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To Us- Synesthesiai.To Us- Synesthesia11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
every sound
excites a burst
of color; an
exploding
firework,
dancing and
twirling.
ii.
your voice
tastes of mangoes;
sticky
and sweet,
caressing my senses.
your flavor is
personal.
iii.
the letters
all become a
different personality.
"T" is crabby
and "I" worries.
"J" is strong
and mighty.
iv.
closer and
farther away;
each number becomes
its own plane
and point
in space;
perfect details.
v.
all the numbers
form lines
becoming an army
of curvy rows,
swirling round
and round.
a perfect pattern.
vi.
letters take
on colors,
each and every one
a different hue,
a different shade,
forming rainbo
hanging from the rafters in the skyclocks in a motel room;hanging from the rafters in the sky3 months ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
the years go by like one day
with these old photos in my hands.
how do cities understand?
that by skating on the edge of the world
we carve north stars in Styrofoam
on the edge of reality.
we are all waiting to be found
when stars die.
(i used to have a name)
now i'm dreaming of the simple things,
and i'm ready to fight my way.
somebody told me:
"i have loved the stars too fondly."
between gray and gold
there are flaking photographs and shattered memories;
the heartlines of drunken sinners chasing stars.
cold hearted, you bound our spines.
breathe.
(and breath
of glass and ashesa hound of glassof glass and ashes4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
frozen in time,
never able
to move forward --
to find its
place in a
world of
ash.
Poem: It's TrueIt's true; it's all truePoem: It's True1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
A single mistake can
Make everything go away
A single word can
Lose you the one, the
One that makes you feel like you've
Never felt before, and want to feel again.
Everything is gone now; I am alone.
Chapter 1: UngiftedChapter 1: Ungifted1 year ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Chapter 1: Ungifted
The cottage was in the middle of a dark forest, where timber wolves could be heard howling in the distance. Inside the cottage, mice scurried across the wooden floor and the glow of a single candle lit up the tiny room.
Screams rent the night; the screams of a mother giving birth. Lena gripped her husband's hand tight as the mid-wife crooned encouragement: "You're almost done, just push a little harder. That's right, just hold on. You're almost there."
Lena panted, her chest heaving with the effort of child-birth. 'Almost there, yeah right.' She thought. 'She said that three hours ago, and look where that's got us.' She
Not EverythingA card falls to the groundNot Everything7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
much slower than a penny,
even taking Newton's law of
gravity into account.
And there isn't a name
for that green-violet color,
just before nightfall.
You can't explain the reasons
ice is slippery, or put into
words that rush of awe you get
standing at the lip of the
Grand Canyon.
No one knows why cats sit
on top of boxes, or why
warm rain feels good when
it hits your upturned face.
There's a reason your mother
packed all her things and left one
day, but she didn't tell it to you.
Science can't do everything.
Not a Spitting ImageI walk by her everyday. I mean, it's not like I have a choice. We're sisters; we share the same DNA. But, as I look at her, all my inadequacies are thrown back into my face. Her luscious blond hair tumbles down her back like a waterfall, and she sneers at my stringy brunette mess as I pass, tugging on it hard. Whimpering, I clutch the strand she touched for dear life, but I don't retaliate. Why should I? She's perfect, and I'm below average.Not a Spitting Image8 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
"What's that under your chin? Are you getting fatter? Pig; it's all the food you eat. You shouldn't stuff your face so much."
"Oh my gosh, is that a zit on your forehead?! I swear, your skin is so greas
symphonic miseryyou lied the night you kissed me,symphonic misery2 months ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
a vision of blood and deconstruction;
feelings with no names.
we were a february tale in a twisted corset.
i can't breathe in your presence
because our still-life fairytale
is your prisoner of war.
the oracle card in my pocket
gave me a revelation:
"love makes us blind;"
(or so it seems)
now, our seasons of knowledge
are just temporary bad memories,
but there is no more music in me.
fading awaythe disharmonyfading away4 months ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
of the city is fading
into Nothingness
a cacophony
of sounds being swallowed by
the din of Silence
the ballet dancerpracticing for thethe ballet dancer2 months ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
first time since the Alzheimer's
robbed her memories
FirefliesGoldenrodFireflies9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
fireflies erratically sign their names
inside a jar that once held pickled beets.
On a Georgian night,
katydids screech chamber music
Mozart forgot to write
on his five staffed bars.
The music reminds me of the tart
taste of grapefruit seeping slowly into
my mouth, and I swallow it with delight.
But the world becomes a jar
into which I scribble my name,
as if writing it will somehow
make me free.
storms and constellationsyour lips kissed each star-frecklestorms and constellations3 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
and i felt my sky shift under the weight of you.
i looked into your eyes and became
lost in your muddy constellations.
you were never pure; and now
i would be pulled by your gravity,
trapped in the dusty, lightless expanse of you.
you crushed me under your body,
molding my every fiber, rearranging
my entire being to fit inside your crevices.
our heavens collided; your universe
devoured me and everything was stained with
my wishful stars and your hopeless ink.
you swallowed my every super nova,
crushing my planets and suns and black holes
and i spilt dark matter onto your blank parchment.
i made maps out of
clockwork mechanicshis heart ticks on; hisclockwork mechanics3 months ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
clockwork fingers caress my
mechanical face
PilkunnussijaHere's what I think:Pilkunnussija9 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
There's a certain joy in not doing this face-to-face. For one, I don't have to leave my apartment and I have the quiet company of my goldfish and my goldfish alone. (I don't like people, which is why I love books. You can understand that.) For another, I don't have to see your presumably crestfallen and injured attitude when I tear apart the prose you cried and bled and sweated over for weary nights on end. But really the best parts are those uninterrupted hours alone with your manuscript and the shred of you that lies inside. It's a small shred, but an important one. It's the one that tells me who you are and what you think and how you feel and I never have to look at you and be disappointed when the real thing doesn't come up to scratch. As I sit there, un-tensing and re-tensing and tense-shifting and shift-entering (and damn it, wishing English were like German so I could get rid of those clunky space-wasting n-dashes--oh, damn there they are again) I feel li
Shooting the moonhe will have cause to regretShooting the moon3 months ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
confession,
because
there will always be rivers,
the black sea
nebulous
with disease;
astronomer's insomnia
(a sea-fire
constellation)
and midnight
necromancy
(stargazing
the underside of bones...)
MemoriesThe frigid winter air nipped at my exposed skin as I stood in the dying rays of the setting sun. I kneeled down in the snow, my breath clouding the air around my face. As I placed the arrangement of iris', roses and daffodils on the grave, memories came flooding back. Memories from when he was still alive.Memories2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
***
"Jackson, stop it!" I said, slapping his hands away from my side to prevent him from tickling me. His fingers stopped wiggling and he grabbed my hand with both of his. "Anything for you, sweetie." He kissed me full on the mouth, and we lay in the sweet grass, breathing in the summer air. I felt his hands in mine, soft, but firm, warm,
Secret Waters4 months ago in Free Verse
More Like This
UmbrellaI don't need an umbrellaUmbrella2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I walk in the rain by choice
The soothing smells and sounds
Calm the turmoil inside
And the shadows, the rain
Hide these tears as they fall
The wild look of betrayal
From these exhausted eyes
I don't need an umbrella
To hide myself from the world
I am already the master
In this self-taught art
No one stops to stare
At my insanity as I walk by
I am invisible to them
And their small, petty minds
I don't need an umbrella
To protect this fragile skin
My protection is these scars
That criss cross like tic-tac-toe
I am already damaged
What's just a little bit more
To this mind that knows
It doesn't re
Poem: The TruthThe TruthPoem: The Truth2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
By: Caitlan Zufelt
I've seen your smile
I've seen it come and go
I've seen your tears
I've seen them recede and flow
I've known you for years
I've known you for quite a while
I've known your personality
I've known your bright smile
But now you ride a rollercoaster
But now you only cry
But now you are up and down
But now I know why
The truth has come out
The truth is made clear
The truth doesn't scare me
The truth is only your fear
It's okay that you did it
It's okay that you lied
It's okay that you're unhappy
It's okay that you cried
Now it's time to face it
Now the truth must come out
Now you must tell him
Scorching SunsetWhen a poet's heart breaks,Scorching Sunset3 months ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
take a seat and shelter under my leaves.
The best we can do is pretend
there is still time
to paint the world in wildfire.
Poem: Sharp BladeSharp BladePoem: Sharp Blade2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
By: Caitlan Zufelt
Now that I'm over you
I've found new hobbies
Such as reading, drawing
But my favorite is cutting
The feel of the blade
Against my taunt skin
Sends new thrills though me
You never could have
And the blood red
Against the snow white
Creates such stark contrast
That it fills me with awe
Don't be worried
This is who I am now
A cutter, a freak
Watching life from the sides
Get Ready for Camp! *changed*Hello everyone!Get Ready for Camp! *changed*2 months ago in Literature More Like This
I have created a chat room where you can go to get help, ask questions, and hang out with the cool kids.Camp NaNo WriMo Chat Room. It's a 24/7 chat room, so feel free to go in whenever you want! I will try to be around as much as I possibly can, but I'll be wrangling some people in to help. I will hold random write ins and word wars, and you can hold your own in the chat room, so go crazy!
It's almost April, and you know what that means! (or maybe you don't, but read on to find out!) April means it's Camp NaNo WriMo! If you've never heard of Camp NaNo WriMo before, it's short for National Novel Writing Month, just like in November. But instead of being later in the year, Camp NaNo WriMo is in the summer time! This year, that means the two sessions of Camp are being held in April and July!
Still don't know what I'm talking about? Nation
TempestThe sea ragedTempest2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Against the sky
Ripping the air
With piercing sounds
The elements battled
Creating a tempest
A roiling storm
None shall trespass
A great battle
Was fought between
The sea and sky;
Poseidon and Zeus
Great Greek Gods
Creating a storm
That shall send
Many to Hades arms
They quarrel over
Trivial things
An immortal battle
For immortal beings
The Story of Half an HourI hate Christmas Eve. I haven't always. It started when I was old enough to realize it was bad that boys didn't like me, and that same hatred has continued to this day. All of my friends are busy being cutesy with their boyfriends and I'm stuck, in a bar, in New York, alone.The Story of Half an Hour4 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
Don't get me wrong, I'd rather be stuck in New York for Christmas than be back in my tiny town in Northern California, but I'd also rather be spending it with someone special. Someone who'd give me a necklace, or heck, anything, smothered in love. Instead, I am sitting on a stool, fingering the fraying edges of my black fingerless gloves while I listen to the bartender b
Sta.sh
