rough linesi like to draw in circles and triangles
creation in blurred lines and incoherent scribbles
straight lines are so...strange, cleaniness is an option
make people into a style, grace and grime
because that is how i like to see the world
through rose-tinted, soot covered lenses
i love to draw smokers because of their cigarettes
to drag out the smoke in its quiet, graceful, half-circular motions
steaming from tips of perfectly rolled, manufactured proprietors of disease
punctuation is, on it's best days, a tool for the writer
and given free rein-- optional; to be used as seen fit
haphazard commas, Capitals, dashes- and periods.
clean lines and definite borders are so strange...alien to the mind
how? why? hands shaking across the paper, streaking unsteady graphite
the line becomes two, then so many-- enough for army of lines
stand up! the bottle's empty, leave now
but...spinning... staggering to the car and fumbling for the keys
3 year old=- sleeping, drawings that mirror your inebriated bee
melancholy bluesthere's a cello being played, in the downstairs drawing roommelancholy blues5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it's slow and mournful; like the blues that my father use to put on tape
while him and my mother would dance around the room;
eyes deep and arms full of things and people they once were
they're never off step; but it's graceful and quiet and full of things
that once were sad, too-- like the music they dance to
the blues devil with it's melancholy and sadness and regret
it has a home here, too. with all our faults and cripples;
we are sleeping outside in pearl-white snow, where everything is dulled and cold and blurry
not because we have nowhere else to go, when the oppression of our own thoughts become too much
but because in the morning when it's quiet and everything is far away to tired, sleepy minds
the lover, prostitute, the homeless man-- we're all the same, then; out in the snow
the tape-player in the drawing room is crackling still, a little more then it use to
it's old, like everything else in this worn out world of m
starsi pray that someday soon, in a lonesome winter, your bones will cease to ache.stars2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
regrets will no longer break your morals like glass figurines,
you will not ask God to pardon your sins.
you will forgive yourself.
i hope, for your sake, that your butterfly-flutter eyes
will only be dampened with tears worthy of shedding.
your glory will shine out of those 2 crystal windows
and you will finally know what freedom feels like.
one day, in the midst of a dreary december, i wish for your wings to open wide
and carry you to heights far past any you have ever experienced.
your lungs will become blooming forests
with snippets of poetry carved into the tree trunks.
you will no longer be broken, but instead, crack into miniscule pieces
of yourself until all of the grace & goodness
buried deep within the crevices of your flesh
is soaked up by the atmosphere.
i am awaiting the day that i can finally lay next to someone i call lover
and point up at the stars to show him
fragments of you scatte
How My Eyes Are Glowing The worst part is the people all around us. I wish I could ignore them, but I am too nervous to look into your eyes, and I have to look somewhere.How My Eyes Are Glowing5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It's the kids that are too scared to dance. You know, the ones that make a joke out of it and pretend they don't care, pretend it doesn't bother them that they are all alone. I hate the ones that wink at me slyly or grin and snap a photo, blinding me and making my cheeks burn.
I glare as hard as I can, believe me.
But it's kind of hard to glare when you see blue dots everywhere.
You smile at me and I look down shyly, not knowing what to say. And you whisper something, but I can't hear over the music and my heart pounding. I just see your mouth move and I bite my lip uncertainly, not meeting your dar
michelangelo's wife named godyou've met karma in the boxing ring,michelangelo's wife named god5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
vincent van gogh is helping me
form my own starry night,
staring the queen of england
soviet dictators all in a line,
gorbachev is just a fun word.
if suicide is an art,
the moths are
lights so beautiful
are killers masked
ballerinas have taught
insects to perform
nothing is not okay anymore,
not that anything ever was,
what ever happened to
two plus three,
and the color blue representing
what ever happened to holding
hands or making
something more than nothing.
is the only math
i do these days.
no more crying now,
this isn't another pity
poem or heart wrenched
fucked over prose piece.
the broken hearted
aren't fucking reading this.
because guess who is.
the people who are broken
beyond repair, so fucked over,
they invented the word fuck,
they etched its definition across
they have a right to,
for inventing the damn thing.
all that glitters is not goldwhen i was in junior high, i use to stare out of my window during the quiet bits of night, everybody in their beds and not a sound in the air; even in a busy cityall that glitters is not gold4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and sometimes i'd think; maybe i want to fall in love with a girl one day, just to see what it would be like
then the night wind would come and carry my whisper-sighs away into the trees, and i'd fall asleep on the sill dreaming of lakeside cottages and opalescent hues of odd colors
when we went to art school together, we shared a tiny dorm room with ornate iron bars on the window and a single bed that looked up on to a smoke-stained ceiling
an old bathroom that was beautiful once, dirty glass and pink marbled tiles; a cracked vanity mirror in a frame of tarnished silver
the only things we had in the world were suitcases full of cigarette butts, inks and paints, sheets of paper and canvases that we tried to splatter ourselves onto
fine white dresses give to us by our mothers and aunts, that were ruined by paint stains o
Straightline People always say that they hate goodbyes; they say leaving someone behind is too sad. But I guess I'm different. I love it when people cry over me.Straightline5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
She left without saying goodbye. I felt betrayed, in a way. Angry that she'd just leave like that, and angry that I'd just let her go. And hurt: my shoulder blades ached from the oh-so-sweet sensation of being stabbed in the back.
At the same time, I felt a fleeting swoop of joy. This is what I wanted: proof that I was living in the past. That I really didn't stand a chance. She'd trace her pretty, torn-up nails across my throat and we'd both agree: "I don't love you anymore." I'd drink her forgotten tears and she'd bite my Cheshire smile.
And my wild imaginings would disappear.
Maybe I'd fall asleep at
The beauty of the stormThe eye of the stormThe beauty of the storm5 years ago in Scraps More Like This
Holds me in her gaze
I meet her head on
For I'm no longer fearful
Of what waits in the storm
I've been through the thunder
No longer will you hold the power
Like you once did
Because now I'm Free
Napkin You have piano hands and bedroom eyes and a big nose. Even though you told me I was the only thing you've ever wanted, could ever want, you never said "I love you." Once, I asked you why. You told me "the l word" was a four-letter word to you. I frowned and was prepared to argue, but you hooked your thumbs in my belt loops, pulled me in, and I forgot what it was.Napkin6 years ago in Teen More Like This
The time I figured out that I didn't loveyouwantyouneedyou was when I gave you a hundred reasons to smile, but all you gave me was a thousand reasons to cry. Then you bought me two dozen roses to try to make up for it. I guess you never believed in "quality, not quantity." I don't even like roses.
I wrote a letter to you on a napkin. I told you my secrets and what I hate about you and how my heart beats me senseless every time I see you. I told you goodbye. But then I spilled my coffee, wiped it up, and threw it away. Everyone communicates through texting these days anyway.
Never Seen a Real Night SkyDo you ever think that maybe, just maybe, you and I aren't quite where we're supposed to be? Maybe there's more to us than drunken nights and Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. Maybe there's more to life than silly stringing and too-late nights and falling head-first into the darkness of your more-than-mischief. I let you drag me along, just to feel the rough skin of your palm against mine.Never Seen a Real Night Sky5 years ago in Teen More Like This
You've always been too lazy. Looking for the easy way out, the easy way in, is not really all that becoming of you. But the cologne you wear is intoxicating, and your hands in my hair always send shivers of fear up my spine. Love? Fear? It's all the same, really. It's nothing more than adrenaline. You always leave me breathless and so much prettier in black and blue.
I wonder what you'd say if you found all these pretty words I keep tucked away, sealed in my heart and stuffed in the worn pockets of your old jacket. You never wear it, anyway, unless you really have nothing else around. Then you'll shrug
SparksI closed my eyes today.Sparks5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I closed my eyes and there you were, smiling for once in your life. I gasped- because damn, boy, my heart's on fire, and I don't think you can douse it with just a little of your cold heart logic.
I closed my fist today.
I closed my fist, ready to slam it into your scarred chest, but you grabbed my wrist and I made the mistake of looking into your eyes. Forget butterflies. My heart dropped like a bowling ball into my stomach and somehow made it all the way back up again.
I closed my ribcage today.
My bones slammed shut and my lungs expanded, effectively blocking off any chance of escape. My heart is all locked up, safely away from you. But I'm not sure how to let it out again, because somehow you ended up with the key, and I want it back.
Once upon a time I dreamed of adventure, of fast-turning pages and rocker-style parties with too much percussion and roller coasters twenty feet higher than I ever let my dreams soar. But now I only dream of you, boy, and I rea
Give It Back? Never.My favorite game has always been ours. The one with the unspoken rules.Give It Back? Never.6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
We used to play it every day. And I remember it perfectly. I still think back on it and smile.
"Oh, hello, Martha!" my mother called cheerfully, waving. I looked up from the pile of dirt I was inspecting and groaned loudly. Martha had brought along her daughter. Annie was seven years old, like me, but she was a girl. "Hello, Annie." My mother beamed down at her. "Zach's over there if you want to play."
She came running towards me.
I jutted my chin out defiantly. What do I need her here for? I'm more than capable of playing by myself!
frozen in yesterdayfrozen in yesterdayfrozen in yesterday5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the sun can't thaw today
Brokenboy7.Brokenboy5 years ago in Write Memoirs More Like This
He's on his way home from school, happily clutching a big blue birthday candle.
His mom looks at him lovingly, "Happy birthday."
The car spins out of control and he screams. His mom grits her teeth and slams her foot on the brake pedal. A truck speeds towards them, horn blaring, but it's too late; she reaches for him and cries, "I love "
When he wakes up from the coma, she's already gone.
" you," his dad whispers angrily, cheeks wet with tears.
The boy starts to tremble in his hospital bed. "Dad?"
"Why are you alive, when she's " his dad's voice breaks, "she's "
"I'm cold," his voice is barely above a whimper.
His dad presses his fist against the boy's bruised chest. "I loved her," he gasps, leaving the room.
The boy curls up, hugging his knees. He wonders dully if the doctor's monitors reveal his broken heart.
A year later, he's alone in his room.
"Remember how when I was little if I had a nightmare you'd wake me up, and then I'd fall asl
my body is a funeral servicethis morning i emptied your ashes into the sky, hoping to watch them sift through my fingers like an eagle taking flight. but the wind carried them backwards and my face became an ashtray for memories. you came back to me, like you always do, like a kiss or a reoccurring dream that i can never forget. i became cloaked in black grain, the remnants of your body. your cremated smile was caught somewhere between the stinging in my eyes and the ash on my jacket.my body is a funeral service3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
in that moment my body became a funeral service. my lips preached your names to the trees. i forgot what it was like to feel anything but hymns pressing down on my back like the heat of the sun. i smelled of incense and bones burning in a fire people are paid to create. it was more than i could bear. for weeks, i obsessed on how someone could lift a motionless shell of a body into an inferno, watch people die a second time and accept their paycheck at the end of the day.
i wanted to step into that crematorium and pluck pulses like f
BlueI am completely in blue today.Blue6 years ago in General More Like This
"Rhapsody in Blue," you murmur. I shake my head.
"No, just blue."
"Nothing is 'just' anything with you."
Blue because it's the color of the sky when I'm happiest, water (the same shade as the sky), the cover of my favorite book-of-the-moment (I'm always reading something different), and my cousin's eyes.
Red is your favorite color because it's the color of autumn leaves, fire, your mother's hair, and the ink I'm using (it's smudging onto my hands).
We Summer Salt dizzily through the ocean tide. You find red coral and I find my blue water.
"Mix blue and red and what do you get?" I ask.
"Purple..." you answer hesitantly. I grin.
"I never really liked purple," I tell you.
You distract me by k
radioactive nucleicrowning myself the king of epidermis is a blasphemous path only i would take on, smiling wider than the equator, i'm rimming off villages and pillaging cities, i want to gather more emotion, such a crusade can only end in misery and emulated breathing and off set whispers playing pinball between my radio socket of a brain.radioactive nuclei5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
when the sun claimed the day and the moon claimed the night, do you think it was war? do you think they ripped out their tracheas and served their spleens for a sunday feast? or wait, is my definition of war formed around subordinate messages that my heart is sending my brain and earthquakes of my cuticles are splitting the fibers thin and wide, parasites are slithering their way between nuclei and cellular respiration is just fancy terminology for the energy i'm burning away on breathing.
tendons pulled from my fibula are being used as rubber bands and machine guns and maybe even to hang my swing from the bedroom window. a writer is a no good son of a bitch, abusin
Wishing for Something"I wish we could be together."Wishing for Something4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Yeah," he says, "I wish a lot of things."
In the silence, he realizes that he's terrified of her. Of what she might mean. There's so much that he could tell her, but the words he longs to speak stick in his throat, leaving him breathless.
She smiles, golden in the sunset, and blows on a dying dandelion. The gossamer seeds fly away as she looks at him tightly and tilts her head towards him. Looking at the faint curve of her lips, he knows exactly what she wished for.
Oh long-lost boy, this is the moment you always wanted, the moment you hoped would never come.
He kisses her, because what else is he supposed to do?
He finds her down by the willow on the riverbank, that fair Ophelia lit by the setting sun. The water eddies below her as dragonflies hunt above the swirling flower petals, and she's so close to letting herself go it scares him. He feels a familiar panic flutter at the back of his throat, not knowing what to say.
Oh uncertain boy, what do you sa
Love Songs to the MoonHe's lonely, just another dreamer-boy with his head in the clouds.Love Songs to the Moon4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
For a boy who would never be loved, he had so much love in him.
She runs her tongue along her teeth. Are you afraid of dragons? she asks.
I imagine her with scales and wings, breathing fire. I tell her no, I'm a knight in shining armour.
Oh, she says with mock seriousness, you're fearless then.
I'm afraid, I say softly, I'm afraid of falling.
She leans in close. I feel her breath on my lips as she whispers, What about falling in love?
I forget how to breathe. The world starts to spin and I close my eyes.
Then she kisses me full on the mouth and my spine turns to feathers. I feel hollow, weak, like I just might blow away in the wind with this fairytale reaching across my tongue. I feel her lips against mine; my heart starts to beat too fast and I feel a tingling sensation across my chest. I think my lungs are going to catch fire.
He likes to run the broken sidewalk and sing love songs to the moon. He doesn't ne
For Sarah, Forever AgoI worked the midnight shift last night. It was the sort of night where you body feels so heavy that your mind just starts floating away. I was exhausted, worn. Sleep reached for my heart like a vigilante reaching for a gun, and I couldn't stop thinking of you.For Sarah, Forever Ago3 years ago in Letters More Like This
You filled my head with poetry.
I could write something beautiful, that it was a clear night and the stars were out, that the moon shone above me like a love song in the sky. But it wasn't. The clouds were low and heavy and the streetlights painted the sky orange.
It was the kind of night that makes you feel trapped. The kind when there's no one alive but you, no sound but your heartbeat, a wolf howling and a siren in the distance. The kind when I decided that the world isn't big enough for us. The nights that turn into sunrises the sunrises that break apart the horizon and pull the breath from your lungs.
You know the nights I'm talking about.
The nights when the wind lashed our lips like we were sky-sailing to
BattlefieldIt's probably sick that I have such an addiction to you, but I can't find it in myself to care. Your attention is something that I bathe in. I let it run under skin and catch between vertebrae, warm and heavy. It is the coat you cannot put over my shoulders, the wisp of hair you cannot brush from my face, the question you cannot answer.Battlefield4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
My spine has become a staircase for you, molded by the treading of your continuous feet. It's becoming soft and it's caving in, and the butterfly nerves in my fingers just can't stand you anymore. They're itching to make you fly away. I never used to think thoughts like these, thoughts that I would be ashamed to confess. But, damn, when it comes to you? I have nothing left to hide.
Your skin went flaxen some days ago, your hair mussed, your fingers calloused and dry. I think I'm the only one who noticed. But when your fireworks erupt, I will be there to watch the sparks fade.