because sometimesbecause sometimes my heart just gets too heavy,because sometimes5 years ago in Open More Like This
so full-to-bursting heavy with the knowledge of what your fingertips looked like in the whisper-wet dew of that morning.
i obsess over details too much, maybe.
but then I start to think: what if & what then & sounds like & maybe someday & definitely never & how could you & why cant i
[ why cant i ? ]
you asked, "how could it end this way" and i answered back, "the stars are smiling this morning." but the words never reached your ears because they never made it out of my heart.
it ended this way, but aren't endings just clichéd beginnings in a warped out fairy tale, it-only-gets-better-after-its-been-worse sort of way?
i cant decide whether or not to break your heart.
"Somewhere" Someday when I'm somewhere I want to be a someone, a Somebody. But right now my Somewhere is in the middle of nowhere, Saskatchewan, Canada. A nowhere I did not capitalize."Somewhere"4 years ago in Emotional More Like This
My somewhere is a field of wheat, or was it barley? Some farm girl I make. I had just run away, the grain so high everyone pranced like idiots, from a group of three. I ran away with a smile on my face to disappear. I felt so mischievous.
In my somewhere it's the middle of the night, a night a little too bright because the moon is big and fully round. So bright we could not see some of the stars. I ran in green sandal wedges, leaving a faint trail of stalks I had fallen. I felt so strange as I ran. Then I myself fell. And giggled. I felt so happy and empty. But he found me.
Yes, "He" found me. And we felt so alone, so alone with walls around us and stars above. Where not even the wind reached us. I
Blood- Stained LoveBlood- Stained Love3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Your beautiful eyes; big bowls of hazel nuts.
Chocolate skin, covered in ugly black cuts.
Watching as your blood falls like rain to the ground.
Blood, spreading on the floor, into a puddle so round.
Do you want to die?
Limp and cold, while we suffer?
All I ever did was try.
But it was never enough; things got tougher.
With tears streaming down our cheeks we stared.
I don't think you really cared.
I remember that day, it all started with Italy saying "Ve-Meow"
Book Of Lies Lamant Of A RequiemBook Of Lies3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Through A Crying Shadow So,
Tell Me The Truth
Through Insanity Over And
Over Like a
Angel Beating His Wings
And Radiant Fellings
So Tell Me
Miss Papillon....Hello,Miss Papillon....4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My name is Miss Papillon
I am the "strange" girl in the eyes of others
But, typical for me
With very colorful laughter
that doesn't run from childish games
I knew beauty
And lost it
Children used to call me "corpse".
I shed black tears
And lost all the so-called friends
Now I see myself beautiful again
Beautiful because of the colored laughter,
Cause of my childish games
Although I am 23 years old.
I am a fighter for moving mountains from my way
To not avoid them
A dreamer, although I have no wings
I believe I can fly
Smart because I haven't believed those who've called me crazy
I am special,
Fantastic's and stories I would like to be my world
Where everything that's beautiful you can come true.
But I've created my own stories;
Stories where people looked for me
Where I broke gardens, or a door
Or maybe a room was burning!
Now ... now they're funny to me
Adventure and horror stories
Where I fought
For me, with me
With evil people, with demons,
The false, false
Shooting StarThey say the star has fallenShooting Star3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and is now so far away
I say the star is shooting
showing us the way
Dear BP:When my family took our annual vacation to Orange Beach in Alabama this week, we were astounded by the change. The once-snowy sand is now brown, and when the waves retreat, bold coppery arcs of oil remain. By some chance of luck there is not enough oil in the water to be readily visible on top, not enough to severely damage our avian life, but in the shallows the whitecaps foam brown. For the first time in a lifetime of forgetting normal life at our beach, double red flags fly as far as one can look down the shore, and infinite miles farther. For the first time in a lifetime of Frisbee on the sand, we ran to the waves to cool down, but were arrested by foul brown water. A shell colored blush and cream that I plucked from the tossing waves had a tarball stuck to the side, and left my hand slick with oil.Dear BP:4 years ago in Letters More Like This
In the morning I went out to the balcony to watch the sunrise over the gently rushing waves, to listen to the sound that has soothed me for a lifetime. Forty-plus ships obscured the wav
i tried.do you remember:i tried.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
we were seven years old.
it was the year mom got us
identical haircuts and no one
could tell us apart. i found a
little brown mouse living in
the bushes off by the fence in
our back yard, a mouse with a
twisted leg and tragic eyes and
a smile so wide it made me
smile back. i bundled it up in my
skirt and smuggled it into our
bedroom. i made it a nest out of
feathers and whispered secrets
beneath my bed and fed it bits of
cheese. i named it kiffy and i told
it all the dreams i can no longer
recall, breathing insecurities into
its matted coat when you weren't
home. when you found me holding
it that afternoon, you pinky swore
you wouldn't tell. you did anyway,
and mom poured a tiny saucer of
rat poison while i cried and beat my
fists against her arm. i trusted you
and you killed my confidant.
do you remember:
it was the summer after sixth grade.
we bought our first bikinis at the
store where you bought your prom
dress sophomore year. mine was
pink and too small. yours was
BeforeYou wept into my dashboard and told meBefore2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
All your fears of living
And how the mountains towered over you
And made you feel so small.
So I drove you to the sea-side, where you saw
An emerald-blue forever that you cowered from,
Demanding less of an eternity, and so
We visited rivers that wound too tightly,
Fields emptier than you had imagined, and
Forests darker than you could bear.
Caverns were too deep, deserts all too dry,
And all of life wasn't good enough for
someone like you.
A Hole In TomorrowTrembling in the rain,A Hole In Tomorrow1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
My timid eyes peeked
From behind my knees,
Curling up in a vain,
Pathetic attempt to escape
The cold air and
The cold glares
Of the pompous
I can only wonder why,
Why do they wander by
With such calloused eyes?
At the end of the day
I'm empty handed.
I breathe a sigh,
And put it behind me.
I'm living on time borrowed.
I'll try again tomorrow.
SinkingRecently I've been sinkingSinking2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Like a stone into a pond
Having skimmed across the surface
Of life for far too long
Please may I have a new heart
Along with a new mind
I cannot reverse this feeling
No, I'm sorry, not this time
Recently I've been sinking
Into myself like quicksand
No one sees as it swallows me
Each grain a mislaid plan
Please may I crawl inside your love
Mingle hearts until the end
I cannot reverse this feeling
No, I'm sorry, not again
Recently I've been sinking
Such an overused metaphor
But one which is cathartic
When choosing to explore
That I could save you my love
And in time you could save me
As fear and loneliness will dissolve
Doused in our empathy
Poignant LiteratureStructure is for squares.Poignant Literature5 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Boundaries are not for me.
Take THAT, Mr. Haiku.
SpiceI taste like lemon zest.Spice3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The air around me swirls with cinnamon and cardamom,
My irises have flecks of tangy-sweet caraway seed embedded in every streak of yellow.
I am six years old, or maybe seven, standing in the kitchen over a bubbling, flowered white pot on our rusty yellow stove. I clutch a wooden spoon in one hand and a fistful of thyme in the other, which I then drop into the pot, flinching from the resulting splash of hot water. I stir once, then hop down from the blue-painted wooden chair I am using for a perch and run to the spice drawer. Mustard seed, paprika, and cumin are mixed in my spice-dusted palm, then brushed off into the pot. A pile of cloves join them soon after and rest on the top of my multicoloured stew like floating candles.
His name is Zeke, short for nothing. He owns three pairs of blue jeans, splattered with paint, and he is in love with colours more than me. He carries a paintbrush in his back pocket at all times, as though at any moment he could b
ScarsScars4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Every scar has a tale
Just waiting to be told
A story of some sort behind it all
That scar on your hand?
Well that was the day we got the cat
But really all I want to know is about the one
Yes that one the one you keep hidden
The one that cannot be seen but is felt
One you say its not as bad as it seems
Give yourself a chance to open up
It'll get brighter if you do
So take that chance to break free
Let everyone know who you are
And what you want to be
Hoping on tomorrowMy eyes darkHoping on tomorrow2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and filled with sarrow
Maybe I'll be okay tomorrow
Really, go! Leave me be.
Damn it. Be free of me
there is nothing you can do
It's all my fault
It's all in my head
The world it spins
Nothing but a sheet
That I hide underneath
Lying here still
Held by my will
Not wanting to let it all out
But longing to shout
But I keep it inside
Trying to hide
I'll shut it away
Keep it at bay
While now I'm filled with sorrow
Maybe I'll be better tomorrow.
Speaking for the treesFrom the tree topsSpeaking for the trees3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I can see it all so clearly
The ripples fading further
a tip-toe and a stolen kiss
Outside the hive where we have wandered.
Speaking for the trees,
We stand taller now than ever before
Not to see the writing,
but to hear the whispers
behind closed doors.
and touched what I thought was the sun
and noticed it was just beyond my fingertips
but my tiny hand is warmed
by two lips
and that became more important to me
than any sun could be.
Speaking for the trees
Some have made their homes in me
climbed inside my head
behind my eyes
opened the door to my soul
He said he saw a sunset burning through the canopy
of endless time
Hanging like leaves
having held on through a strong wind
What Becomes of the Introvert?What becomes of the renegadesWhat Becomes of the Introvert?2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and their late-night ways?
What has solitude earned them
that others might envy?
A friendship with the stars?
A kinship with the moon?
Who are those aloof few
who discern the abstract?
They are the introverts.
They tinker and toy as they toil,
burning their midnight oil for an idea.
They are the shy minority,
the mysterious, lost in solemn thought,
solving all the world's problems
as if it were no trouble at all.
How do they survive?
How do they endure
in an extroverted world,
which cares more for the unreserved?
They feed on knowledge
and thrive on philosophy,
They need no approval
and ask for no attention.
They are the untiring dreamers,
the silent creators of invention.
So be kind to the expert thinkers,
those taciturn sages,
for without the introverts' work,
how would humanity have made it?
L'ombre de ton ombre(English version below)L'ombre de ton ombre3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Une brise printanière passe. Sous la douce Aurore, des souvenirs bourgeonnent, et tes regards de bleuet...
La saison de notre amour.
Parmi les échos dans ma tête, ta voix y résonne. Comme si j'avais grandi près de toi, à t'apprendre petit à petit
J'aimerais te faire rire.
J'arrache de ta garde-robe quelques fragments de ton être. La douceur du coton, du lin, et de la laine m'enivre
Doux parfum de tes habits.
La perfection de tes courbes et le désir qui en émane réveillent en moi des sentiments encore inconnus
Un péché vivant.
Marchant comme si tu étais porté par le mistral, ta démarche est puissante et virile
Retourne-toi, je suis là.
This Empty Page.For here still lies this empty pageThis Empty Page.3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
No strokes of love nor scrawls of rage
Of yellowed white in candlelight
It speaks of naught but dust and age.
Fingerprints do smudge its face
Of tender touch when I would trace
Crisp cut edges long since frayed
While words of love within me stayed.
For now my eyes reflect its fate
Love bloomed within but spoke too late
And though frail fingers grip my quill
This ghostly page is empty still.
Whispered feelings lost to night
As phantom thoughts waltz out of sight
Failed; my heart in it's crimson cage
For here still lies this empty page...
Sous-boisDans le torrent de pierresSous-bois2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Sèchent les mousses
Humides de pleurs.
Les forêts touffues
Enserrent la galerie
Qu'un espoir vaguement éclaire.
Les rameaux sinueux
Tardent dans l'hiver persistant.
La sève monte
Et se laisse deviner
Comme une illusion de vent.
Les bruissements se dessinent
Se cachent en échos fuyants.
Si dense est l'air
Et l'empreinte légère du sous-bois.
Violettes et buis suintent,
L'odeur monte de la terre lasse
Vers les pas qui s'étirent
Sur la couleur passée du ciel.