Ironic Fact." We are powerless. "Ironic Fact.5 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
said 7.000.000.000 people.
Tell Him.I helped an elder while you were asking for miracles.Tell Him.5 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I was someone's happiness when you were praying.
Tell God that next time you talk with Him.
Made of NothingMade of Nothing5 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Fast Foreword: A Brief Introduction
Why are people so eager to tell me when they find God, but they never mention where he was hiding? Sorry, that's just been bugging me. Now about my essay I made it educational and concise, but I also tried to include some humor so it wouldn't read like an obituary column for any beliefs you may have had. To put it bluntly, this article's as likely to erase your faith in God as the Tanya Harding sex tape.
Okay, maybe that's a bit ambitious. Some people couldn't be convinced that God doesn't exist if God himself descended from the heavens just to announce that he doesn't exist. Even among otherwise critical thinkers, religion seems to be more or an emotional appendage than anything else. Trying to use reason to talk someone out of their religion seems as futile and incendiary as trying to logically convince someone they've married the wrong person. But I
stitchesIstitches4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a woman can fracture open under
unspeakable violence. skin can
tear like the voice can break
and go silent.
a poet can speak of radical honesty,
carefully document a life, and hold
without believing she broke
but in the end, to have grace,
she can speak the words because
another woman stands at her back
and only then is she safe
to say, yes, there was blood
and emotion, but in the end
there were fourteen stitches
threaded through her animal self
that remade a woman who could speak
a woman can choose to allow
her own destruction.
her body becomes self-obsessed
in an ocean of pain and she gives herself
over, pushing against the waves.
another woman stands beside her,
only then is she safe, and says,
reach down and feel your skin open
no longer a poet,
or simply a woman,
as her skin splits, again,
she is her own fierce self,
her fingers feel the rush,
the arrival of life,
not simply an animal, despite
twelve stitches, not a w
WastelandThree tours in Iraq and a bullet to the leg didn't stop him. They tell me what changed him was coming through U.S. customs. The metal detectors and apathetic stares. The donut kiosk. Now he is standing on the porch and avoiding everyone that came to his party. I've only met the guy once at another Fourth of July barbeque and that was a long time ago. Welcome home.Wasteland4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I notice an application for Arby's on the kitchen table. Someone was using it as a coaster and the paper is still soggy in the middle. Scotch sweats more in the summer time. I need to smoke.
I pull open the screen door and walk outside. He doesn't turn his head to look at me. He doesn't say hello or smile. I stand in front of him and try to make eye contact. He's about my age but so much older. When I strike my Zippo, his free hand clenches and his beer hand jumps to his mouth. &