To My Future SelfTo my Future Self,
Breathe. You must be thinking, seriously, my teen self is acting like an old fart of a teacher telling off overstressed kids, but seriously, breathe. Stop. Pause. Listen. It's your heart beating. It's telling you, I'm beating so damn hard, I might just kill you one day.
Okay, let's digest. There can only be two reasons for your heart to beat like that. One reason is because I wouldn't have changed- I would still be that overzealous, neurotic, depressed teenager with a penchant for word thieves, dream catchers and moment makers. The other reason would be just the opposite: it's beating with life, with purpose, with hope.
I hope you'll be that second person.
Because being that second person means being serenaded by Chopin in a boy's car, travelling down to Bondi Beach watching sculptures rear out of the sea and you're feeling like, maybe, love may finally find you at last. Being that second person means you just won't shut up talking to patrons
Dear Teen MeDear Adolescent Self,Dear Teen Me6 months ago in Adult More Like This
I know, everything sucks and you don't want to hear from some lame-ass old person. Lame-ass old people try to tell you things like this all the time, but they're just stupid old people that can't possibly understand. You don't respect me because I'm not in a band, I don't have black hair, and I don't look awesome. I don't write screamey songs that speak to your weasley black soul, nor am I Tim Burton or Freddie Mercury. I get it, past self. I get it. Frankly, I don't want to hear things from me either most of the time. As lame as I may be, just hear me out for a minute.
There's this thing you should really, really try,
Dear You (Or, Alternatively, Me)Dear You (Or, Alternatively, Me) –Dear You (Or, Alternatively, Me)6 months ago in Teen More Like This
I worry about you sometimes.
I worry about how you are doing: who you are spending your time frolicking with, whether or not you have finally kissed someone, if you still get nervous easily. I worry about my friends in your time – are they still our friends? Or have you finally let them all go, or pushed them away, or left like we always dreamed of?
Sometimes I lay in bed in the late hours of the night, dreaming of your life. Do you remember? Do you remember staring at the dark ceiling so long it began turning red, tossing and turning, hoping and dreading what is to come? I wonder if the things I have don
Beloved Future SelfBeloved Future Self6 months ago in Teen More Like This
Dear Future Self,
Hey, you. Or, alternatively, me. I've never spoken to you before, but I think it's time I did, not for a contest or views but because I know better than anyone that you need it right now.
I know you're hurting and you're scared. I know how you can't look in the mirror without clawing away at yourself and I know you write this with shaking hands and a heavy heart, but this isn't just about you. This is about the little girl you used to be and the little girl out there that's exactly as you were. Because they need you. I need you. Please stop crying each night, this will make you stronger. I know it's hard. I know you don't
on watching the night close its eyes on you1. I will not tell youon watching the night close its eyes on you6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are pretty.
How can the halls and angles of such honest humanity
be so pinched between sounds as elementary as these?
2. You need not be two stringent boughs of syllables
nor weave your viney bones abreast these five petty letters,
whirling in the fire of the river
Do not attempt to peel yourself layer for layer,
leaving all the disgust behind.
Do not tally your body six &
A Grasshopper's WishLeap off the precipice,A Grasshopper's Wish6 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
dance with fireflies
roll in falling snow
watch the camp fire glow
when hearts and minds collide
and soul mates unite.
Dear Me 3Dear Rachel One Year Ago,Dear Me 31 year ago in Letters More Like This
If you're ever up for an archaeological time dig into the past (watch those paradoxes!), this is what you'll find: the letter you're currently reading, with three objects attached. Now, you might ask: what does a chemistry titration problem, a deviantART print and a spinning carousel have in common? The answer: none, except that you choose to imbue them with meaning and significance. I think that is the beauty of perception and memory, even if it comes with its downfalls. We choose to remember the tangible when the intangible escapes us, like the words you often snatch at, drawn through the sieve of our unreliable s
dear teen meDear Sarah,dear teen me6 months ago in Adult More Like This
Remember that time you tried to top yourself by hiding under the covers? That was hilarious. I remember you tugging at the edges of the blanket and praying, without a shred of scientific evidence, that the lack of oxygen would be enough to kill you. You sat under there for something like fifteen minutes before you gave up and went to make a sandwich. But while you were under there, choking a little on your pillow because you never washed your sheets, I remember you thought someone was watching. Someone who understood your suffering. Someone who understood you.
Kid, that was me. And I've got two words for you: man up. Life can get a whole lot harder than this. Before too much longer, it's going to. And by the time you get to my age, you're going to be glad.
Why were you
l'appel du videlet me intensify the outside for youl'appel du vide1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
to nullify the agony in your head
drink up, shoot up, snort it all
and i'll watch eagerly as your
pupils contract, veins constrict
as it sets in, and then
the concentration, oversaturation
of color and sensation, the distortion
of time and of your entire reality-
isn't this better than dreaming?
on stimulants, everything is wonderful
the bricks are beautiful until you hit them
the bruises are gorgeous until you remember the pain
and even then,
they're just colors blooming upon your skin
pause for a moment of clarity
retreat from waking reverie and rediscover
the mess you're in- an instant
preludesi.preludes6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
blue rose into the city backdrop
like balloons, a million for the
morning sun prelude.
i've not slept a dream
but i have cried a salty face
and letters spilled like beans
into my moleskine,
almost as virgin as i once was
with few stories between my covers.
the kettle's belly boils
like my head upon a pillow.
i am guilty for rarely finishing my tea
even when i use the small mugs;
pour, rinse, repeat.
perhaps today i will play dead.
perched behind my blinds
it dawns on me that i am surrounded
by walled neighbours, strangers,
they're just preludes to lovers
the way i am always
prelude to the one.
WintergirlI.Wintergirl1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
"Fuck the system," she whispered to me
the first time we met.
"Or it will fuck you."
Her eyes were as clear as a summer day.
I absorbed her meaning, her attitude.
I befriended her and we fucked the system together,
rode it like a bull at the fair
and laughed when it tried to tame us.
She laughed the loudest when people said
She said that they were sheep, that they hated us
because we weren't like them.
"We're not wrong," she told me.
"Just different. Just unique."
She was infinite. No star could escape her.
Her smile stretched from one corner of the earth to the other
until the world became one with
denial can only stretch so farwhen asked if i amdenial can only stretch so far6 months ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
in love, i shall say, no. well,
maybe a little.
The Ballad of MulanThe sound of weaving, woman's chore--The Ballad of Mulan2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Mulan weaves on before the door.
But now the shuttle's noise is drowned
By Daughter Mulan's sighing sound.
"Who, my girl, is in your thought?
What memory has your mind caught?"
"No one is in Mulan's thought,
No memory has Mulan caught.
The night before, I saw the post
The Khan sent out to build his host.
In scrolls of twelve did they proclaim
The characters of Father's name.
But Father has no eldest son,
And Brother's not the eldest one.
So I shall buy a saddled horse
To take his place among the force."
Now to the East for valiant steed!
Now to the West for saddle's need!
Now to the South to take the
i have given you a present: perfect, simple, tenseLet me rename youri have given you a present: perfect, simple, tense2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
majestic visage: you
are To Die For. Your
smile blinds me like
a one-eyed simile, a
Let us conjoin; we're
Now and Then. Let's
connect our clauses &
become a life sentence-
become a couple
of copulative verbs-
become less tense
& build a future
Let us make love like comma splices,
let's become each other's antecedent.
(independent pronouns &
hearts in transit. You are
the object of my affection,
the subject of this phrase,
the other end of my lonely
You are To Die For
& I never split an
Whale Songs of the PacificListen, the girls swallowed by whales are the ones that grow up lucky.Whale Songs of the Pacific5 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Listen, no one will warn you about the little boys with the magpie eyes and the fists swinging splinters of glass. No one will warn you that their smiles are sweeter than their words are sweeter than their souls are sweeter than their intentions. No one will warn you of the sheer weight of the world.
Listen, sometimes girls are fragile. Sometimes girls are frothy. Sometimes girls let boys nuzzle "I love you"s into their necks and sometimes girls drink the wine of believing them.
Listen, sometimes the boys really are sweet, and little girls' tart puckered mouths can't ta
Golden Ink and Going BackI thought I was in love with that four-year old red-haired boyGolden Ink and Going Back4 months ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Shining in a silver knight costume with a black dragon sewn on
Because I was in the pink Sleeping Beauty Dress
I was a good Belle, too
(Back when I hadn't picked up a book
Except for the blue one with the golden pages
Brimming with witches and fairies and magic)
I wanted to be a princess, back then
They were the ones who always found love, at the end
I wanted to be Wendy, too
Because she wore a blue nightgown and learned to fly
Now, I'd rather be Peter Pan, honestly
Because he managed to swerve this whole ordeal of growing up
(And maybe a little because of the flying)
A Forest at MorningI dreamed of trees. Bright boughs and bloomsA Forest at Morning1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Through gloom and morning spilled
While I brushed back their silver leaves
That sunlit skies had filled
With gilded wash--the vermeil sight
Above the dusky bark
Seemed starry trains above the moon
And night's enclosing dark
And I stepped under such a sky:
New-formed, bejeweled, and bright
And wished I could forever dwell
Within its dim half-light.
There nothing stirred; no beast or bird
Dwelt in the forest there
Though I heard silent rivers trill
Still wand'ring swift and fair
Through banks embraced by cattail roots;
Through drooping willow leaves
That rustled in the water's rush
Framed[ I met him at the county fair.Framed3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
It wasn't like the songs predicted;
I had mud up my shins and he
had grass in his hair. What a mess. ]
[ I kissed him at my grandma's house.
He swallowed me and digested me;
I became a part of his simmering self.
We fused together, and I died. ]
[ I married him in a triangular church,
When I turned up in white he grinned
and whispered "what, no muddy knees?".
I put a leaf from my bouquet in his hair. ]
[ He kissed her at my grandma's house.
She had left it to us when she passed.
In the house where I'd learned about love
he taught me all I know about betrayal. ]
[ He left me at the train station.
How To Say GoodbyeDear Unborn Child, Whom I Let Go;How To Say Goodbye1 year ago in Letters More Like This
When I was thirteen and four months old, and you were thirteen years younger, I decided to let you go. You squirmed in opposition beneath my ribcage, up against my pelvis, and I licked my lips and tried to smile while I leaned my forehead on the cool glass of the car, hellbound.
I remember sea weed insertion, dilation, cramps and bleeding. Orange smoothies from Dairy Queen that I threw up, and I hoped you were mingling in the remains of my summer day treat, so I could put this behind me. Pretend I was 'moving on'. I laid in the bathtub of a hotel room for six hours, trying to melt you away in scalding water
ColorblindI gave away my name todayColorblind6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and it might be a metaphor, but I think
we only remember the quietest suicides
the walls are thin enough to listen
as the angels try to scratch free;
bloodied fingernails and God says everyone
screws up, sometimes
I'm waiting for a silent night.
I only ever believed in solid ground
and depressions' tides, and sometimes,
those little wounds I nursed deep
within my vocal chords (because
my voice is dying, too)
I can see the beautiful people, now
overdosing on their own opiums of
self-acquittal and dissolution
they ran out of ways to ask for help.
I'm fragile, but my glass ribs
aren't holding much
Across the Sea and Around the KotatsuSpringAcross the Sea and Around the Kotatsu6 months ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Mom starts with rice. Japanese rice, one, two, three Japanese cup-fulls of rice grains into the cooker, because Sis eats a lot of this stuff. It's one of her favorite dishes, taco rice, and Mom's always happy to make it for her because it's the only way Sis will eat her tomatoes. But back to the rice. "You want to rinse at least three or four times, until the water's kind of clear," Mom says as she cups her hand under the cooker pot, letting the cloudy water wash over her hand.
Rice cooking's easy though – just fill enough water to the point the rice's covered, punch in a time (or set it to "Quick Cook," which with our cre
despondenti.despondent11 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"are you sleepy today?"
"but you were sleepy yesterday."
she stirs her pomegranate green-tea until it turns from clear to purple
setting it on her bedside table and climbing back into bed again.
her fingers follow the bluer-than-usual constellation veins on her wrists and down
to the freckle on her forearm and then the scar on the inside of her elbow
crossing the tendon as if it were crux.
and then she remembered that God hasn't been with her lately.
today is long and sunny but when she steps outside the humidity creaks her bones
and her skin starts to inflame.
she assumes that if getting the mail
mosaics.sometimes uniquemosaics.9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
is not loud;
or bright, alive and raging,
possessed of a hunger for the atypical,
up front and too close,
or thrice-pierced and drenched
in the rebellions
particular to the latest generation.
sometimes it is a girl with
mouse brown hair and eyes
the color of weak tea,
who stands with her schoolbooks clutched
to her chest, in uniform shades of grey-blue
like the midmorning autumn sky
who has a wide mouth prone to nervous smiles,
pale lips and pale cheeks
and words that don't always come out
the way she means
who holds the universe
in the intricacies of her fingerprints
and laughs in treble clef notes
red leaves and Robert Frost.When I was young, my virginity was sacred. Entire religions pray over it and my father bought a gun so long as it meant protecting it.red leaves and Robert Frost.7 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
We throw away half of our refrigerator each week meanwhile, 24,000 people die of starvation every day.
Hardest part is, sometimes wasting things can't be helped.
At the bus stop, before I could drive, boys would ask for my phone number while I tugged up the neck of my shirt. Asked me how old I was while I crossed my legs under my skirt.
I told them I had a boyfriend even when it wasn't true, because they'll always respect another man more than my disinterest.
Hearing "I love you" for the first time
MaybeJust give me one dream that isn't see-through.Maybe2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
One substantiated claim to reality,
that I might hold onto life with.
Every quivering cell, mid-osmosis, begs you
for a shred of dignity with my tea.
Just one chance for something heavy,
something hard and room temperature. Real.
I don't want to look through my day dreams
and see someone else's face there.
I don't want to dream of those people
who may make, or break me, in the future tense.
I am tired of milky white and reflective black.
It is time for a life of colour and hope -
and not looking back to see if the past
matches up with the jigsaw map to the end game.
I want to be in the game, part