen.I lead a quiet rebellion.5 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
A few days later, my mother asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. Instead of a doctor, or a lawyer, or even a fireman, I told her that I wanted to be a taxicab driver, proud of his shiny yellow cab and modest New York apartment. She merely frowned, shook her head, and told me, "No, you're not. Someone is going to get in the back of your cab and blow your brains out."
By the time I was eleven, I read all of the books in my parent's collection and spent my afternoons watch
waiting.he has been there for so long that the girl sometimes wonders if he is part of the beach, if the seaweed and shells fuse themselves to his ankles at night and grow over his browned legs like ivy. he is always still, so still, eyes focused on something distant in the waves that the girl can't quite see, though she tries. the man has a face like a creased paper bag and she finds herself wishing that she could see inside his head.waiting.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
she watches him all day from the corner of her eye but no one ever joins him in his vigil. he is alone in casting shadows that grow longer and longer as the sun sets. the girl wonders what it is like to be so alone and decides she'd rather be lonely on the beach than spend all her time with people, particularly the people she knows who seem to be full of incessant questions and sharp elbows.
the man is waiting, and so instinctively she waits too.
the girl is the only one to see him cut his palm wide open on a shell. she watches the red droplets fall heavily on
In Which Middle School is HellI can still remember with perfect clarity the day in eighth grade when a boy walked up to me at my locker and said, “Hey cutie.” I was sweaty, having just come from gym class, and I was only at my locker to buy some time before I had to go to math class where the teacher hated me and the numbers didn’t make any sense. But there was a boy standing next to me and he called me cute and I had no idea what to say. But I didn’t have to say anything, because the girl he was with just laughed, a cut off cackle into the oversized purse she was fishing through. I turned back to my locker, not saying a word because I was out of my depth and trying to ignore the world.In Which Middle School is Hell3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Either ignorant to the fact that I was still within earshot or apathetic about the whole situation, the girl pressed the boy for answers. “Why would you say that?”
“Fat chicks need love too.” The words were mocking, insincere, and they burned through my body like a poison. I did
30 Day Trans Challenge: Day 130 Day Trans Challenge: Day 14 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
When did you learn the term "transgender" referred to you?
That's Hannah up there.
Well, You see I grew up in a Christian house with 5 older siblings (3 sisters and 1 brother). Yes, I grew up as a little girl and never really heard the term Trans till about the age of twelve or so. During that time I knew there was something different about me compared to the other kids I played with but obviously didn't really pay much attention to it. My friends and I played "imaginary games" Where now I'd just call it poor roleplay. hah. But they always had me play the boy roles and told me that I'd make a really cool guy or that I'd be better as one. Which only furthered my confusion though I didn't think too much into it.
Once I started 6th grade I instantly became best friends with this girl named Lucy. I found her adorable, really nice, cool, and slowly found that my feelings drifted from best friend to love interest I guess. So one night when I slept over she kisse
New Year's Eve, 1999New Year's Eve, 19999 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
New Year's Eve, 1999
On New Year's Eve in 1965 a young couple stood before a minister in the house
of the young man's parents. The house, now long since gone, built around the
turn of the century, stood in the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia, many miles from
the Charlottesville, Virginia, home of the young woman.
The gathering there included only the young man's family, all of whom must
have been skeptical about the chances for the success of the marriage beginning
that day. The couple had known each other only about four months, and had spent
most of those four months separated by hundreds of miles of telephone line.
She had ridden the train to Atlanta a few days earlier, back when train lines
had names; this line had been called the "Nancy Hanks." He picked her up at
Union Station, a magnificent depot, now also long since gone. He spotted her
coming up the enormous marble stairs from the platform to the main floor, also
marble. It was a beautiful scene, this pretty girl coming t
Yanking her panties at the playground It was a few days after we wedgied Lacie on the bus, and I still wanted to get Breanna.Yanking her panties at the playground1 year ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Breanna and I were hanging around together by ourselves, without Roxanne. We basically just rode our bikes around and found a playground on the outskirts of the small town we both lived nearby. It wasn't a big one, a few stairs, bars to climb on, slides, swings, and a merry-go-round.
Naturally we both got on the merry-go-round first and began to spin. When that got boring, we went over to the slides. The slides were bright yellow and unusually steep for a children's park. Breanna wanted to go down the slide first, and I obliged. The tall girl came and sat down on the slide, ready to go down. I noticed a blue waistband sticking out of her pants. I saw my chance, and I went for it.
Breanna opened her mouth in a joyous scream as she shoved herself down the slide. I lunged, and missed. Breanna didn't get a wedgie this time. Unfortunately, I had lea