The Monkey In MeDeep inside the cracks of my mind lives a monkey.
He has a maraca he likes to shake
And a blanket made of dust.
On bright days I wonder what he does there,
I even consider asking him;
His answer is but a monkeyish laugh
He shakes his maraca at me, mocking my thoughts,
Grins at me, with a smile that misses five teeth.
Then he jumps in joy, cries out, leaps away
He climbs my logic and chips a few pieces
And with them he decorates his house
which he built in my inspiration.
When night falls he tends to rummage
Through the drawers of my mind,
Poking this and poking that.
He never sits still, always playing his game.
Sometimes though he disappears
Into darker corners unheard of.
But upon his return he has found
So much and all of it he will, undoubtedly,
Fill up the shelves of his house with.
When did he come to be, I wonder.
What is he doing in my mind, pray tell!
For how much longer will this baboon taunt me?
I have a monkey inside me you see,
Maybe he's the reason I never sit still,
TumblingAs alone as a raindrop without a place to fallTumbling2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
As silent as a heart without a beat
As hollow as an empty carnival
As wrong as cold without heat
I am incomplete
Drip drop rain on me
Silent flutter wind on sea
As anxious as an innocent prisoner in war
As desperate as a burning feather
As lonely as a tide without a shore
As gruesome as stormy weather
Will there ever be together
Trip trap on the way
Roaring thunder wash away
As restless as a journey without a goal
As hunched as a dying waterfall
As broken as a torn old sole
As dim as a voiceless call
I feel so small
Riff Raff down it goes
Tired gasp the world it froze
19.specks of sand and dirt burrowed themselves19.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
in the scrapes on my knees
as I sought to fly away from there;
amidst my footprints on trampled earth
I learned that forever can be measured
(the sun was cold
stretching my bruised arms towards
them, who look at me as if I am
a pitiful animal, abandoned and rough
yet it was this beast inside me
that taught me always can be measured
(as usual, I'm not going anywhere
“You know everyone has problems.”
a scoffing utterance from my own mind
words that sting as much as the first time
my wounded heart endured them, when
I learned that often can be measured
(the sweetest lies were my own;
I told me to see the bright side;
to not spend my life battered
and bitter, and I pledged to keep my smile
from now on, but all I learnt was
that sometimes can be measured
(in the end,
I still lacked strength)
When I fell after having clung
to that image w
UntitledThere's a jungle on my floorUntitled1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
And an ocean on my bed
No longer can I find the door
Time for my monsters to be fed
Another storm on my table
A little earthquake in the closet
So the grounds become unstable
Time's up for me - the rules are set
Walls shiver quivering waves
Thoughts, dreams cover space
Windows blur with cumulus caves
As billowing blinds paint a face
Life and wonder clash at bay
Beating breath be upon my soul
My drawers prey to slow decay
Escape, as is my every goal
cR a zYHer outbursts of deafening laughtercR a zY2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Bounced and hurled around
Her 'special' white room
As she rocked back and forth
Hitting the soft pillow like walls
Making the sleeves of her too tight jacket
Move with a similar rhythmic motion
But what stood out the most were her eyes
Even though they sometimes were hidden
By her untamed mass of dirt brown hair
Her bright midnight blue eyes shine brightly
She did not see the white room
Nor did she feel the suffocating pressure of the room
Instead she saw and felt a soft field of green grass
And a little black kitten with amber eyes
That would bat at a delicate butterfly
That carried the starry sky upon its blue wings
She felt the cool spring breeze and gazed
At the quickly fading sunset
That sprouted colors you could never captured
Even she, herself knew that she was crazy
But she no longer cared
She no longer wished to try and grasp
The flimsy string that connected people to reality
And all that came with it
Despite that she was crazy
And no one wo
HopeHope is just the liesHope2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I tell myself
Hope tells me tomorrow
Will be better then today
So I don't cry myself to sleep
Hope whispers that next time
I'll do things right
When I only make it worse
Hope says that everything will be alright
When I know it won't be
Hope promises that there is a perfect
Person for me and that one day
I'll find that person
Hope shouts that one day
I'll do great things
And will always be rememebered
So that I'll never truely die
Hope sings of a better place
When there isn't one
Hope mocks that it could be worse
But most of the time
I'd do anything to not be me
Hope is merely a lie
But that's okay
Because a lot of things are lies
ShatteredI wished to return with dignity.Shattered2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
How to......get people to leave you alone on public transportations.How to...2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
1. Carry around a good amount of empty alcohol bottles. Pretend to take a sip every time someone gets close.
2. Bring your uncontrollable pet monkey. Make him angry.
3. Eat something smelly. Sigh loudly as you swallow.
4. Cough in a nasty manner as you are being approached.
5. Lie on all of the seats and yell: “Taken!” when people want to sit down.
6. Talk to your imaginary friend about how you wish you could kill all papayas. Since everyone knows papayas are evil
7. Pretend to be in a heated discussion on the phone. If necessary use a made up language and throw in words such as “detonator”, “blast”, “die”, “a few seconds left.”
8. Practice for the upcoming opera in which you play the role of the dying horse.
9. Bring a cactus. Argue with it about the distance it is keeping in your relationship.
10. Build a fort made of suitcases. Th
HealI spend my days in thinking, andHeal2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
My nights in whimpered pain
I rise to work, but Lord, it hurts
To live this day again
I soothe my wounds with Empathy
Their faces make me feel
That somewhere in this brutal world
There is a chance to heal
I never was the strongest one
My words were never bold
But when the crowd had cast them out
My arms were theirs to hold
My heart was theirs to whisper to
And love, each time you cry
I'm here to wipe each fragile tear
And taste each wounded sigh
I spend my days in waking up
To pain that never fades
But there are lessons to be learned
And words to soothe my days
I feel I've never given much
But now I see the truth
The one thing that I cherished was
The love I gave to you
... Somewhere in this world
There is a chance to heal
I love you all
Prejudiced FutureDisappearing behind the barren mountains, the sun strengthened once again to plunge the surrounding wasteland into a reddish glow. Thunder echoed in the distance herding a wall of gathering clouds, it smelled of rain.Prejudiced Future1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
Lowering her head again, the lonesome girl continued to pursue the stony path. Her petite body was enveloped in a holey potato sack, cobbled together hopelessly out of a few animal hides. Barely enough to cover all parts of her dirty skin, or provide sufficient protection from the harsh weather, the rags hampered her pace even further by dangling into her tread now and then.
Stumbling forward barefooted on the cracked, drought-torn earth, her march had transformed into a shuffle, the aching, exhausted legs were unable to carry the weight much further. She consoled herself as she passed some dead trees swaying their twiggy, bald branches in the rising wind. The strange creaking noise, caused by the brittle wood, forced the traveler to concentrate on the way ahead, while wr
Ignotus IIgnotus I2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
little, hurtful words
strung on a necklace of
and set against the wind
to be hammered at by
slaps and storms
so fruitful since her day of birth
and this sun-lit girl
wept and prayed
on her tire swing
"Please, God. Give me a smile."
colored bits of glass
smashed in a puddle of
and washed away in tides
to be forgotten, steadily,
by those who knew, yet did nothing
so compassionate, this world
and this one, small girl
this evanescent fairy
wept and prayed
and her tears doomed her
for she knew not
that ignorance was
Why?Why are we here?Why?2 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Why do we walk upon this cursed earth?
What is out purpose?
What is it within us that drives us?
What makes us do what we do?
What do we live for?
Is it wealth?
What makes us get out of bed in the morning?
Even if our lives are good or great
Even if out lives lie with the rats in the gutter
We all wake up every morning and we do our little routines
Every day it is the same, tired old things
But for what purpose?
For what reason?
Everyday HeroesZoom ZOOMEveryday Heroes1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Here to save the day
Now all eyes on us
Our hair's untidy hay
We need to catch the bus
Angels we are not
(too clumsy, honestly)
But wings we got!
And have a family.
Capes are handmade
And wooden swords
We come to your aid
On our skateboards
We might look funny
Might not be fearless
Might not have money
Might be a tad careless
But we do what we can
Changing the world is the plan.
The Normal LifeHe had forgotten how good it looked on him. Domenic was wearing his elegant suit, the one he had bought a few years back for his sister's wedding. He had never gotten to wear it.The Normal Life2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The suit had cost him a lot, and he was glad that it still fit him as perfectly as it had when he bought it. Looking at himself in the mirror he corrected his tie once more with satisfaction. For another moment or so he looked at his reflection, unsure if he was arrogant or if this feeling of empowerment was normal. Domenic was surprised when he caught himself smiling, and he quickly turned away.
His new shoes still smelled of unused leather as he put them on. Not more than a week ago he had bought them for himself, after deciding it was time for a change. Domenic had told no one about his decision, which made it even more special.
Grinning, and with growing anticipation, he took his work equipment and stepped outside. As the door fell shut on his spacious apartment he let out a small, satisfied sigh before wa
De-Titled (A Love Story)I didn’t know what to call this story. I found that “Untitled” didn’t quite fit, in a sticky wetsuit kind of way. Besides, calling a piece of art “Untitled” is like calling it “So Good It Can’t Be Titled.” In the end, I took away the title altogether. After all, what is this story about? It’s a simple story, a story about a boy and a girl; it’s the story of a street, the story of a summer. The street was Montrose and the summer was sweltering.De-Titled (A Love Story)1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Every story has a beginning. At the very least, let me tell you mine.
My name is Leah Smith, which is probably one of the most boring names of all time. So, every time someone asks for my name, I tell them that I am Liesl Olivetti, which makes me sound foreign and retro, and not boring in the least. The name also fits my overall appearance better. See, one day, I decided that I wanted to be an artiste, so I went out to dye my hair pink
The Weary Traveler and the Girl Who Fell.A study in grief and unity.The Weary Traveler and the Girl Who Fell.2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Opening the door I found the monster I had drawn pictures of in my mind, but he had quite a bigger jaw than I had imagined.
They call this a processa journeyand say that there will be missteps and stumbles along the way, but I feel I might have to claw my way across the ground before I can even hope to have missteps. They don't tell you that there's a good chance you'll fall right out of the starting gate, and the soil in your mouth tastes gritty and bitter. Bruised knees. Bloodied elbows. Breathe the scent of earth and lie there, hoping to God that someone comes back and realizes you're not moving along. It rains. It's cold. Trying, trying to get some strength to pick myself up off the ground, but everything hurts and it's so cold and I want to go home. Home is with you, but you're not here.
And as I lie there, eyes closed and mind tired, I hear cautious footsteps. A gentle hand on my back and the soft whisper of, "It's okay." An understa
Intergenerationali.Intergenerational2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I scribbled unicorns for my mother
and colored in mandala patterns
for my father,
but rarely got an extra glance
for my artistic endeavors.
I put them on my bedroom walls
instead of our blank white refrigerator,
where I could be proud of myself
(since no one would be so for me).
He’s late on the first day
of class, and I’m not sure
what I’m getting into. It’s the only class
that takes the full hour and a half
and doesn’t even touch the syllabus.
The room is too large for us;
he swings an arm and invites us all closer
before diving right into the first book
of the semester.
I still don’t know what I’m getting into,
but I know I’m going to have fun.
is my middle name.
But he always says hello
when I’m in the department,
and I wonder when I started
becoming so noticeable.
Sometimes he calls me “kiddo,”
and I’m always startled.
I’m not used to being nicknamed
though I suppose I am a kid
GambleShe grips the slot machine lever like he grips his gun.Gamble2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
With a whispered prayer.
"One more try," she breathes, "and I'll strike it rich." She stares at the pulsing machine as the shapes begin to spin.
"One more day," he whispers, "I have enough in me for one more day." He lowers the weapon back into the drawer and drives to work.
StopNo chance.Stop2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I pull my gaze away from the window.
Gray on paper,
but the words won't come.
Seems like I've said it all a thousand times.
I've given this heartbeat
plenty of chances to whisper
the truth to the pen
to the paper
to the notes
to the keys
but the words won't come.
Thoughts aren't always enough.
Sometimes they're just
swirls in the margins.
Poetry swiftly becomes melody,
And they all whisper
And I whisper back,
no, she d
Promise off a million stars"A million..."Promise off a million stars2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Yes a million stars... perhaps there are more. You know what they remind me of?"
"What of it...?"
"You know, I shall give you a million present-"
"Oh stop it!" She giggled "There is no way-"
"What if... I do?"
"Hmm... well I won't like that"
"Huh? Why not?"
"You see, if you give me a million presents together, there won't be anything to give on my next birthday. So give them slowly..."
"Hmm... just one big present every birthday?"
She giggled again and traced the ground with her little fingers while
ConsumedYou gave me a waterfall.Consumed2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Pouring across my shoulders
over my waist
it seems to wash away
Maybe that's just because
I don't understand you. I still
throw myself i
i'm sorryI'm sorry that I love you.i'm sorry3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm sorry that I care.
I'm sorry that it breaks my heart,
When I find you standing there.
I'm sorry that I crack a joke,
Then check to see if you smile.
I'm sorry that you flatter my heart,
And make it stop, for a while.
I'm sorry that I want too much,
And that I want what I do not need.
I'm sorry that by loving you,
My need is encouraged by my greed.
And I have to say, I am sorry,
That I don't love you in the right way.
I'm sorry you only love me enough,
That you have the heart to stay.
I'm sorry that I dream of you
In the middle of the night.
And when the night grows darker still,
I'm sorry you are my light.
I'm sorry that I love your eyes.
I'm sorry I can't let that go.
I'm sorry that I love your laugh,
I'm sorry you don't even know.
But most of all, I'm sorry to say,
That all that I've said is true.
I'm sorry to say, that after all this,
I am sorry I still love you.
Stories of feelings with no names i.Stories of feelings with no names2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The feeling you get the day after sending a letter, and you know there is no possible way that the recipient has received your message, let alone formulated time to write a reply. You still get just a little hopeful when you hear the mailman drive by. You rush out to the postbox a little too quickly and are disappointed by the pile of free coupons, bills, charity flyers, and a late Christmas card from Grandma Moses.
A sudden awareness that occurs during funerals that you are going to die. You are dying right now – your cells are shedding like snakeskin scales and your hair is turning silver and every moment is one less than before. You will never know which moment is the last one because you won’t be around to count the grains in your hourglass– and, somehow, this knowledge both sharpens and dulls the grief of saying goodbye, like a blade that loses all effectiveness once it’s already