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?"-
ENOUGH!There are times when I feel like tearing these pages apart,ENOUGH!8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Or perhaps, throwing this BLOODY song into the fire and watching it BURN!
Maybe I'll start plucking the keys from my keyboard,
Or simply swipe everything off the desk.
Each item shattering into a hundred pieces,
Much like the fragments of my dying inspiration.
MapsWe marked the deaths on a map in little black tallies,Maps1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
every day we counted the numbers and they had come to a strong incline.
You sat in the dust by the flames
playing with a cattail
and you asked me
“When will it be over?”
The smoke drifted into open sky above us and I tried to count the stars.
The map was held together by rivers and
And we were held together by a commonplace drive:
The poem in your eyes had no backbone and it was falling apart at the seams and it made you
The map is held together by little black tallies on the edges from an old charcoal pencil.
And we are held together by a thread of life that could very well be
Alas, that is out of our reach but we must remember to always
fight! and to stay alive
please keep holding on
Because home awaits with open arms and we are here counting stars and
we must never die.
The mayor warned when we came home to
never leave again
never go agai
Daily Lit Deviations for December 18th, 2013Guidelines | How to Suggest a DLD | Group Administrators | Affiliation | Chatroom | Current Staff OpeningsDaily Lit Deviations for December 18th, 20131 year ago in Art Features More Like This
Daily Lit Deviations for December 18th, 2013
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RunI need to escape,Run2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I need to be free.
I must surely run wild.
I long to laugh and see.
Run, run I shall run out of fear.
I will flee from the threat.
I shall go far not near.
A place that is safe,
That is what I need.
I need no familiar face
So, I take off with speed.
Forget what I have left
For it is surely gone.
Time is running out,
They will be awakened by dawn.
So, I gather my things
And swiftly go away.
There's nothing left for me here
And no reason to stay.
But I'll admit, I'm glad that I'm free.
After years of being controlled, I can finally be me.
the drifterthe drifter1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
i tried to tell you that Marley was a ghost,
but you wanted to walk with wings
across gleaming midnight.
How marvelous, this stone stands
sturdy and musty; this glorious church holding up a ticking sun
that slowly cracks the trippy stained glass.
you drilled way below the church stone,
and found dried palm leaves and old joints
like clues to the map of an exceptional life.
I love this torrential literature,
I love a racing heart.
i cannot sleep, i keep dreaming,
ezekiel's visions leave me breathless.
Take it up with the Big Man.
Surely the cannabis creator
must exude a presence that lingers on synapses.
i've lost my ability to fly.
a tender sky with reddening clouds,
the sights of death give birth to no life.
Well, I'm l
AwayI want to fly away,Away2 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
up, in the sky.
down, back to earth.
I want to go.
Away, anywhere, nowhere, somewhere.
Leave, let go, live.
I want to fly away,
somewhere I can stay.
Eternal DanceI. She comes, slow but unhesitant.Eternal Dance2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She comes, as if she knows exactly what will happen.
She comes, because she knows who will win.
II. The world starts to settle
the noises die down
lights flicker and dim
and she has unfailingly arrived.
Gliding from one rose-tipped cloud
she advances steadily.
Nothing blocks her way;
nothing dares stand in the way
of a being who is so powerful
and so dangerous
and so intimidating.
News of her arrival spreads
but not as a roaring blaze
but rather, dark whispers
travelling at the speed
of not light,
And eventually it reaches him
a powerful being in his own right
clad in regalia
a lion’s mane of fire
and light and warmth.
But before her,
this awe-inspiring entity
who comes to dance with him
as is their nightly ritual,
he wants to bow down.
But he cannot;
showing weakness in front of her?
catch a falling star, put it in your pocketthere's something about those little brokencatch a falling star, put it in your pocket2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dreamer girls with misproportionate promises
and lingering whispers,
who walk like angels, lost, and trying
to find a way back home;
whose hearts bleed abnormally loud
and resonant- those girls with
shadows like ghosts [dead and haunting],
that make them a flavor
to taint your tongue.
if you listen close, you can hear the
unraveling words that once knit the hollow space
between their bones,
you can hear their shallow sighs like
sun sets for a final time.
you can hear their ticking time bomb lungs
and you can touch their secrets, because they
wear them on their skin. not like wounds,
more like sun kisses or wispy tattoos
ingrained into who they are; you won't know
what they mean until you connect the dots
and find answers in their questioning stares.
they'd like to remain something unknown, because
they've identified the world as a disease- vile and
insidious, with the capability of sinking
underneath your flesh and changing who you are.
This is a six word storyThis is a six word story:This is a six word story2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I just pretend to be profound
Through a gap in the fenceThrough a gap in the fenceThrough a gap in the fence2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
they saw each other.
Drawings on the walls
for messages of love.
Images don't matter anymore
as words are the only thing
that can travel
through that gap in the fence.
Whispers of love
and no one else cares.
Still they have not seen each other
through the small gap in the fence,
But of course
all good things must end.
The gap was closed
and their love was lost.
As time erases
their love was lost
and the lovers who met
through a gap in the fence
never got to whisper
their sweet nothings to each other
through a gap in the fence again.
The Art of Consent: BurlesqueHowever,The Art of Consent: Burlesque2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
i can use the rounded corners of
sullen eyes, too-short fingernails,
magnanimous hips, and frosted lips
pressed crackling against the
porcelain dream he
so blackly freed against me.
i am four inches envy and
six inches will,
and completely engrossed in pursuit of
And he, still violent and violet, is there,
unconvinced and scared, and so perfectly
He finds me tied, vaudevillian, to his
falling from mind to mouth,
from mouth to spine.
Where contact confuses
sexually transmitted attention for
sexually transmitted affection,
there is not time to obscure the view that
condemns him to what is malign
and otherwise known as misunderstood.
And i felt his eyes eating up where i stood,
felt my heart burning up what it could,
dropped a flatline to
pick him off my hemline, and understood
what it meant to be in control.
i love the heady derision provoked
simply by the act of undressing, no smoke,
except for that of the opiate crowd and
no mirrors, ex
WhitewashWhen you're five years old you set a promise in the dark, your sister's ice-queen eyes witness. Millie is sitting straight-backed against the headboard, face wide and earnest, and it seems as if the world has heaped itself on her shoulders, or maybe it's the strangeness of midnight.Whitewash4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"We can't make our wills or anything like that until we're eighteen," she says fiercely. "But I might forget this by then."
In later years you will find time to reflect that you're not as whimsical as Millie; young, you only think then that you could never forget something this important. But you can't argue with the three-years-older she holds above your head (the wisest bestest elder sister in the world.)
Your love for her borders on hero-worship, and looking back, you sometimes wonder if that's healthy.
The door bangs shut. "Jodie!"
How strange, the way it works: your hand is frozen to the table in the way it should have been on the phone, but that was minutes ago and maybe it was delayed-reaction, becau
Battle ScarsBattle Scars:Battle Scars2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Sharp claws rake into my skin
as my blood bursts forth to splatter against the ground
The uneven breathing of my foe
tells me that he too is wounded and close to death
I can see his teeth, flecked with frothing saliva
foaming and spitting as he bellows his name
He charges into me, his frame crashing with mine
the impact has me reeling and I fall back against the stone
The ground feels cold
the icy chill seeping into my bones
the warmth of my blood escapes me
and I can feel myself beginning to fade
Up toward the sky I glance
praying that I might receive assistance
I pray that he who commands me, he who stands above
Will pity his servant and relieve me of this pain...
Yet, my prayers go unheard
Here I lie, slowly fading
slowly drifting into the grey ocean
as the voice that commands me utters my fate:
"Pikachu, use Thunderbolt NOW!"
-Chen Yuan Wen, Experimental Release
It Is In The DoingI know what she thinks I do in the bathroom when I take a little too long,It Is In The Doing1 year ago in Drama More Like This
when I'm a little too quiet.
After all, I'm a healthy teenager with access to the internet, what else could I be doing?
She knocks on the door and asks, "Hey, what are you doing?"
Smile, my dear reader.
Chuckle a little.
Sometimes she's right.
But sometimes... Sometimes I'm on the floor or pressed hard against the wall, my heart a little too fast, my breath a little too quick... my chest a little too tight as I try to keep the sound of steadily falling tears from echoing beyond the door. As I try to keep pretences to the outside world that I do not cry, that nothing hurts me. That always, always, always, I do not fall to the madness of emotions. I have no control of my life but dammit, I am in control of myself.
But every now and then the rigid hold of apathy breaks and I am reduced to this. Crying in a place where no one will hear my tears. Where no one will hear how desperate I am. How broken.
Broken seems lik
Dead languages and bitter teaWe were directly opposed,Dead languages and bitter tea1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
circling each other in a confining pool,
my mouth seeking yours, but only finding
the fragments of composure you left in your wake.
"Nunc scio quid sit Amor",
you said once, and I agreed with you,
then looked up what the hell you meant
as soon as I was alone.
We went stargazing when we were hungry
and fed ourselves with the names
and the glow of all the stars
that spread themselves out to tease us.
"This is what I see in you," you flattered,
pointing at the sky while the wetness of the grass
soaked into our backs.
"You're that string of pearls, right there,
hanging around the neck of the sky.
You are more than what I’ve been looking for,
more than anything I've ever tried to find,"
you painted stars and lies.
I left you job listings in the mornings,
and you told me my fortune,
in the bottom of my teacup.
We were directly opposed; I told you to leave if you wanted,
so on a night too cold for me to see the comfort in your dreams,
you left, gathering
Nine TimesI saw him nine times.Nine Times2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The first time we were both sitting in the room together, getting ready to take the math test that would determine our placement. I was scatterbrained and throwing things around, trying to find the pencils that I had known I would need but had still just tossed in my purse. He was lounging backwards in his chair, looking for all the world as though he didn’t have a single care in the world, including the upcoming test. It annoyed me, that I was frantic and ready to scream, while someone else could be that relaxed.
I tested out of the class.
I don’t know if he did.
The second time I saw him, it was a few months after I arrived on campus. He was the one rushing and frantic this time, running across the square. He was probably late for class, though I had no way of knowing for sure. I was already lost in my own thoughts and ideas, deciding on my major and convincing people that yes, this is what I really want to do with my life. If they weren
SouvenirsWhen her mom went to check the mail at breakfast, she returned with a thin box in her arms.Souvenirs3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It was a package from her father.
Her dad was sort of like a traveler... at least, that was what she assumed he was. His job always had him jumping from city to city, country to country. He'd been to almost everywhere around the world, and every few weeks, he would send her a letter with a little souvenir from his stay. This time, it was a miniature Eiffel Tower.
So he's in France again, she mused, studying the two-foot tall replica. A small chuckle escaped her lips. It was about time he remembered to get it for her! He really should've thought of buying it six visits ago. She opened the small envelope attached to package and read the letter inside with a fond smile. When she finished reading, she stood up and excused herself from the table. Her mom answered with a sad smile as she nodded.
She raced up the stairs and headed for the Gift Room. It was a special place in the house just for h
You Know What You Are!The storyteller is lost in usYou Know What You Are!8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Don't ask me where he went
I see his traces in the words you write
But his power is truly spent
And all I see now is meaningless
Words made simply for the thrill
Belted out by a literary killer
Monster, looking for a fill