Caged InWho would have thought the years being locked in a cage would be the happiest time of my life?Caged In2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I used to dream about gliding- my wings spread wide as I rode the breeze over a horizon that went on forever. I would wake in the dark and scream out in frustration, hoping that someday I could sing my real song.
The nights became longer and the dreams became unwelcome. You see, when I'm too caged in, fantasies are more like nightmares, taunting me, teasing me; a blatant reminder of what I can never have.
It was all I wanted. It was everything.
I escaped the first time the opportunity presented itself. Barreling through the unlocked door, I ran down the table and leaped through the open window with wings unfurled. I sang then, the sweetest noise I have ever made.
Until I fell.
I had never truly experienced the sensation of falling. It wasn't as peaceful as I imagined. It was terrifying.
I thought flying would come easy. I thought I would simply beat-be
This Is For YouThis is for you.This Is For You1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
This is for you, who would always say that you weren't 'good enough'
This is for you, who would always wish that you were as good as them.
Sometimes, you throw your pencil across the room in frustration when you realize that you'll never be an artist.
Remember when you told yourself that art was a passion that you would never let go?
But yet, it's slipping between your fingers, right now.
You want, so desperately, to be an accomplished artist.
But you never believe in yourself.
It's painful, I know.
But isn't art worth it?
Maybe you just don't know the meaning of being an artist.
It doesn't matter what you do, or how skilled you are.
The fact that you love art, is all that matters; and that's what makes you a true artist.
Don't you remember your art bringing you so much joy?
Now, it seems to do the complete opposite.
It seems like demons are haunting you, telling you that you're 'not good enough'.
You want to know what I say to tha
Almost (beautiful)I am not perfectAlmost (beautiful)3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
not like this sunrise
and I shall not live half as long
as the sun
nor shall I ever sing as softly
as does the wind through my hair
but I still
WondermentSome days, I find myselfWonderment3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the s e c o n d s
of my heart
what I could have
and a lot
l e s s
but all I can manage
. . . . . . .
I miss you
I love you
i love you
i love you
We are all energyWe are all energy.We are all energy5 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Everything built up by the same basic particles. Atoms.
But yet we are so different? we push everything and everyone away from us because of it.
Yet, on the tiniest scale we're just the same?
Why is this? We need to ask ourselves why do we ignore the fact that we are all the same?
The choices we take, have an effect, Its not random. From every choice we make, the paths have already been there for us to take. Millions of these paths exist, but we get to choose which one we want to follow.
Energy exist in everything, it cant be removed, only moved into a new or different form.We are all full of it.
You are a lot more powerfull than you may think.
Many believe the earth as we know it has evolved in just a few thousand years. We got a lot of new things and easier ways to survive, thats really most of it.
Is life about surviving without problems?Is that what we are trying to make of this world?
No, we all know that is impossible. We all have problems, and its not the thin
Greying In my youth I believed thatGreying3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
were simple things
mere matters of
I know otherwise
but I still
the quiet innocence of a
Chapel WindowThe parish waits nowChapel Window1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
the loneliness of corners
crawling outward on walls;
cobwebs align them
like the membranes of memories,
the cut of a jewel in a broken window,
gather in a mesh of strands
a new Mosaic.
There is a cemetery,
my eyes seek out the sermon,
paint no distance
between headstone and cloud;
elegies topple each other
in their climb to heaven
as rays fall from a cloud,
shear the shade,
heave a new flame to the candle box,
and measure the weight in these empty rows
as pools find where hands still clasp,
but dare not go further
like a visible hush.
Mold Greg was cleaning behind his toilet on a Friday when a voice came from within the wall.Mold3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Hey!" the voice said. "Look, I give, all right? I'm coming out!" Greg watched as a stream of black-and-white goo poured out of a crack near where he'd been scrubbing. It smelled of mildew, and, when enough of it came out, formed itself into the shape of a man.
"What are you?" Greg asked, looking up at its globby face.
"I'm the mold that lived behind your toilet," it said, "and I'm here to be your friend."
"Because I didn't develop self-awareness without reason, and you're a loser who cleans his bathroom on a Friday. Get your keys; we're going to the park."
Greg drove. They went to the basketball courts and the mold won in one-on-one against Greg. Twice.
"You need to exercise more," it said. "
paper hearts. Theres a crevice in the wall where she hides her little baby girl, all plastic smiles and mechanical giggles. She cuddles it like it has a soul and speaks to it like it has a name. Its soft rubber skin has been covered with paper hearts and marker stars, and its little plastic ears have been filled with whispers of adoration and love. Its wiry blonde hair has been crossed into braids, twisted up above its head, and she has pulled a dress onto its synthetic body with the brightest little smile. She reminds it that its beautiful, even though it cant hear. She fastens it tight into the beaten pink stroller and skips behind it as it rolls across the pavement, dancing in the sun like there is no tomorrow and yesterday is only a dream.paper hearts.6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
And maybe she's only six years old, but she knows how babies are made. Not the ones you buy in the store, the ones you have to tear out of the cru
Portal 2 - TomorrowOn her first working day, Caroline was overwhelmed with activity.Portal 2 - Tomorrow1 year ago in General Fiction More Like This
Illusions had never been an habit of hers; all along, in between the internships and the extra courses, she had guessed. She knew way before crossing that doorstep as an employee, for the first of countless times to come — no previous experience in the world could have fully prepared her for Aperture Science.
The place was already enormous, yet not enough for its ambitions. She had to notice, with attentive eyes, the tiniest details that fell under her gaze. She followed the unraveling of a vast net — it was made of lies and truth, of balance and mistakes, so fragile that it could be torn anytime by a single breath.
The good impression she left behind at work could not spare her nerves. When she met the sight of her home in the evening, it felt as if whole years had passed — she was a different person, tired in an entirely different way.
She stared at the darkness, swimming in a tangle of thoughts. She
Among all thisWe spin through this expanding space,Among all this6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
An ever changing human race,
When stars are born and quickly die,
I ask myself what am I.
When planets expand, collide, explode,
And no one down here even knows,
How can I, so small and weak,
Expect a god that does not speak,
To stop and help a creature show,
A universe that she can grow.
But even if I grow, stand and speak,
This creature will still prove too weak,
When stars are born and quickly die,
And planets collide beyond the sky,
Down here many don't spare a thought,
Where answers are by many bought,
Who am I among all this,
But one to sit and reminisce.
When I Shall DieWhen I shall dieWhen I Shall Die1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I ask not for a coffin
To display my mortal body
To the Earth beneath.
I ask not for a funeral
A celebration of my life and memory
Though both would be soon forgotten
I ask not for roses nor lilies
To slowly rot away in coherence with me.
When I shall die
I merely ask for a stone
With my name etched onto its soul
And of this stone I beg,
To remember me
Remember I was here , that I existed,
For all eternity.
MethuselahLike your predecessor you're destined to live long.Methuselah1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Destined to fly the canopies of Africa,
The conductor of your own orchestra.
But destiny plays no part in your life.
Passed from saint to saint,
You make a home out of your cage.
What would have been hymns
Turned to echoes of your jailers.
Their efforts to make you holy fail
As you paint portraits of their misery and pains.
This cage has crippled you.
Broken your wings.
Denied you your right to flight and truth.
You're the wreck your mother land's become.
Forced to live utopia surrounded by bars.
Looking at the horizon with a curtain in your face.
On a fateful afternoon, your sentence is over.
Your jailer sets you free.
But what does free mean?
He throws you into the air.
What little instinct you have left
Drives you to open your wings.
With struggle you flutter like freedom itself.
But what now?
The iron roads that surrounded you
Have become your bones.
Your true home a bad nightmare.
You run back back to your prison,
Hate Sleeping AloneEach nightHate Sleeping Alone2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I lay in bed...
Letting my covers
Try to keep me warm
Though they're never
As warm as your arms.
Letting my dreams
Try to soothe me
Into a deathly calm
Though they're never
As calming as your
Letting hundreds of sheep
Try to caress my eyes
To finally close
Though they shall never
In the way your gentle hand
In mine will.
And while the covers may try
They will never fill the place
Where you slept beside me.
My dreams will never
Fill the emptiness left
Without your breathe.
The sheep will never
Lift me away
Like the comfort of knowing
That your near me
And that you
Will be the first thing I see
When I wake
And each night I stay awake
Because without you
I'd rather not sleep.
Fan Fiction for the UnconvincedThis is an attempt at an informal essay on fan fiction, by a middle-aged woman who reads and enjoys fan fiction. It won’t really be a balanced argument—I will be concentrating more on what I see as the positive aspects of the genre. I’ll be using mainly examples from the Sherlock fandom, that being the fandom I’m most familiar with. (There will be some spoilers, especially for series 3, so if you haven’t seen the series yet and you intend to, it might be wise to give this essay a miss.)Fan Fiction for the Unconvinced1 year ago in Academic Essays More Like This
Why do I read fan fiction? The basic reason is exactly the same reason I read anything—some of it is of astounding quality. I think fan fiction is often saddled with the image of being written solely by beginners and being uniformly terrible. But it’s like any other kind of fiction. You have beginners, you have the competent, you have the talented and experienced. The very best fan fiction writers write at a professional standard; the very best sto
Why Love Is A Four Letter WordLet me tell you why "love" isWhy Love Is A Four Letter Word2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
A four letter word
Its so people will overuse it
So they'll say "love"
Every other time they speak
(A secret plot to replace "that")
So it doesn't sound weird
Like an unpronounceable rumble
Of letters for every time
You feel the need to repeat
And repeat, those four letters.
("I love love love snickers"
Heard that sentence way too many times)
So we'll be confused by it
So easily replacing two letters
Changing "Like" to "Love"
With a flick of the tongue
So we'll adore the simplicity
Of the word that so easily spoken
Can define the thousands of emotions
We feel for each other
So it can be similar
To the words that are so
Easily birthed from it
Like "hope" and "need"
So we won't forget it
Like we sometimes forget
The smaller things about each other
Or even the larger things,
But those four letters
Will stay in our memories
And on our tongues.
"Love" is a four letter word
Because while nothing can define
They way that I feel for you
They way your ey
For There Is A Girl...There is a girl who does not fit in.For There Is A Girl...1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
She couldn't be more different
In the society she was raised in;
She thinks the exact opposite.
She finds it odd that two girls
Cannot dance the way a man and
She finds it odd that those being
Accused of horrible acts are being
Accused by people who have done worse.
She finds it odd that there are
Signs and campaigns for allowing
She finds it odd that being a
Woman means you are weak
And it is an insult to be called
In the society she is in,
She is different.
For there is a girl who does not
Why two people of the same
Cannot marry. Why one group of people
By another that is far worse.
There is a girl that cannot
Why words are offensive or
People use them. She cannot
Why, as a woman, she is not
To wear what she wants without being
If she is white, then she is racist.
If she is black, then she is a criminal.
If she is straight, then she is homophobic.
Beauty In the Eyes of the BeholderDarling, please tell me,Beauty In the Eyes of the Beholder1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Why do you always feel so alone and unloved?
How can everybody hate you
If not everyone has met you yet?
Have you ever stopped to think
Maybe everybody loves you
...But you just don't know it yet?