What do you Want to be When You Grow Up? We are taught when we are little that what only really matters is how much money we make. That's why most of us get asked "What do you want to be when you grow up?" They really didn't care what your ignorant little fingers splurged out; it just mattered that you had some sort of aspiration no matter how pointless it was. It just mattered that maybe it wasn't pointless to teach you. So when the smallest child in my second grade class responded with a scraggly "sparrow,” eyes turned and eyebrows furrowed.What do you Want to be When You Grow Up?2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
"You have to be realistic," our teacher said.
That little boy (whose name is out of my mind's grasp) responded with a strong “It is."
"You can't turn into a sparrow though. Don't you want to be an actor or musician? Choose a career or lifestyle," our teacher said all the while smiling, persistent to drain the dreams from him.
"My mommy said that we can be
you call me an angelyou call me an angelyou call me an angel2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in spite of the bruises left on the fronts of my knees
stains of sin left on my skin;
the knots in my back,
you liken to the wings soon to burst from my shoulders
&tell me you can feel no sadness
when looking at my face-
eyes you analyse
into paints of the colour wheel,
several shades i have yet to see;
despite its crooked nature
thinning enamel from my sickness-
you still find me amongst the heavens.
as this once,
i kissed you to shut you up.
my skin is removing itself after my clothes
in the winter,
too unlike the white night of russian summers.
i kissed you &it was wet because i was crying
&every time our lips parted
another sob stuttered its way through the gap.
you heard what words i couldn't swallow,
the ones straining to pass over my tongue
yet drowned upon existence.
you listen to me until i lose my headstrong aim
to starve back to bones,
to see the angel wings i've lost in my skin
you touch &feel are there;
All the Things You Never KnewIt was your favorite thing to say. “We know everything about each other. Not just the good things, but even the bad ones. We have no secrets.” And the way your eyes lit up when you said it, how your arm would curl around my shoulders and squeeze me against you… I couldn’t say anything. I promised myself that I would when we were alone, but the moment always seemed wrong and eventually the fact that I still had secrets became a secret itself.All the Things You Never Knew2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It turns out I wasn’t the only one.
I never told you about the crying or the cutting or the nights I spent awake staring at the bottle of pills. I was terrified it would be too much for you to handle, so I didn’t mention the time I ran away, or the first time I ended up in the hospital. I locked the memories up in a box inside my head with “For Tom, to open later” written on the outside.
And you, in turn, never told me about the cancer, fearing it would be too much for me to handle. Well, you were ri
LimboSome souls go right through, you know? They don’t even pause. It’s right through limbo without a second glance, and then on to be judged and sent up or down. They’re the easy ones, because I can lay back and hold my lamp and they follow the light like moths to a flame, the ends of their frayed personalities fluttering even though there isn’t any wind.Limbo2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
While the masses go through without any problems, there are always those few troublemakers that just can’t seem to resist the lure of limbo. See, in limbo, there’s nothing, and while that may sound awful to you folks who are living halfway decent lives, to the souls that just came out of Hell on Earth, nothing is really attractive.
Limbo doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t feel good, either, but there’s no pain and no heartache and no wincing from the bruises on your back. There’s no joy, but there’s also no suffering or fatigue or withdrawal. There’s just… existence and
The Truth - An LGBT storyA photographer is supposed to find beauty in anything right? Isn't that what artists do?The Truth - An LGBT story4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It tried to tell myself that was the reason why I found my best friend's hazel eyes mesmerizing, and I couldn't stop staring as him as he doodled in his sketchpad, completely oblivious to my gazing. Matt plucked the apple from his lunch tray, took a bite and gave me a curious look. "Can I help you, dude?"
I dropped my gaze. "I, uh, need to ask you a question. Artist to artist."
He raised his eyebrows, probably confused by my nervous tone, but went back to his doodling. "Okay."
"Would you feel gay or anything if you were going to draw another guy? Like a portrait or something?" The words came from my mouth in a rushe
StillHe was waking or he was falling asleep, neither, both at once. This was a dream. This was the only thing he had ever known. It made no difference, he trailed his own body like ripples after a rock, smoothing and breaking and smoothing again.Still3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
His feet moved tirelessly, without thought. No longer human, only the Walk was real. For minutes, or for months; time was fluid and distant. Walk.
He broke and a low mountain pulled him forward. Smoothed. Broke into flatlands, into shallow water. Into the evening, into the weak dawn.
Smoothed, back into the soft yellow lights behind his eyes. Walk.
He was not alone. This thought came from his bones, the heavy vibrations that shook them. It was something known, not something learned. It was like becoming aware of his own breath.
After a moment, without any real intent, his head raised. The yellow lights flickered. He could see three trees surrounding him. No, three hills. No. Three monstrous beasts. No. Three brothers.
He was waking after
For a friendYou like it insideFor a friend2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I like it out
You need your space
I need to be with you.
I see your beauty
Even if sometimes you don’t
You have a dark side
But I can be your light
You are funny
I am shy
You claim you like neither
I think I like both.
I realize we are different
But as you say opposites attract
Yin may be lonely
I keep knocking, I know you are home
I will stay here
But you are the one
Who has to open the door.
You hold a spark
That is bright
Let me be the fuel
To start a flame within you
You need to feel
I need a release
If you open up
I can take you there.
Sending Me To HellSending Me To Hell:Sending Me To Hell2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I close my eyes, as the black smoke fills the air.
Incense burned to create a semi-choking sensation.
A tiny inkling of the perceived suffering,
But it is enough to make this difficult...
Next, wounds are carefully opened.
Patterns carved into the flesh,
Resembling the nine circles of suffering.
As each begins to form a red river,
An ocean pools beneath my stained elbows.
In the distance I hear the cackling of witches;
Accompanied always by the mad shrieks of those beyond.
Already they can taste the red wine that I ooze
And eagerly, their tongues wag; anticipating the feast.
Concentrate...I have to concentrate
My teeth grind together, as I force them shut,
The pressure causes my jaws to ache and my body soon stiffens.
It seizes up like an iron vault, my mind its secret mechanism;
Twisting, turning, seeking the accepted combination.
I can feel them now, reaching for me...
Tongues begin to lick at my open wounds,
Lustfully salivating unto m
The Last BookThe last book you readThe Last Book2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I imagine a little like your last breath
when you don't know that you're dying
just yet - maybe the last book you'll read
will be one you know well, and read a good many times,
breathing life into words by reading them,
making letters, names, stories come alive -
or maybe, the last book that you will read
will be one you have not had the time to learn
how to love; maybe it is difficult to love,
with winding, confusing phrases and a tendency
for the overly mysterious, or dramatic,
and maybe it made you cry -
the last book you read,
will it be a special one? maybe
a beloved's diary, or your own diary entries
about that one person you love(d), or maybe
it will be compulsory reading, and no fun at all,
maybe you'll put it aside feeling relieved
about having read it, or feeling lost,
because you almost drowned
in the world of this book -
the last book you read,
we know nothing of for sure, save maybe
that it'll be the last book you will read.