Deer in the Headlights(Woman to Deer to Anthro Deer)Deer in the Headlights1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
Hey, Danny. How’s it going? I need you to come down. It happened, and I’m single again.
I know, I know, you were right, but shut up about that. It happened. Claire broke up with me. She gave me two of the happiest years of my life, she was the girl of my dreams, and she just gives up on me. Guess why, though? She said she wanted me to find someone better. She was literally perfect, and... I can’t keep talking about this. Typing. Whatever.
So, I’m sitting on the couch—you know the old blue one in my apartment? You should, you’ve crashed there often enough. I’m sitting there, and like an idiot, I ask her to repeat herself. Claire says it again: she’s breaking up with me. I try and ask her, to beg her not to. I’m on my knees—this is my soulmate, my future, my everything. Hell, you were coming
ValhallaFearless, unwearied, to Valhalla I ride,Valhalla11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
With a spear in my hand, and a sword at my side;
Wet still with the blood of those who fell,
Sent screaming headlong into hell.
Golden my harness, golden my shield,
Red the spear I yearn to wield,
A final time in battle's light;
A god, eternal as the night.
At Valhalla's gates I stand;
Stood proud at Odin's right hand.
Now, at last, in death, I am free.
White robed Valkyries carrying me,
Through blood-streaked golden skies,
Fierce as the fire that dances in their eyes.
And in those eyes, I see once more,
The darkness of death beyond Asgard's door.
The ConformistAdults never have their dream jobsThe Conformist4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My father once said.
"Money runs thicker than blood,
everything boils down to cash,
breathing is never free."
He was serious when he told me.
But inside my bohemian bubble
I laughed to his face,
convinced myself that corporate drones often forget
how sticking with the system results in slavery.
Reality and its accomplice,
knocked on my door,
sawed off my head and
hung me to dry.
Dripping one sweaty dollar at a time
I (unwillingly) put my soul on the market
And by now
the bloodstains never really left my uniform,
my teeth are fine sand.
All I have is the knowledge
A stabbing pain in my side
My father was right.
I'll Admit..Only now do I realize..I'll Admit..4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Everytime I wanted you,
is probably the same time you wanted me too..
Only now do I know..
How hard it is,
to just let go..
Only now can I say..
Mom, I'm growing up,
the right way..
I'm letting you loose..
Run away and don't ever look back..
Because I don't want to answer my door one day,
and find... You!
I don't want to re-live every moment of the past,
I'll lock it away for a while..
Until time has numbed away some of the pain..
Until I find someone that would love to take all my sadness away..
Until I find the man who'll hold my hand and parade me around..
A man who'll stand up for me,
up against ANYONE!
By then I'll have forgotten about you,
that thought makes me smile in content a bit, I admit..
A single moment is poetryIt ain't nothing like clockworkA single moment is poetry3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Where Ideas are conceived
At predetermined rates
of random occasions
Electrical pulses kissing synapses
Exciting the senses
followed by graphite
validating it had happened
That it existed
That we've gained something,
Be it whatever it may be
The words that came to express it
Will burn into the brains who read it
So that they too,
Can share this moment
Were nothing else mattered
The Porcelain GirlThe dust rises in smoky spirals from the ancient shelfThe Porcelain Girl3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
And ten thousand books lie unused, shrouded in stealth
And the girl is sitting by herself.
She has no time for the novels or history books
Her phone is her paramour and she gives no looks
To those who gawk at her.
Heaven help me, she sits like porcelain, about to break
In the black of her hair and clothing, she pools lake-
Tranquil in the seat, absorbed in her own reflection.
The distant roar of the winding road
And the sad fly-whining of the violin player on the corner
Break the sultry silence of the library and goad
The happy man to be a mourner.
Aye. I've seen her before
In Maude Gonne, too distant to be a friend
And too pretty to be a whore.
So I swallow my pride and pass her by
And she does likewise the same to me.
6. breakShe likes to break things:6. break2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
plates, cups, windows;
capillaries inside her body,
Chatter is the wind and warm
in the coldest way possible.
You are a kettle for her emotions.
She’ll hang you over flames until your
insides boil, then share you
among her friends with
scones and cream.
The grass will coo of how wonderful
the leaves look today –
green is a lovely colour –
and the stones will pale
in comparison to the flowers
that will wilt in a few days,
losing their former
One day you will fall off the table
and become just like her.
i got flowers oncei am lonely.i got flowers once2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i received flowers once
and i placed them
in a vase til
the petals all browned
and turned to dust
on the glass of my bureau.
i have never gotten flowers since.
i spend my days
with a boy
whom i love far beyond reason
and he holds me in his arms
and holds me together.
i bite my nails
and pull my hair
over the moment when he
feels the disenchantment
fall over his body,
all clean lines
and smooth shapes,
and realises that leaving
the worst thing
the best thing.
i am lonely
and even with a hand to hold,
and even with a cloak of security
bunching around my shoulders
and hiding my thighs,
i feel my fingers grasping at empty air
because i am too ungratefully
trapped in my head
to remember that my love
is holding my hand
and reminding me more often
than anyone should need to
that i am loved.
La Petite MortStill my beating heart once moreLa Petite Mort5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
rest 'til morning's light does break
withdraw from heaven's farthest shore
into the gently fading take
the ever distant leagues of time
are whispered with serene intent
the smallest glimpse of fair divine
lies deep within that sweet torment.fly my stilling spirit's splendor
leave this place where I once died
the Little death (each time remembered)
the little Death dwells deep inside.
sleep my love through dream undone
breathe in once, breathe out again
rise anew with Dawn's first sun
and feel the tender moments end.sing my fearsome quickened heart
to keep my tattered soul aloft
evermore inside the bliss
Evermore the death so soft.
Pretty Lost Birdiepretty, lost birdiePretty Lost Birdie5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sitting on your
you are skin
just don't fit
of "why can't
but the only thing
that ever leaves
as you whither
Day Hundred And SomethingDear Diary,Day Hundred And Something4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Day hundred and something,
My heart still burns,
Though less frequently,
Memories float sometimes,
But are less paralyzing,
I think it's getting better,
Maybe soon a day will pass,
With no burning, no memories,
I wonder if I'll notice that,
I sure hope I will not,
I want it to just past by,
I'll notice it one day,
A day, probably, far away,
When it will matter no more.
A Letter to MeDear Me,A Letter to Me4 years ago in Letters More Like This
I know sometimes the days seem long and the nights even longer. I know there are times you would hide from the world. You feel the weight on your shoulders, and see the accusing glares.
I'm here to tell you that it does get better. The sun does shine through the worst of our depression. It's there when you're ready to reach out and grab onto the ribbon of laughter.
Don't worry about those flashbacks, honey. There was a time when you had to deal with it alone, but that isn't the case anymore. No matter where it takes you, when you come back, you'll always have a strong person who loves you for who you are...imperfections and all. He doesn't care that you check out for chunks of time and can't always explain or even know it happened. He loves you and will watch over you while you're gone.
Don't fret about the past. Don't fret about the future. You can keep on living. Everything is going to be okay now. Not everyone may understand, and hell, some may look down on you for it, but
I'm a lover. Not a writer.A poet could say the things I only wish I could convey.I'm a lover. Not a writer.2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Like they'd probably say your kind of love is like...
The burning light of day.
Warm and blinding...dangerous and great-
Those kinds of words are words you'd anticipate.
If I was a poet, I'd go on about your smile,
How your eyes sparkle,
And how I'd stare for more than just a while.
But I'm not. And poetry isn't my thing,
But if it was, I'd write you a song- a song for you I'd sing.
I would serenade you until you fall for me...
And ease you to sleep with words so splendid and deep.
If I was a writer, I would know how to go on...
To tell you I need you...
And how I miss you when you're gone.
I would say something like "I'm nothing without you"
And I'd fall down to your feet.
I would say that you're all I want.
I would say all that's pure and sweet.
I wish I was the one for you-
Your defender and, in word, a fighter,
But all I can say is "I love you"
Because I'm a lover...
Not a writer.
iLoveYour voiceiLove1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
pours over my skin
like liquid velvet,
begins to feel as though
I have never
been touched before,
nothing else could ever be real
other than you,
other than your wonder
become who I truly am
when I am graced
by your presence.
I close my eyes
and it is as though you are here,
laying beside me
with your words so close
I can feel
the heat of your breath
against my neck,
against my lips
and I ache to feel you
nothing ever makes as much sense
as when I am with you.
I am hungry
for the days, our days,
when we lay together,
where every night is spent
and yet I still lean closer
an inch is like a mile
when it is between us
and I burn
for your contact,
for your kiss,
and it is a desire I cannot satisfy,
an unquenchable thirst
Can you feel it,
the way your heart leaps
when your eyes
for the first time each day?
The way your body
the attention of mine,
the touch of
Dedicate These LinesI am going to dedicate these lines to youDedicate These Lines4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
As the saying goes, you know who you are
Needless to say, it didn't end well at all
But we had some good times, and bad times
Seems to me like it began not so long ago
There were the good days, and the bad days
When it did end, it was surprisingly calm
Time didn't really stop, my life didn't end
I am going to dedicate this one to myself
As the saying goes, the last man standing
BonesLoveBones1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
is less about flowers
than it is
about Monday mornings,
when all the world
dreads the commute,
to share a space with you.
of serenades and starlight,
I often find myself
inside of mundane fantasies,
of your shower wet hair,
so snugly together
in dashboard light
like lips and hips
in the blue glow
satellite stereo screens,
long to take you
So many men
seek the perfection
that have no basis
want to dive head first
tangled up in every complication
that is us.
My love --
you are the everything
flaws and highlights,
and all of your bad,
of a lifetime spent longing
which only you possess,
am not -ever-
going to give up on
UnshackledMy Dear Peter,Unshackled4 years ago in Letters More Like This
There is a masterpiece: internal and wicked, laser-scrawled and syllable-heavy. It surfaces slowly, like pond scum. I often scrape at it industriously, collecting pieces and bits in the spaces between periods and capital letters, on the back of receipts, and on the college-ruled lines of composition notebooks.
Were it set to music we would find it minor-keyed and shocking. Yes. Let's make this happen, if only to say we succeeded in a single thing, together. There is room in my cerebellum for the both of us to grow: crookedly, zigzaggedly. For us each to lean in, your left cheekbone will pin that half of my shrug down. We will no doubt find ourselves swaying in circles as if we were cut out and pasted back onto that overcrowded dance floor. I would hold back motions and words for the first time in my life, letting you lead. Ah, but words are not lyrics when they're left to bleed out on winter's bike paths. I wander worn synaptic trails, wringing my hands and h
AbdicateI have drunk the poison backwashAbdicate6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
of sweet dreams gone awry.
The sour taste of an early morning kiss
decaying on the tongue,
the bitter remnant
leaves a blackened sheen,
the flavor of burnt metal and cold ash.
Each rib is another vacant shelf
in the abandoned complex of my chest,
as a condemned apartment,
the last art deco artifice
now an eyesore in a city of glass and steel.
Love and I made a deal
in the studded glow of winter rain
in silver headlight streams,
I could taste the barrel,
an appetizer before the bullet.
The game is rigged,
a lie we all agree to believe
is still a lie,
and yet you cannot spell l-i-f-e
without a l-i-e --
We all get f'ed
to make us feel complete.
But if I must feel so alone,
then I should do it by myself
where no one
has to see the charred specks
in the corner of my eyes
where the light used to be.
No longer braced against the wrecking ball,
but begging for the swing,
every bone aches to break into dust,
a random access memory
seems to l
Oblivion I Know Your NameI cannot cry.Oblivion I Know Your Name4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
cracked in its anguish,
would wash away the world as I know it
and madness would surely follow.
Madness of the worst kind,
(as if one torture were preferable to another)
the kind that steals your light
and leaves only enough grace
to remember that darkness,
once the servant,
is now the master.
"Are you part of our family again?"
a small voice asks in hopeful innocence.
How can so few words devastate?
How can the flower kill the sun?!
I answer that recreated version of myself,
"Yes, always and yes!
No matter where we live, no matter what we do!
You, I, your sister, we are one until the end."
How can I make him make me see the truth of this?
How can we find comfort in days broken into snippets of life?
Life separated by time more than space.
Moments fueled by longing more than love.
Fractured pieces of memory unspun.
The madness swirls about me now,
its teeth nipping at my edges like a hungry wolf.
Its lightest touch paralyzes and I am left breathle
she is.(she is)she is.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
and swallows skies
to keep her head
up. (in the clouds)
she trades songs
for pens to just
try to turn it all
with weights in
her hands and
dreams of intoxicated
walls blocking her
from daylight. (forever)
she struggles to breathe
but after 5 hours of crying
she gives up. (trying)
today she lays limp
in a casket, everyone thought
she was just wanting herself. (to live)
(she is in the clouds again, forever trying to live.)
CalifornicationFirst English, dan Nederlands.Californication2 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
"Hardcore soft porn... […] It's the edge of the world and all of Western civilization... […] Dream of Californication..."
- Red Hot Chili Peppers, Californication
The luxurious snobbery of the shopping malls, the isolation of man amidst the plethora of perfect consumption objects and man becoming a perfectable consumption object full-time himself, the generalized and collectively enjoyed stupidity and childishness of television and consumption, the total apathetic immersion in spectacle, the wildgrowth of screens, the triumph of surface over depth (Baudrillard), the superficial appearance of happiness projected worldwide on all screens by the American "stars:" I am fascinated by these phenomena.
Today we believe wholeheartedly in the meaningfulness of communication, while the cult of the screen offers only a collection of seductive nonsense. The same holds true for the art of our time (and possibly of all times):
EverythingLong have I dreamedEverything1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
of the way morning light paints your eyes,
of my smile
cradled in the darkness of your pupils,
of your fingers finding mine
beneath the ripples of our blankets
where the skin of your hip
seethes against my thigh.
Your dark hair
pooling around that beautiful face,
inches from my own
as a jealous sun sneaks glances
through the glass
where I've got the perfect poetry...
repeating through my mind,
dancing along the tip of my tongue.
I press my lips to your forehead
and brush loose strands
behind your ear
as you squirm in closer,
until all space between us has succumbed
to our bodies necessity
for a reminder that this is no dream,
but the grace of a reality
we have finally birthed.
And with you
I am at my most beautiful,
the pinnacle of my existence exemplified
in the way you fit me,
every disjointed shape finding
its mate in an opposing piece of me,
another epiphany of the heart,
where everything that has ever been