time withers (but i will not break)they say time withers, but that we would never bend. now, i'm not so sure. friendship once forged in fire is growing weak at the base and arthritic at the joints. love cast in steel is now rusted and stained, dissolving at the mere sight of the sun. i trusted you. i did. i wore my heart on my sleeve and bled my tongue from my mouth just to show you the truth of the matter. i swallowed the guilt until it threatened to chew away at the strings holding me up; until i woke up screaming, my lungs giving out in protest as i writhed between cotton sheets, teeth biting the pillow to suppress the next anguished cry threatening to rip from my throat. i did this, for us, for the friendship, for the future we all saw sitting on magnolia porches.
i was willing to take the thorn into my sides, take the blame upon my shoulders, hold the world between hands just to let this dream come true. but no longer. i am not this savage beast that you see when you look at me; i am not this weathered and dying tr
then i changed.Home used to be a place.then i changed.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It used to mean quiet mornings with loud sibling voices, sunlight streaming through the dust speckled windows to paint the room with summer. I remember being seven and waking up to my parent's laughter, stumbling into the kitchen of oak to watch them leaning into one another over the coffee table. The tile on the floor was cold, but I remember thinking that the house was warm.
Home was a place of safety during the storms, where rain could batter but could never get in. It was the cream colored carpet and the fire blazing during the winter months. It was where I chased the small lop-eared puppy up the stairs and where exhaustion trailed after me on the way down every morning. It was comforting and familiar. It was where the smells were always sweet no matter whether it was half-baked cookies or lemon wood cleaner. It was mine.
Then things changed. I changed.
The walls dissolved and the people dispersed. Home became a word I didn't have a definition for. I
wait and write to me then.don't tell me about the best way to capture the ocean in your mouth. don't whisper to me late at night about the salt crescent moons behind the bend of your elbows or the way that the breeze is tangling my hair around your ears until you're deaf from the wind. don't, for you see it's easy to whisper poetry when the starlit sky is a cliche over the slumbering world; it's easy to be a poet when the ground is rising up to cradle your shoulder blades and the earth is whispering love notes to you in your sleep. this is when it's easy.wait and write to me then.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
so don't write to me then.
instead, wait until the world is rejecting you from her breast and leaving you breathless and boneless on the carpeted floor. wait until your ribs are falling one by one like sand through your fingers and you're struggling to catch them and struggling to keep your feet and struggling to remember why you started this fight at all. wait until the ocean has woken up angry and is throwing a tantrum across your jaw, knocking your teeth ou
i begin and end with you.How do you go about explaining love to someone who has never felt it? How do you put into words the sweetness of the first kiss or the bitterness of the first goodbye or the hundred pinpricks of emotion you feel each and every time lip parts lip? If I were to try, I wouldn't start with the first embrace or the first touch or the first time your tongue swept the top of your mouth and you breathed my name. I wouldn't start with the first time nail bit into hip or teeth into shoulder or the first time you cried my name and I cried yours. I wouldn't talk about the first time that we held hands under the branches of the willow, limbs interlaced as we fell asleep with Whitman on my breast. I wouldn't even talk about the time you slipped platinum around my finger and I cried on a sunny October afternoon.i begin and end with you.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Instead, I would talk about the first time you taught me something. I would talk about how we were standing in wintery midnight air and how you put your hand on the small of my back--as i
winter heart.maybe it's the weather. maybe it's the steam in the morning and the fog in my lungs that brings these words to life. i can feel them stirring under my breath like a second life; i can taste them in the december air that teases nostalgia from the pitter patter of my winter heart.winter heart.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
it's like life is a faded photograph. its like time is a frozen lake. it's like i'm sitting on porches wearing oversized sweaters and holding cups that burn the tips of my numb fingertips. it's like i'm in a forest and it's damp. it's dark. it tastes like a memory and the rain looks the way it did two years ago when i was broken. it's like remembering something perfect in a moment that was anything but; like holding something just out of reach in the palm of my hand.
ten months and three days ago: i'm in a coffee shop with frost on the sidewalk. it is quiet and loud and i have the feeling that i really am all alone. but it isn't bad. it is peaceful. it is soft and my bruised heart breathes deep. i exhale. it is
i dream as a lion.i used to dream about sinking into the ocean. i used to dream about going up in flames and finding redemption in the way that the ash fell from my hands. now, when i dream, i think about the way that passion used to light my veins. i think about the pain that pinched my limbs and the cramps that woke me screaming in the middle of the night. i dream about the agony - the way i would stare at the sun and call it living. the way that i called each bleeding wound life and each burned palm passion.i dream as a lion.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i was the girl that swallowed the world and spit up the ocean. i remember the way that the mountains scraped my throat and the slaughter of the world settling into the pit of my belly. i remember the bitterness hitting the back of my throat and the way that even when i doubled over, even when i screamed out, even when i hit my knees that i was crying hallelujah. the way that the world was brighter for the pain and the way that i believed the only way i could see was when i was saltwate
what we call war_cI have devil's water running through my coal-veins. Every morning, I get up and touch the mirror just so that I can fall into the reflection. Every change branded into the underside of my skin so that I can see their bitter stones sinking slowly through the uncharted rivers of my body. I am a façade. I am a lie. I have swallowed hearts and slung love at walls of destruction just to watch the plumes of smoke rise up the city atmosphere. I have watched my crumbling capillaries tie together into hangman's knots, my lips dyed red with lover and enemy alike. I worry with every bloodied swallow, with every collapsing groan - oh lover, I worry you are next.what we call war_c3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
If I were anything but ash and molten hopes I would worry too. But I have lost myself in the cracks between desperation and shame, and now I find myself drowning, pouring out your devil's cup into my wanting throat. Scalding my teeth, numbing my tongue, twisting my spine until the heat of it breaks me down, and knocks me out. I
strangle me silently.i am sleeping and nameless faces are looming and my bones are breaking to the beat of war drums in the fogging distance. my pulse is racing and bursting at the seams and i am arching up and out and all over the ceiling and splattering on the window. "it's art!" they cry, because art is pain and i am paint running down the walls, the shattered column of my torso twisting on roping cotton sheets. "how beautiful," they sigh with wistful voices for i am destruction, and they envy the magnificence to sacrifice one's self for art, for beauty, for love, but i am a stain they can't wash out and a puzzle they can't complete, and the walls are decaying and time is bending backwards and --strangle me silently.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i am prey. i am a deer; i am a deer and the woods are as quiet as words. the fog is rolling in like tumultuous sea upon unsuspecting shores. i am a deer and i smell like fear, my legs snap as i move, as the wind whistles with deadly intentions. i leap, but time slices my throat. split-seconds are suddenly the o
find me in the hidden life.i have this feeling in my bones that some call weakness and other call fire.find me in the hidden life.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
it's a driving need and a crippling desire, and it wakes me in the middle of the night with cramping calves and feet running among cotton though they reach nothing but the great beyond of the side of the bed. it's a burning that pushes me into the middle of rainstorms to dance among the cracking weather kissing the earth, and it's a spark lit under the gasoline pooled under my heart. some call me crazy and others call me sane, but if you look for me in the heart of winter, you will often find me curled under the dead oak touching the bark because i like the way life looks when it's hidden.
you'll often find me like this, looking for hidden life and concealed light. sometimes, i will search for under the frozen wrinkles and concrete-frowns of the lonely, and other times i will seek it in the ocean before the storm. i will hunt under the foliage like a hungry wolf, and i will howl at the canopy as i track it dow
seaside gifts.this is what i would give to you:seaside gifts.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i would give you sea castles during high tide. i would give you an empty beach and a storm rolling in, the sea flagging the danger and the sky rolling in anxiety. the ocean was deepen to sleet gray and i would be waiting in it, the cotton of my dress soaked to my ankles. we could find release in the storm, slipping the silent killers from our bones to wash out with the dregs of the hurricane. the rain would come in with a crack across the sky and we could hold each other through it. our clothes could be sopping wet and flapping in the wind, but we would be rocks. screaming, kissing, unlocking our chests and letting the elements take us.
this is what i would give to you:
i would give you ocean-salted rooms with open french doors and billowing curtains. i would give you an abandoned home and phones off the hook. i would give you peace and i would hold you while you slept. you would be peaceful in your slumber and i would not say a word. i would press my
heart of my heart.when the sky is high and the ocean is deep; when the wind is singing and the stars are sighing; when the trees are whispering secrets of life into open ears and when the soil is warming under the waking sun: these are the moments in which i know. these are the moments in which i can tell. it is the moment between the silence and the breath between the words. it is the moment when time suspends and the pencil stills and the sentences don't flow, but rather clog and jam and fold unto themselves so that they are impossible to pick apart and understand.heart of my heart.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
these are the moments in which i know.
it is the moment when you first wake and your first motion isn't to stretch or yawn or awaken your slumbering muscles, but rather to pull me closer into the radiating heat of your chest. it is the moment when the afternoon has stilled and the noise has muted and in the middle of the mundane normalcy you look my way and somehow turn the most ordinary of minutes into something more. it is the moment that
maybe you never belonged to meI can still feel the weight of your lips on the curve of my collarbone. Sometimes, it feels paralyzing, crushing, absolute. Sometimes, it feels like home. Like everything.maybe you never belonged to me3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I once heard that when you can't fall asleep it means you're awake in someone else's dream. I wonder which one of us was dreaming that night, because everything was too quiet, too easy, too perfect. You used to fall asleep next to me, your body curled against mine. It's a warmth that's not easy to forget. A hidden smile tucked into pillows and sheets. It's easy to think these things will last forever when you're tangled up together. For me, the strings of my life will always be tangled up in yours. Forever tied to you. No matter hard they attempt to fray. To fall apart. To sever.
It's snowing for the first time this year. Soft and gentle, glittering in the sunlight, falling in large flakes, easy and quiet – nothing at all like the storm that rages inside of me, turning up the corners of my heart, throwing shrapnel
second-chance renewal.i can't guarantee i'll be what you want.second-chance renewal.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
you see, i can only offer you the remaining fractures of a weathered, storm-bruised heart in trembling palms; can only pour the relics into the crevices of your chest. i can only offer you the ruins: tangled and mismatched and soggy from salt-rain. can only give you the junk drawer, the elbows and broken bits no one wanted: the jealousy and anxiety and selfishness and impatience and insecurity. i can only give you these, wrapped in newspaper-covered cardboard boxes, no satin ribbon dressing them up as something they're not.
oh, and you deserve so much more! what i have left rotting isn't enough and it never will be, but, oh, i would give it to you if you asked. i would reach lacerated hands towards my marrow-locks and tear them apart. i'd give you the right combination of numbers and twists and turns so you might undo the not-so-treasure-chest. i'd let you take the choking corpse of my trust and let you try to reanimate it. i'd sell m
Inexhaustible.Sometimes, I long for the breath of sorrow that once guided me.Inexhaustible.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
No longer is the twisting wind and the gnashing teeth of mourning cries guiding my fingers to my pen and my heart to the beat. No longer does my spine twist at dusk tying upon itself as my hands press against the small of my back, pushing my pelvis forward as I arch back, back, back into the great beyond of darkness and light. No longer is my sleep punctuated with awakeness and my days punctuated with sleep. I no longer am curled into the shadow of myself and plucking words from heartstrings that have long since bled dry.
Still, on nights where the moon is hollowed against the backdrop of the sky (nights where the sky is poised like a dagger upon the earth) I hunger for the sorrow that one drove me forward. I hunger for the aching and twisting pain that had pricked my heels until they bled into the cracks and calluses the never-ending fear of myself and the never-ending thirst for tomorrow. I thirst for the n
the art of waiting.goodnight moon, sing sweetly to me tonight. the curtains are drawn and your light is spilling under heavy cotton. i am lying with the windows open, and the shutters are drawn. the world is revolving around me and i am not moving an inch. i am still. i am the pinnacle upon which everything turns. with every breath i fear avalanches of mountains upon unsuspecting villages. you are too far away. i can't feel you, but i see you illuminating wooden floors. sleep hides from me in the back corner of abandoned closets. i am a statue and my heart is breaking down the concrete in my palms. i am fearless, yet i am carved from fear itself.the art of waiting.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i am asleep in my wakefulness and my feet swing to touch cool floorboards, i am walking the blueprint of my house in limbo. i touch the reality of granite counter and leather couch and leave nothing behind but the oil of my fingers. i reach the door and slide it. i reach the lawn and sink sole into dew-licked blades. you are not here, yet you are everywhere. the
bleeding confessions.dear boy-with-a-solar-heart,bleeding confessions.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
love songs are never enough, poems are empty carcasses of emotion when it comes to you. i've spent entire evenings rummaging through the backlit crevices of my thief's mind, trying to drag the proper words from the shadows, but they all flee. the words all hiss and spit and claw: words that describe emotions that have never once been exposed to daylight. words that have slumbered for decades in the hope they would never be touched. words with seeping wounds and open bruises and complications a mile-wide. words that lived in little fear until your warmth shone through the slats of my reality-prison. words that are fighting me tooth and nail and slipping the bare minimum onto my desperate tongue so i might scarcely taste what it would feel like to properly describe you.
do not consider this a love poem. think of this as yet another rambling of a nonsensical tongue and a dreamer mouth, but certainly not pretty words strung together to talk about moss-covered s
skewed perceptions.it sounds poetic.skewed perceptions.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
sitting here with the window open and my hair knotted at the nape of my neck and cotton twisted around my torso, it's easy to think i'm pouring cool wine from my lips and plucking ambrosia from clouds. it's easy to think that when i'm speaking of love, i'm whispering in voices of the riverbank and looking at the not-yet-visible stars with a glazed over wonder that can only stem from a deep-rooted and profound love of soil and earth. from far away, i might look a dream. i might look soft and sweet with cherry-lips and, even perhaps, diamond-eyes that click clichés off like the tearing of dog-eared books that you bought from the secondhand store to look well-read.
i might appear hazy or vintage with a sepia overtone that seeps from beneath my fingertips and turns the bloodied edges of my life into something manageable and cinematic. you might touch the rippling corners of my mirror and wonder, think, dream, imagine. you might imagine hearts thumping ben
love will burn this city.it's the same old fire, the same old burn; i'm building castles from words and watching as the flames swallow mortar and stone. the walls are breached and ascending armies are slipping on my heart as they race up the winding stairs. i am locked in the tower and pushing my head into the pluming smoke clouds just for a chance of clean air. i am quaking with fears and devoured with doubts, my spine is a puzzle i can't figure out and the second i have it straight is the second i'm spread-eagle on the floor once more.love will burn this city.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
my palms are the source of the wildfires in the western hemisphere and my heart is the spawning ground of all the eastern plagues. i am soured good intentions and my smile tastes like 'what if' and 'maybe' and pleading words that lost their meaning like the river stone loses traction. i'm not bad, and i'm not good either, i'm a nomad of the middle area, the gray, the vague. i'm a traveling soul with red footprints in my wake. i am a lion and i am afraid of everything. i am fea
sheep-wool covered lies.i ate your heart and reveled in the way it smashed between my molars like ripe grapes, the way i could feel the pulse beating between my clenched jaw, the life squirming in and out to stain my lips. i swallowed it whole and felt it beating like a drummer boy in the pit of my belly, your sorrow the beat i danced my day to. your misery was a lullaby i sang to myself at night, the sheep i counted when my eyes were closed. i could feel it in the way it seeped into my veins and tangled around my bones like weeds growing too fast to contain. i gloried in the power it gave me, the way i could pull your strings and make you dance, the way i could bloody your soles and your soul and at the end of the day when i slept in my bed, it was made of the gnashed bones and entrails you left behind.sheep-wool covered lies.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
is that what you want me to say?
if you want, i'll tell you about how i thrilled at the tears in your eyes. i'll tell you i manipulated the map to pull reality apart and create a fantasy for us to get lost in
old and time-weathered soul.Emily liked to imagine that she was from a different time.old and time-weathered soul.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She’d sit on her bed and smooth out the covers, fold the sheets with crisp lines and perfect, symmetrical shapes. She’d place the chipped tea cup on the bookshelf and push back the linen curtains. But she would never open her eyes. No, you see, because if she did, she would have to see the traffic that buzzed like summer bees below her and the water stain dripping down the side of her window. She’d have to admit that outside, reality was not what she wished, and, frankly, she wasn’t ready to stop pretending.
So, instead, she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cool glass. She imagined that beyond the four walls she called home, there were open moors and grass that swept against ankle and calf and then inner knee. She imagined that trees draped over the sides of a porch and that her Labrador was free to run amongst the unfenced wild yonder. She imagined gentle whickering coming from the n
you are my prayer.we are holding hands racing from burning homes.you are my prayer.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
we are coughing as the walls melt like wax and the floor ignites and we're spitting up smoke in puffs of disbelief and horror. your palms are bleeding crescent moon wedges all over the sweat-slicked car door and i'm curled like an autumn leaf on your lap, my spine cracking like tennis shoes pressing down on fall. we're watching bombs detonate under our bare feet and wincing as the sparks crackle along the dry flesh. we're bleeding sweat, tension racing like split electrical wires in our veins. you call my name and i cry out and birds are dying around us and the ground is splitting open and when the dust clears --
wars carry on muted in the background. thatch roofs are set aflame. bloodied martyrs stumble down dirt roads and fists are formed along the backs of stone tables. we can see the land in the wake of destruction, the trees folding under the mushrooming explosions, their backs bent as if weeping in anguish. we can see the h
the time it takes.a second.the time it takes.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
a single breath - the time it takes for your tongue to catch between your teeth, the phone to crack the floorboard, the bullet to pierce the flesh. a second. it doesn't take much longer than that. for life to become death, for centuries of grooves to washout in the flash flood, for a name, a face, a memory to become nothing but two sentences in black ink on the back page of the thrown away paper. for today's tragedy to become yesterday's news.
the first emitted noise of the scream - the time it takes for your lips to peel apart, the noise to uncork in your belly, the grief to be unleashed from where it had been laying in wait. as if we knew; as if we knew. a second. it's the time for your knees to crash against the grass, for your spine to disassemble and fall like cracking autumn leaves. for the weight of the world to press against your shoulder blades with no relief.
it is the time it takes for you to reach for atlas' burden, to swallow the grief of the world and
the story told without words.this is the story of a girl who fell in love.the story told without words.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
this is the story told in words that do not come gently, but rather as torrents of water bending the windowpanes. this is the story carved from the things that i am made of and pushed into the middle of sunlit rooms so that the world can stare in wonder. this is the beauty spewing from an unbeautiful mouth, the love gushing forward from the split ribs of a body that simply cannot contain anymore. this is not composed of large, sweeping generalizations and observations of the world, but rather is built upon the small whispers of dawn. if you split open the spine of this novel, you will find the vertebrae of the story in the details: you reaching over to tuck stray hair behind my ear; the fold of your skin at the corner of your crooked smile; the fluttering wings in the peach pit of my stomach.
if you break down my individual parts, you will see them as the inconsequential entities that they are. you will see the way the wind comes to lift me
life lessons in death.i didn't know what pain was.life lessons in death.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
pain isn't sitting in your room with the music blasting and the world going in slow motion, because your heart's been metaphorically ripped to shreds and society doesn't understand you and your clothes don't fit [in] and your tongue has unraveled and you're too tired to try and pick it up again.
pain isn't watching your friend walk away and your dog lie under the sheets of autumn leaves and throwing your moth-eaten book into the cardboard box next to him, because if you're going to lose one friend then you might as well lose them all and your arms are sore and your chest hurts, but night is coming and somehow you're sure you'll remember how to breathe by then.
pain isn't sitting in the kitchen with your sister sobbing in the corner and the lights being too bright and remembering the way there was a full bottle of vodka on the shelf yesterday morning, and wondering what it's doing broken and empty on the bottom of the kitchen sink when she's screaming so lou
show me the meaning.staple my eyes closed and promise me that's the best way to see.show me the meaning.6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
press your mouth to mine and breathe poison down my throat, bite my tongue until the blood is dripdripdripping a steady path down to my waiting lungs. backhand me when i choke, call me ungrateful when i try to cough it up again. rip reality from behind my lungs and tell me not to bother with it, tell me i'm mistaken and the world is a lie and the only map i'll ever be able to trust is the rotting directions spewing forth from your gilded tongue.
ignore me when i question. get angry when i keep pushing. shove me into the wall and pull the moral fibers from my heart until i forget what right tasted like and am left with the feeling of wrong tattooed between my molars. let me stumble into tar pits of mistakes. don't stop when my hand draws the blade across her breast, don't blink when i continue to hack, when i'm sobbing between blows. turn your cheek when i'm sobbing, when i'm breaking her down, when each lash across her ba