stained my neck emeraldRecently stopped my transformation into a mermaid, that was a close call.
I just. I think that I am standing in a meadow of peppermint, thin and wispy as wheat, holding a map to a land that is constantly changing its topography just as quickly as I am constantly changing my destination.
This means that, effectively, I am looking for a place without any tangibility, boundaries, or promise while a place is looking for a girl without a face, someone to give it purpose and reason, or someone to call "the one that got away".
I'm playing a game without rules, a clear idea of who or what I'm competing against, and no end, and I am really only calling it a game because I'm not sure naming it anything else would be worth the trouble.
All things considered (the lack of any understanding of anything including myself or my wishes or my chances, a terrible and embarrassing record with board games, my obvious lack, the two peaches I bought and devoured tonight), I'm off to a great start.
If you're going to be sanctimoniousAwkward bodies are for growingIf you're going to be sanctimonious7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
teenagers, not twenty-four
year old college graduates.
My hips were made to procreate;
my shoulders to carry the weight
of your stares. I’m perfectly fine;
your perception is what’s messed up.
I shave for my own comfort,
not yours. My nails are short
and chewed upon. I don’t
even own a pair of heels;
shackles would be more comfortable.
My hands are scratched
by all the cats I’ve cared for.
I look best in business casual;
slacks, tank, shell. I never remember
my bust size. I own more books
than clothes. My eyes are gold
in the late afternoon sunshine.
I can afford a bland oat
diet and gym membership,
or a new wardrobe.
Or, I can be happy with what I’ve got.
Convenience Ducky Short usually avoided using 'convenience' stores. The floors were always grimy, the lighting was too dim for his tired veiny eyes, and the cashiers never spoke more than five words of English. But the thing that irked him most was how every one of them put the Ho-Hos on the very bottom shelf, and every time he would have to find a way to maneuver his long body and old rusty joints into a crouch just so he could reach them.Convenience4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He had been struck with a Ho-Ho craving as he was walking by, and since the only store nearby was a tiny convience store, he had no choice but to go in and claim his cakes. There was no controlling this sort of thing. 'Happy Ho Ho emergencies', his mother used to call them, God rest her soul.
But Ducky hadn't expected a different kind of emergency.
The bell on the door barely had time to jingle before it was drowned out by a frantic holler.
"Freeze, everybody! I've got a gun, so no messing around!"
Hearts and Elevators5th Floor:Hearts and Elevators6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Count the number of times the elevator hesitates, pray it doesnt change its mind about letting you in, and stumble outwards, declaring youre never going back down. Take note of the lack of protest, smile like love, and then kiss the frazzled door attendant in relief; the one who could never forget you if he tried.
And try not to hope.
But feel free to love.
Sigh happily at the sight of the library, find a cushion, and read until you think youre going to fall asleep. Read softly of little secrets, great adventures, and things learned too late. Do fall asleep. Afterwards, smile, and hold the book close when the do
winter always reminds me of you.It never snowed last December, but it was always there on the horizon. Like a bad dream on the periphery of my vision, a relentless reminder that I don't ever have control over things the way I think I do. The way I want to. Recently, I realized that I feel everything a bit too sharply. The cold. The pain. The nothingness.winter always reminds me of you.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It's heart wrenching. It's stomach twisting.
The minute you were gone, the air in my lungs left too. It's amazing how long you can live without breathing. It's much longer than anyone tends to claim. Truthfully, it's not even the thing I miss anymore. I only miss you. I miss the feelings. I miss anything that isn't the slow crack and settle of this old building. Or the familiar beating of my heart. The sun rising and falling from the sky each and every day.
I don't remember what it's like to not wake up to a pattern, but I do remember that it was so much better than this.
I used to never know what to expect. Now I have no expectations at all. It didn't take me long t
What a Tryst: Chapter 2 Part 1A week went by faster than I’d expected it to. Getting used to a new school had taken a lot out of me. I felt exhausted, both mentally and emotionally. Thankfully, the workload had been light (most of the material had already been covered at my old school).What a Tryst: Chapter 2 Part 18 months ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
South Boston High School wasn’t especially different from my last school, after all, aside from Savanna’s occasional guitar in the hallways, and Jonathan’s randomly slapping me on the back between classes. Alice had a habit of walking right into people whenever she walked down the hallways, her nose always buried in a book. Sarah was never to be seen without her baseball and mitt. She was always playing catch with herself; I wondered if they overlooked that during classes.
Alice had caught me staring a few more times. I couldn’t really help it; she had such striking features. Her expressions were priceless when she was reading; it was the only time she seemed to smile or laugh or even look sad. Other ti
What a Tryst: Chapter 3: Part 2It had been a mile and a half past the house to reach the art supply shop, then another mile to get to the all natural store (for the loose leaf tea and such). Despite having Google Maps on Alice’s phone to guide me, I still managed to get lost a few times. I also wasn’t sure if I grabbed the right art supplies. The clerk wasn’t able to read Claire’s cursive so I had to do some guesswork. I was shivering by the last turn--or so I’d hoped--before the house; warmth was in sight.What a Tryst: Chapter 3: Part 27 months ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
I went through the gated green fence and rushed for the door. I was nearly salivating at the thought of biting into that Snicker’s Bar in bed, wrapped up in a blanket.
“Joining us for tea?” Jonathan asked.
I took off my shoes in the entryway. “Uh, maybe in a bit. I need to give this stuff to Claire first.” I raised the bag to show him.
“Ah, Alice bribed you to do her dirty work did she?” he laughed. “Well, tea will be ready in a few. Sa
I hope it's worth it when I'm gone.I can't even pretend things are simple anymore.I hope it's worth it when I'm gone.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It's raining again, and with every crash of thunder, I miss you more than I can bear. I know it's not worth saying, because really nothing much is anymore, but it doesn't make it any less true.
It's eleven ten on a Friday night, and I'm sitting in the middle of the grass, watching the downpour spill off the roof. My t-shirt is clinging to my ribcage, and my hair is sticking to my face. I can feel the water running down the ridges of my spine, the backs of my hands, clumping in my eyelashes, but still, I don't move. Sometimes, when I can't stand what the world is doing anymore, I allow myself a thunderstorm to wash everything away.
It's the meteorological equivalent to a clean break. Faster to heal -- or at least, that's what they say.
The lightning is tearing across the sky, cutting through the darkness like a crack in the atmospheric layers. I'm staring at this like I half expect all the air to disappear around me while the world disinte
What a Tryst: Chapter 2 Part 2Saturday: a day to sleep-in and relax. Unless of course somebody decides to unleash a barrage of knocks on your door at seven ‘o clock in the morning.What a Tryst: Chapter 2 Part 28 months ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
That was how my Saturday began. Who could possibly want me for something so early on a Saturday morning, I wondered groggily. I rolled over and attempted to muffle the sounds by smothering myself beneath a pillow. The knocking continued. I didn’t want them to wake Claire, so I rolled out of bed, and went to the door.
Sarah stood there holding her baseball. Part of me wanted to ask if she was using the ball to bang against my door to make that much noise. The other part of me didn’t want to get hurt.
“Morning,” I managed.
“That’s good morning,” she smiled.
Maybe before you woke the entire neighborhood. “Did you need something?” I asked.
She raised her eyebrow. “Your room is pretty boring. You should get some posters, or paint or something.”
“Is there anyt
Home-Schooleddo not teach meHome-Schooled4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
do not stand in front of a
chalk dusty black board and
expect me to listen
do not bombard me with
long phrases and dreary
speeches and expect me to
hang on to every word that
falls out of your drooling
do not show me diagrams
and pictures and expect me
to tear apart the symbols
and reach a deeper, more
do not teach me, for i have
already been taught
i learned my arithmetic by
counting each star in the sky
every night until i knew my
multiplication table forwards
i learned history by listening
to the stories whispered to
me on windy days by trees
that have lived through
each war and revolution
i learned english by reading
the words written out by
clouds that are more
complicated than any
shakespearean play could ever
i learned science by watching
the world around me grow
and die in a never ending
cycle that no text book could
ever capture the true lesson
do not teach me, for i am a child of nature
and i've already been home
Tips For succeeding as an ArtistSucceeding as an artist: These are just the thoughts that come immediately to mind.Tips For succeeding as an Artist4 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
1.) A very important and often overlooked aspect of the art industries is networking. Get to know people and especially get to know who is important to know. Acquire a list of contacts and MAINTAIN those contacts. Don't call someone up after ten years of radio silence then be like "hi, remember me? Need job now, can has?" Also, don't be a dick to people and don't burn bridges. You'd be surprised how quickly that can get you blacklisted from a variety of places. Even if someone is a rampaging, fiery doucheflute, cope..... pretty much like any other job. keep your contacts list nice and organized. Sounds like frivolous advice but trust me, it's not. When you have several hundred contacts, being able to go "who's the guy I did that porn mural with.... *scrolls down to PORN category* oh right, HIM," can make networking much more efficient and a lot less confusing.
2) PORTFOLIO! It must
What a Tryst: Chapter 3: Part 1By the time I’d finished my homework Sunday night, I was ready to pass out. As I tried sleeping my mind kept going back to the baseball game, and the trip to that bakery with Savanna. I’d been tossing and turning for hours before Sarah’s knock startled me out of bed. I may have jumped up with slightly too much enthusiasm.What a Tryst: Chapter 3: Part 18 months ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
“You look energetic,” Sarah said with a raised eyebrow.
That’s rich, I thought, and you look like an amazon that’s never heard of a brush, but I wasn’t going to come right out with that. “You look like you just woke up.”
“Pfft,” she looked around my room, then looked back at me. “You really do need to paint or do something with this room. It’s so boring.”
I messed with my bedhead until it rested less lopsided. “I did just move here. I’m not too focused on painting my walls, or putting up posters.”
Sarah sighed and rested her hands behind her head.
Moon and the BridgeThe stars, spread across the night’s sky, were brighter than usual tonight. The grass felt soft and welcoming with its light touch; the longer I walked, the more therapeutic it felt. Even when my foot scraped against a rock, it didn’t take away from the building serenity; I only needed a few more steps in the grass to wash the pain completely away.Moon and the Bridge9 months ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
The last few nights had been too cold for these walks; and when my only way to relieve stress was from walking, it was nice to be able to do just that. Most would argue that I could’ve worn a coat on the colder nights, but it wasn’t the same without the night’s breeze touching my skin, or without feeling the soft kiss of the grass on my feet. I took in a deep breath, and I could almost taste the stars and the clouds. I felt so close to the sky on nights like this.
I traveled as far as I could on the grass. There was a dirt road up ahead, and further up that road was a bridge. I allowed my feet to saturate
voltagemy cracked skullvoltage2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
leaks grey matter &
selenic steam, but dearest,
i can talk myself
into a deity;
i'm a galaxy boy
melting my mind
O' SisterStart with something, whether it be words or thought or action. Just do something, anything to avoid this dissipating grey matter, neurotic erosion.O' Sister4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"I don't exactly remember everything." My words are timid, pensive.
The moments revolve, coil and ignite; flashing images with no particular order.
I scrunch my iceman toes, attempting to conserve heat, but the cold still surpasses the fabric of my Converse. My muscles tense against abrasive arctic gusts. The bitter wind raises bristled hair above goose bumped flesh.
These pink fingers quiver in the grasp of an 'I heart New York" shot glass. I guzzle down Stolichnaya. The vodka is dry-ice against my tongue; molten silver.
Blurred peripherals detect a lone ember drowning in the ashtray, a Marlboro Smooth choking beneath garish glares of moonlight.
"And this kinda s
and we'll rotoh, poet boy,and we'll rot2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are not
or honey bones
& you have only
ever been a god
inside of your own head
i am not a supernova boylike a specteri am not a supernova boy2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
speaking in blue x-rays
& writing invisible verses -
love, i am the patron saint
of thieves & mediocrities
repeat after me.characterisation in one word;repeat after me.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
she. [wanted to find meaning. wanted to impress. wanted to make the world envious. wanted to see sunsets from the eiffel tower. is writing this. wanted to become a writer. wanted to learn to love correctly. wanted to be wanted.]
plot in two words;
she failed. [chinese. to climb every mountain. to eat all her greens at once. to hold a note for longer than a minute. math. to write clearly cohesively conscisely. french. to find what she was looking for when she needed it most.]
climax in three words;
she failed to. [be what her parents wanted her to be. be hardworking. be kind, and kind of gracious. be composed. be the top in her class. be strong. be the change she wants to see in the world. be who she sees in the future, not in the mirror.]
setting in four words;
she failed to hold.[and the call never went through. and she never got to speak to himherthem one last time. and they never knew she never wanted to destroy their hopes in her. and she left the phon
something that happenedmy grandfather's brother lost both of his twin daughters to suicide, one at 17, the other at 20. every year on their birthday, he used to climb this hill behind his property and tie ribbons around the two trees that stood there, that he had planted the year they were born.something that happened2 years ago in Personal More Like This
i happened to be visiting on the day that would have been their 58th birthday. he had suffered a stroke during the past year, and his mobility had been weakened, so he asked me to climb the hill and tie the ribbons while he said his prayer from the foot of the hill. i can't forget the image: these two mature trees, so close their branches mingled, trunks wrapped in ribbons, most frayed and loosened by years of wind, some decades old, colorless and fallen on the dirt around the bases of the trees.
this was the first time i thought about how the years of someone's life might look when left behind. it took me forever because i was so nervous. when we walked back to his house, and he was wiping tears out of the corners o
The WitchesThe witches speak a languageThe Witches2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
clearer than my mother's, the edge
of a blade, crack of broken glass,
silky slide of sin, come in, come in, in
my ear, a soft patting drum, the
spell bound lullaby
they croak and coo, all manner of
tone and it is sweet as the summer
tongue growing fat on hand cart ice cream
pops, brisk as the Boston cabbies,
neither here nor there, they are
ever here evermore. They are
inside me, flapper dancing
the pelvis bones, acutely out of
style and carefree, they have me,
the potion's daughter, their invitation
sheer formality. I am in, I am
in, I am deep
at the bottom of the cauldron.
Do you dare consume me? The woman
who gives cancer out freely and lives
to die yet never dies, the sick
anomaly. Can you hear them?
Press your ear
to the flat of my skin. I am
the cast-off shell of the sea,
hollow and rustling – that, there,
that is them – their greedy hands
are chanting, come in, come in,
The Eagle And The BudgieYou can't explain freedom to someone who doesn't know they're caged.The Eagle And The Budgie5 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
What a Tryst: Chapter 1Chapter 1What a Tryst: Chapter 19 months ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
It wasn’t the stale smell of fallen leaves that filled the air--it was the scent of change. I took in a deep breath before I started to walk again. It surprised me how cold it had gotten in the past two weeks. Weather changed quite fast in October--especially here in Boston.
My nerves weren’t helping either with the cold. Stress always made the cold worse for me. So much was on my mind, and the thought of moving into a new place felt overwhelming. I’d be going to a new school and living with new people; I hadn’t had much time to plan for that.
The wind kicked up another patch of leaves; they swirled around in a colorful blend before melding back to the grey pavement a moment later. I checked my phone--1:15 PM. I started to walk a bit faster, the leaves crunching under my feet. The move-in time was 1:00 PM. My poor sense of direction had already gotten me
curiouser and curiouserseventeen years &curiouser and curiouser2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
still chasing white rabbits,
it's no wonder i've never
been in love.
we're all mad here;
no one can find the road to
(i don't know
where to go)
let's fall down a hole.
(i'm just a chrysalis
with no butterfly wings)
off with my head when it
can only imagine nonsense
& clockwork hearts.
give me a cheshire's smile-
i want to know
what it feels like
to be in wonderland.
NautilusINautilus2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the rest of my life should be early
mornings; when God is still sleeping.
I should wake up curled in a corner of the sofa,
pearlescent, like the primordial ammonites.
I follow you every night-
the hunter shooting at the celestial bull,
shimmering crusts of bread through the dimmest lands of passage.
Suggesting a way home.
Home, or across the ocean,
or everywhere under the moon if,
early mornings, when God still sleeps,
I wake up warm in the corner of the sofa,
and you are not an idea anymore.
the rest of my life should be early
mornings; when God is still sleeping.
I should wake up curled in a corner of the sofa,
pearlescent, like the primordial ammonites,
shedding my scales in the wash basin;
to, gleaming, climb back into bed,
turn off the stars.
I shouldn't dream anymore.
A Cloudy June SunriseI had been awakeA Cloudy June Sunrise2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
since rain fell against the window:
exciting the glass
but not disturbing your sleep.
Instead, you woke to the alarm and found me
revising my thoughts on humanity,
our frailty and guts.
You asked if I was okay,
if I needed anything while you were out,
and I answered, "Just some sleep."
Unconvinced, dressing hastily,
you promised to come home earlier than you had
any other day that week.
"I just want you to know
you can bother me with those obsessions
that make you feel evil
or at least a little fucked up,"
you said before leaving, though I can't blame you
for assuming my pessimism.
It is, after all, the disease I came fitted with,
as well as my tongue of choice
when problems convolute,
but that morning
the sky was so beautiful,
and what I needed to tell you was this:
I offer my poetry
as a blatant exhibition of trust
for you, for your curiosity,
because I didn't believe any man
had inherent goodness
until I met you.