How My Business WorksHow My Business Works3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
My business works because it's actually not a business. And by this I mean I hardly make any money with my pictures. For me photography is not a way to make money but to invest money, and I work several other jobs to be able to pay for my art. I'm a tour guide on waste to energy plants and wastewater treatment facilities, I'm a concierge at the house I'm living, I work as a Photoshop instructor and on weekends I take care of the library of the University.
Sometimes people say to me: I can hardly believe you're not making money with your photos because they are better than the work of many professional photographers.
Of course it's flattering when somebody says something like that even if I don't always agree. But here's the thing: the very reason why I'm able to work on this level is because I don't have to make money with my pictures. If you're a photographer who wants to make a living out of it you are forced to do things differently. You have to focus on what your customers like and
When Two Poets MeetIt's a dangerous thing when two poets meet.When Two Poets Meet7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Words like fire on tongues so sweet.
Poetry rains down in emotions still flowing.
Hearts on sleeves for the worlds full knowing.
Words like spells holding hearts so fast.
Enraptured by thoughts that forever do last.
Burning and churning for what we cannot see.
Seeking to find what we cannot be.
Loathing and loving all that we've been given.
Unabashed and morose at the thought of this sin.
Words like a sweet poison aching to find
a heart like your own on the other side.
No more truth can be known, we are helpless to cede.
It's a dangerous thing when two poets meet...
Real You and Fake MeReal You and Fake MeReal You and Fake Me2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Who are you? Is that something you can really answer? Throughout your nomadic existence you could never truly answer that question. You are like clay; you can mold yourself into whatever you please in order to fool the common masses. I envy that power of yours. You make yourself flawless, proper, and intelligent. Without effort you can put anyone into your indefinite maze of shape and size. As someone such as myself, I can’t fathom the mysteries within that sealed heart of yours. Can you be someone real anymore? Continuously molding yourself must be tiring… and painful. Even when you do this, your ever changing personally always draws the undesirables out. Is that a good thing? I suppose it is. As you have lost the will to carry on with humanity, you’ve lost the twinkle of your heart. The love of humanity you once held dear has ceased before it began, and you were in pain even before you knew what that was.
Who am I? I can’t answer that any
Expensive LiesI sit and stare at the toilet bowl.Expensive Lies1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
A guy I know is bulimic.
When we compliment him
I see the twist of agony in his eyes
as his brain reprograms it
to sound like an expensive lie
that costs him another tear
in his tattered dignity.
Friends hurry to him,
to reassure him, to love him.
They tell him how beautiful he is.
We didn't know him before,
but he's definitely not fat now.
We whisper things in concern like;
body dysmorphic disorder.
'I know you'll never believe me
but you are so gorgeous -
not just on the inside.' Not just.
And they're right, I join in,
because they are right to say it
because it happens to be true -
he is stunning. Not just on the outside.
And we want him to see himself
the way we see him, beautiful.
And I join in because
I've felt that strangle of pain
in my stomach, bowels and belly,
when someone used to tell me lies.
So I know how he feels.
Only, he is beautiful on the outside
and I'm not.
He's not seeing reality in the mirror
and I am.
And people rush to correc
GordianWound and bound,Gordian3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Constricting my breathing,
Tightly, oh tightly.
Challengers come, all ye with nimble fingers -
Tied cunningly, these ropes, my hopes have died.
Through the knot I can view
Little, so little.
Wound and bound
Chords and I wait calmly for the sword.
Circus: The Bearded WomanI do not conform,Circus: The Bearded Woman2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
this is not by choice but by condition.
When people look at me
they see a freak, a travesty
As do I
but not for the same reasons as them.
Those who gawp
and gape and grunt
gruesome words at me.
They see my wiry beard
affixed to my delicate jaw and cheeks;
they laugh and laugh
and laugh at The Bearded Lady.
They see imperfection
on such a superficial irrelevant level
as they spin me in my cage
to get a better look
at my flaws.
Hair growing on my face
doesn't make me broken, or damaged.
The cysts do;
popping tiny kernels in my ovaries
and flushing hormones through me
these are the things I worry about
while others mock me for my features -
and take photos for mementos
of their time at the circus.
I don't care about the beard
I care about the children,
bearded or otherwise, I'll never have,
and the ache for their limbs
entangled in my arms,
their breath on my skin.
Who cares about a preconceived --
( unable to conceive ? )
- notion of beauty
Intergalactic travellerBeyondIntergalactic traveller3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I wish to travel where we cannot yet go,
beyond our world to where time is slow -
discover new enlightened spheres,
I long to see that which is not here.
Somewhere yonder - awe and wonder,
Life that is not crumbling asunder.
Awareness awaiting the human race,
unrevealed secrets, in outer space.
Our own existence, still not conceived.
Outward bound gazing, I verily believe;
Residing in a vastness, old and grown,
surely I tell you, we are not alone
Beauty of the Dusty RoseBeauty of the Dusty Rose7 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Upon the iron table,
Within the dusty room,
There lay a rose so feeble,
She merely awaited her doom.
No sunlight broke the darkness,
No windows offered air,
The room itself, did reek of death,
Of sorrow and despair.
The floor would creak, had it the chance,
But no one dare comes near;
For what purpose would one sneak,
Beneath the devil's lair?
The rose had surely suffered,
Under the darkness and the dust,
The love that she once ushered
Was only beautiful lust.
And so she sat in waiting,
Bleeding out her heart,
Her love had turned to hating,
And her beauty fell apart.
Locked within her darkness,
She awaited her true light,
Though no one's come to save her,
She's riddled with delight.
For though she lays, alone and cold,
Beneath the devil's lair,
She feels at ease, and even pleased,
For her demons don't know she's there.
Wasted YearsWhoever you're with and wherever you areWasted Years2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Inside your head or infinitely far
Despite all our distance
Despite all your fear
Always remember that I am still here.
Wherever you're going, whatever you've done
Broken a heart, or blacked out the sun
Despite all my hatred
Despite all your pain
Never forget that you drove me insane.
Whenever you're lonely, whenever you die
No matter how often you stop and ask why
Despite all the darkness
Despite all we've done
Always remember that I'm not the one.
Whoever you've loved and whoever you'll break,
Alone in the darkness when you lie awake
Despite twisted nightmares
Despite wasted years
Never forget that you once dried my tears.
To My Younger SelfDear Little Lili,To My Younger Self4 years ago in Letters More Like This
Never try to cut your own hair. God or genetics or the fates (whatever we'll eventually prefer) blessed us with many skills, but coordination is not one of them. For this reason avoid any sport that requires contact with others. You'll save a few broken bones.
Read everything. Books will be better friends to you than most people, but that is because they are humanity distilled - all of the beauty and none of the beast. Love them accordingly.
Touch the barbs of velvet-petal roses before you inhale their perfume. Get used to the way blood wells, then rolls across the ridges in your skin. Emotions are not so different. You cannot cross through this life without a few scars, but you can prepare yourself for the pain.
Love the people you meet. This will be so easy for you now, while you are young and see the world so clearly. With time, grime will slowly creep into your vision - a cancer of the heart and soul that medicine has yet to diagnose.
Hold on to the words from the
WhiteShe sat at her marble desk with her sharp elbows forming another series of angles within the clean outline of the room. Her dark hair was a shock against the cynically white walls, painted so precisely to imitate a lack of colour, the room was markedly White. Except for the strikes of chrome down the walls that constituted pipeworks all was white except her. She stood out, but with such intent that all who visited this office knew to feel uncomfortable at once.White1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
To Force a TearsheddingTo Force a Tear10 months ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
drowning eyes until dead
when emotions are doused
notion to cry
unheard of theory
when eyes stutter dry
weak and weary
force a tear force a frown
in the end is too hard now
when elbows scraped
when earth would quake
nightmares kept us up
we would cry
hold our teddy
hold our pillow
hold our mama
hold our daddy
we are big girls and boys now
tears were taken away
and now we harbor desert pain
Sandman visits to soak our tears
while we sleep
when life come to focus
no more kaleidoscope eyes
we all weep inside
The Monologue of a Girl Who's Seen Too MuchMy name is Hayley Jordans. Hail to some, Hayley to most. Jordans to Leese.The Monologue of a Girl Who's Seen Too Much2 years ago in Settings More Like This
Who am I? Patience my friend. If I had no intention of telling you my story, I would not be talking to you right now. My story. Sounds so unreal. A story is something you tell children to help them sleep at night.
Are you willing to risk nightmares to hear what I have to say?
You don't scare easily do you?
Well, if this is a story, I guess we shall start at the beginning. My old life. I have disassociated myself with those years. But I guess I have that time to thank for getting me here today. Without those years I would not be here. I may have been happier. I wouldn't be as scarred for sure. But the world would still be blind and scrabbling in its own filth.
I'm getting ahead of myself. I was born - gosh that sounds so cliché - into a modest family in Bow Road, London. I wasn't disadvantaged. In fact, I was much better off than a lot of people in the country. My parents were obviously supporters of
Hate is a BeastHate is a beast that hides withinHate is a Beast2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Full of bile and fractured sin
It reeks of smoke and brimstone death
Growling viciously with every breath
Beware, beware oh innocent one
This beast can be inside anyone
Don’t watch the smile, the smile lies
Look deeply, deeply into the eyes
And even then you cannot be sure
This beast is cunning and has allure
Many have died within its embrace
This monster behind a very kind face
My only advice is politically incorrect
But would you rather reap regret?
Trust must be earned and seen very clear
Innocent? No, not until proven my dear
Shadow of the Colossus poemHear this the tale of a lost soulShadow of the Colossus poem2 years ago in Romance More Like This
Long live he, the Wanderer and his steed Arbhach
For they ventured past the transcending bridge
Into the valley of the shadow of the colossi
Entered he the halls of stone, and bartered with Dormin
"Pledge thee, in return for thine bidding, the maiden's life shall be returned"
And Dormin spoke
"Verily, it shalt be done. But the price to pay shall be heavy"
By Dormin's command he pledged to vanquish
The sixteen gods of stone
In the hopes that his maiden's life
A promise only possible in the Valley of the Shadow of the Colossi
With Arbhach his steed, and siúinéir solais his sword,
And love strengthening his will
He ventured and fought these God's of Stone
Attacking at the mharc ar an clocha Dia
But the price was heavy indeed
For these sixteen were portions of a single whole
But the Wanderer knew not
Aye, that Dormin once was a Damned God
Overwhelmed by the Wanderer's Clan
Shattered into sixteen pieces
He was spread to the eight e
2.Play with heartstrings enough... they'll snap.2.1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Played Kingdom Hearts Too MuchYou Know You Play Too Much Kingdom Hearts When...Played Kingdom Hearts Too Much7 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
#1: You start to use your house keys to beat up people that you don't like.
#2: You went and got your hair spiked just like Sora's.
#3: You re-watch every Disney movie you own just so you'll get the references.
#4: You re-play every Final Fantasy you own just so you'll get the references.
#5: You start calling the people that you don't like 'Heartless'.
#6: They actually know what you are talking about.
#7: You cried when you couldn't beat Sephiroth for the millionth time.
#8: You screamed like a maniac when you finally beat him.
#9: And you are content to never fight him again, because once was enough for a lifetime.
#10: You cried like a baby at the end of the first game when Sora and Kairi were separated.
#11: You know the Theme Songs by heart. (Even the Japanese version even though you may or may not speak Japanese)
#12: You got upset at the first game because they only showed Mickey Mouse for about two seconds at the end.
You Forget.Doors close and sometimes they don't openYou Forget.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and you might be trapped in a dark room
but that doesn't mean that there isn't any light outside
It's a shame to see you go, I don't want to forget you
But everything's forgotten in the end
the feeling fades and soon you can't remember the day
or the month
or the year
much less the moment.
You forget, and that's humanity's tragic downfall.
It won't be long now, it won't be long until you're gone
but I'm begging you not to go
Please don't go, please don't leave before it's started
You're floating away and it's not fair,
nothing about this is fair
and my heart is shattering and splintering
and I can't grasp the pieces quickly enough
I can't gather them all
But maybe a piece will get stuck with you
and then you can take care of it from wherever you are
(I hope it's nice there, please let it be nice.)
so I guess that's okay
It won't be long now, it won't be long until you're gone
And I won't forget you
One Who Masters Magic: Ch. 17One Who Masters Magic: Ch. 172 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Loss in Victory
It is theoretically possible for magic to not just counter magic, but to completely nullify it. However, in all my years of research and experience, I have not yet encountered any form of magic that actually nullifies another. Wards, counterspells, and other defenses merely use one spell to redirect another away from the caster.
— Using Ice Against Fire by Wizard Yygran
City of Kubei,
Angvardi Province of Kutiim
Syler remained with Bronwyn for another fifteen minutes hoping she would come out of whatever state she was in and say something more. When it was clear she was not going to say anything, he reluctantly got up and walked over to where Growald was conferring with Tald and some others to see what was going on. When he approached, the sergeant motioned him forward with a gesture of his hand and gave him a smile that was as happy as he had ever seen the man wear. "Welcome, my friend. Today
Who Am I?They're bashing it so fiercely into our skullsWho Am I?2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
That it's embedded into our minds
In a mechanical rhythm of screwing and molding
Etching the same exact words into our flesh
Over and over and over
Until we bleed
And until it pulses through our veins
Through our arteries, becomes one with our oxygen,
And becomes all we know
Even if we despise it
By repeating and repeating and repeating
It will be meshed into our brains
And become us
And there lies the sleeping dog
I can't tell who I am anymore
Because they're constantly scribbling their thoughts
Onto the blank pages that we are
So many colors are dripping off my skin
And I don't know where they came from
I can't distinguish what has been mashed into me
Again and again and again
From what I created with my own two hands
And it's ironic
I don't even know
Who I am
half-priced whoremaybe in fifty years,half-priced whore2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
she will stop feeling his finger-shaped bruises
on her hips and arms.
stop hearing his words—you think you can stop me, little girl?—
in every passing "are you okay?".
stop feeling the wind like a ghost of his acid breath
on the back of her neck
beautiful, beautiful, beautiful little girl.
maybe fifty thousand dove soap bars later
and too many scalding showers
and dusty baby blankets and days spent lying in bed,
looking up at the water stained ceiling,
will be enough to leave the man
on the corner of anderson street and rosa parks avenue
right where she never wanted to find him.
just ask her, she knows first hand
that worlds don't end in bangs but
she knows what it's like to die with a fist
over your mouth and fear in your nostrils.
pretend she is made out of ashes and paper thin words—mourn
the loss of her innocence, her freedom, her control.
cast her out into the ocean to dissolve among the waves,
find her a god dirty enough
If We Would Only LoveIf We Would Only Love As HE Wants Us ToIf We Would Only Love3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Our Spirits Would Soar Our Souls Renew
Then Mankind Would See A Better Life
Void Of Evil Greed And Strife
The World Would Be A Beautiful Place To Live
If We Would Only Learn To Give
Instead We Take And Desire Of Things
Not Blessed By HIM Who Love Did Bring
HE Came And Said My Brother Man
Accept This Gift From The Golden Lamb
Some Did Listen To The Words HE Said
Others Did Laugh And Turned Their Head
As They Nailed HIM To A Cross Of Wood
Still HE Blessed Them As Only HE Could
The Years Have Passed Since That Holy Day
When HE Walked The Earth Taking Sin Away
If We Would Only Love As HE Wants Us To
Then Our Spirits Would Soar Our Souls Renew
SeptemberThe summer was so hotSeptember6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
the dogs stuck to the sidewalks
with the newspapers
and the black metal cans
everyone left waiting on the curb.
You could smell it
in the glass pitchers
on table tops,
and the sheets that never
dried on the clothes lines;
the canvas beach bags
mothers dragged wearily
across the sand
and the ice cream trucks
melting across the highways.
Children felt it open
up the windows at night
and find a corner
of the bed to smother,
while fathers baited it on hooks
or mowed it down
in flat, dry stripes
as if begging each other
And the crickets just hummed
beneath the corn silk
and the dry mouth
daring the cats to play
hide and seek -
searching for September.