It Was Always You It was a beautiful clearing. I bent and picked a brilliant red flower from the long still grasses and set it in my hair. It was peaceful. But kind of lonely, just another reminder of all the differences from back home. Across the country and all. My mom said Id meet new friends, but so far, she was wrong. I sighed and sat with my back against a large oak tree.It Was Always You6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Id just begun to read my book when I hard the sound of muffled laughter from the branches above me. I looked up in alarm to see a face peering down at me from the leafy canopy.
The boy in the tree had his palm over his mouth and looked as surprised as I felt. He slowly moved his hand and bit his lip. It was obvious that he hadnt meant to make a sound. He looked at me solemnly and hesitated before saying, You have a flower in your head. Thats why I laughed.
The Old Oaken TreeI have sat in your shade and have been dreaming.The Old Oaken Tree3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Often I have forgotten the time.
Into your bark I have sobbed.
Underneath your roof of leaves I have sought shelter.
My grief, my joy I have told you.
A feeling of safety I have found here.
You are still there - changed - like me ...
After so many years.
You have stood your ground.
I have found a home, a place to strike root.
We share our life at the little creek.
Hardly I can grasp it or word my joy.
The power, peace and silence that surround you
I have already loved as a child.
And when I climbed up your branches and hurt you -
Please forgive me, the ignorant child.
That what I loved to have, you have given to me -
Power, dignity, hope - zest for life.
PerspectivePerspective3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The looking glass extends throughout
All splatters of pure clear
A reality that hasn't begun
All innocently of mind
The stares of the unknown
Are stepping stones across
The bridge of perspective
The perspective from within
Redden streaks merge with white
Staining all lies inside
Bringing them all out into the surface
Over the edge of the terrence
Crossing over that gap
With the sharpened demons below
Waiting to devour
Waiting only to steal
The planks upon which they walk
Creak and fall with every step
With steps further they take along
A new perspective of reality
KrankIch leide an der schrecklichsten Krankheit, die diese Welt je gesehen hat.Krank6 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
Nur bin ich die einzige, die diesen Satz so unterschreiben würde. Doch beim Unterschreiben bin ich vorsichtig geworden.
Die Ärzte sprechen von einem Phänomen.
Der Papst von einem Wunder.
Forscher nennen mich einen Segen für die Menschheit.
Und ich? Ich hätte gerne Angst.
Mein Magen sagt mir, ich hätte Angst, doch das kann ja nicht sein. Männer in weißen Kitteln umringen mich. Es ist immer jemand da, nie bin ich allein.
Ein hübscher junger Wissenschaftler lächelt mich scheu an. Hab keine Angst", sagt er. Wir tun dir nicht weh". Ein älterer Kollege klopft ihm auf die Schulter. Sie hat keine Angst, Felix. Das weißt du doch."
Er ist gut gelaunt. Seine Gehaltserhöhung muss heute morgen genehmigt worden sein. Woher ich das weiß? Nun, ich sagte doch: Ich bin krank.
Ich leide unter dem Sim-Syndrom. Zumindest ist das meine Bezeichnung
Bon gre, mal gre IIIUne perceptionBon gre, mal gre III3 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Tous les mythes sont réels,
Et trompent l'oeil
THE ART WARRIORSTHE ART WARRIORS5 years ago in Editorial More Like This
THE ART WARRIORS
- About the beginning of a new revolution -
* An escalation by Beau Cyphre *
Keep your art free! Don't diss yourself with watermarks, don't shrink your vision - and don't fear the illusion of art theft.
Just wrote it down in my Twitter as another stroke, and this sword's sharp enough to make you think. All art is about sharing, and what I get is what I give: Everything's in the flow, and it's time to give up the illusion of personal importance. I'm not saying you're dispensable. I think you're better as a living and responding part of all the energy floating inside and outside of ourselves. We're all dead now, and to live we need to transcend the barriers we put up all the time. There's freedom outside the borders, and the sight to a far away horizon leads just to another and another illusional horizon.
Real life is endless, and we're all made to travel really far. We've come a long way, and sometimes we feel so bad that we want to give up, but the
The Butterfly JarIn her hand was a little jarThe Butterfly Jar3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
With a butterfly shaped motif
Small enough to fit in her palm
Large enough to hold her beliefs
And all of the hopes and the dreams
And the harrowing memories
She promised one day to reveal
The contents of the jar to me
Protected by the butterfly
Her secrets remained safe and sound
Each echoing in their own space
As there was no one else around
The winged beauty remained loyal
As the days like clouds floated by
It too was once a caterpillar
That never dreamt it could fly
Now like a butterfly she'll escape
From her chrysalis-like mind
She will shed all of her sorrows
Underneath the silken sunshine
And with a God given impulse
Wings will flutter for the first time
They will catch the wind of wonder
Into the sky she'll begin to climb
Here I layHere I layHere I lay7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Faintly I hear you weep
So Dig my grave deep
where your tears cant be felt
Dig my grave deep
So im closer to hell
wanderlustshe was a s e v e n t e e n year old girl from nowhere [or was it everywhere?] with dark hair and long eyelashes and skin that was always pale white. when she was young she played in the poppy fields of greece and when she got older her tongue started yearning to speak italian and russian so that she could travel to other far off places.wanderlust4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
she was born on a friday between two ice storms, and the first word she ever heard was b e a u t y. her mama told her that when she first opened her dark blue eyes, her pupil was surrounded by a ring of pure white. the blue stayed but the white turned to green [and from then on her eyes were always her favorite feature].
she always had nightmares, never good dreams, but maybe that's because she could never stop d r e a m i n g with her eyes open. all she ever wanted was dirt roads and stars and mud under her fingernails.
[maybe one day, when she's older, she'll take a crinkly old map and
BloodlustBloodlust3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
They desire a longing
A longing for that tender sweet bond
The bond of the scarlet river
That flows from within
It is what keeps their hearts
Beating in their caged chests
For without the blood
They could not live
They are bonded by the rogue
Aspiring throughout their souls
For it is what makes them become
Identical as oath brothers
Crimson marks tear up the past
With a small river flowing down
Downward from the crystal eye
The eye of all things known
Emotions are only expressed
Through the pounding of this blood
That never ceases to be
Their passionate desire
Bursts from within
To crave and taste the blood
The bond from within
burn it down.She's the girl whose afraid of needlesburn it down.4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
because ever since she saw her mother die of a needle injection
she's been wanting to give her blood away
just so she can know what it's like to take her final breath.
She's the girl who would listen to the same song on repeat for hours
just to get the same tingling feeling in her heart
because she never wants to let go,
but in reality she's never felt so afraid.
She's the girl who enjoys wearing ripped jeans
and oversized t-shirts,
because she's too afraid to expose herself
to the world
that broke her heart.
She's the girl who smiles over necklaces and promise rings
because she holds them dear to her heart
in a second heartbeat,
how dare you even see a smile.
a different explorationwe talk abouta different exploration2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
astrology and ex lovers. the raspberries
dying in the heat, the way the water
bit our skin, the homeless man set out
to buy California, the center of our universe,
you. that feeling labelled “blah,”
and the notion I am not my own.
we leak questions
like overrun rivers, excess spillage,
draining curiosities about that tragic skeleton
balled up beneath your clothes.
and for you,
I’d travel the length between heartbeats,
shallow and vain like your promises,
your liquid eyes.
above all, we were lucky.
miracle children. one in ten,
one in a million, a pair of stragglers
in seven billion exempt from
clarity and unclaimed skin.
I know this guy who had
sorry lips and scars down his spine
without a story. we didn’t have
a thing to say so we talked about
how the stars were our newest horizon,
the undefined, and how we’d escape to them
in our minds we rot.my lips taste like soot.in our minds we rot.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i realize that we
are nothing but hell-brought fire,
the seven deadly sins
(you be lust, i'll be pride)
and a mess of upside down picture frames.
my teacher once told me
that most writers are introverts;
we drink in the world
and spew it back in ink and titles.
we tattoo words
across the inside of our eyelids--
but somewhere in the process
i must have drawn you
inside the convex of my irises,
because all i can think about
is your wind-shaken frame
flames licking across your hips.
you turn black
beneath my hands.
i can't write about that.
burn boythere was this boy in the ninth grade that used to call me uglyburn boy2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but all i can really remember is how he wore long sleeves under his t-shirts
and how i didn't understand why, but something was wrong about him
like he held himself wrong under all those fabrics
like a puppet with loose strings. and i can't
understand why, but when this boy's arms moved a little too much
and i saw what was on his wrists just before he tied his strings again
i only heard what my grandma used to say about how
those devils that bother you on the playground can't burn you
like they can burn themselves.
if these devils had mouths
those burns were kisses.
the your chesti willthe your chest2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
always be there for you
right at the end
of the arc
of your arrow
vanishing from view .collabi am missing something,vanishing from view .collab5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i am that old woman with her
car keys forever on the
back of her mind because that
is the closest to the front
she can manage
i've forgotten who i used to be.
shallow screaming dins the room,
shakes the walls, as i try to cling
to something real, not this made-up
world where the ocean is suddenly
the sky, raining salt
upon open wounds.
the static is like poetry over
empty air, radios humming to
the tune of nothing but your
airplane parts and rioting
i am the grass beneath your feet
that you trample. i want nothing
to do with this cardboard city
full of ghosts and ashes. i need to learn
to fly away.
the glass temple is breaking under
the stress of your voice.
i clutch the railing until the
tendons of my hands unfurl and
curl anew around my throat,
pink sinews dispersing novel poems
like dandelion seeds. it
seems god, too, wants me to be silent
and my words drown like
fat hens. this is silence.
all i want is for you to
the truth behind loving someoneyou didn't love her.the truth behind loving someone2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
the only movie you watched that ever stuck with you was 500 days of summer, and when she asked you to carry her over the rush of the creek that way that summer would have, you did. you never knew what it was that attracted you to that movie, or the idea of loving a girl as much as the protagonist had, but you assumed it was something you should do. you were young, anyways, and you were good looking, and she, among many, had dropped words in your hands, hoping you'd hold onto something. take it somewhere, ask for more, take more, like you deserved. you don't know why you took more from her. maybe she looked best for the part. you don't really know.
she was happy, always. she listened to music, you knew; she wore her favorite bands like clothing, wore art in her denim and hair length, and maybe she was better looking with makeup on or off, but she looked like a project, color paper cut and placed over her body in haphazard precision. she was a doll, everyone said abo
BulimiaMy corset makes me pretty, and I feel fineBulimia5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I didn't pay a cent cause all the bones are mine
Another finger down my throat, it feels good to cleanse
Amphetamines and sickness are my only friends
I promised yesterday
I haven't done it since
But they're here, today
To fuck me up again
I've never felt better than when they're choking me
Bringing me down sizes till I'm too perfect to see
(Hiding in the shadow of the cigarette smoke,
Tracing reddened patterns down my corset bones)
Purged and pure like a mannequin
Perfect, I'll never leave this place again
Desperate, like no one else will ever know
The way my insecurities secure me so
Textual TangoThe conversation, like making love;Textual Tango5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
begins, slow -
intentional with gesturing hands,
metered and planned
(still under control.)
Somewhere we'd believe (at first)
was halfway through,
our voices rise, touching something fierce.
We're panting -
catching breath with butterfly nets.
Baiting and debating
like spouses on the outs:
hashing marks and keeping score,
scratches in your back like
chalk on board.
The session roars -
It swirls though all our mental collections,
now scattered on the floor.
Easy, winds recede, and I'm left naked,
some metaphysical whore:
The unreliable reach of linguistics,
stretched like political truths,
surrounded by erect senators -
taking bribes to cover their eyes
(but staring through cracked fingers,)
so they finally feel alive
As we bat about the birdie,
and make it look so easy.
On and on
a thousand sticky, restless nights -
the neighbors calling in the fights,
banging on the wall and flicki
Bare BonesYou know that saying -Bare Bones8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
About skeletons in your closet
Well I dont have mere skeletons
No motley collection of bones for me, oh no
I have a whole cemetery in my wardrobe
Row upon countless row of tombstones
Hiding the bare white bones of turmoil and torment
Scrawled on each marble slab is a significant date
Marking every occasion on which my soul was mangled
Every single day on which I suffered
Every night I was deprived of sleep
Every single time I stumbled to my knees and fell, weeping
Because demons came knocking at my door
And I had nowhere to escape
Oh yes the demons love me
They have made of me their whore
For I am weak and vulnerable to the vultures of degradation
And they love to pick my brittle bones clean
Pecking away every last shred of dignity and delight
And when they are sated at last
Flapping their harpy wings into the blackened sky
There I lie
A sorry and despicable sight
Quivering in a skeletal ball
Like a dying child
Hugging my knees to my bloodied chest
Empathi do not hold emotions of my own--Empath2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i live in the hearts of others,
in the spaces between their fingers
and at the soles of their shoes
fitting into the cracks between the sidewalk
for someone else to step on
i'm scattered all over,
spread like the dust from stars
swept into the crevices of your ribs
nestling my home against your bones
i begin to feel what you feel,
the exhaustion of another night gone stale
and the way your broken heart beats out the blues
but forgets the rhythm
there is nothing in here that beats for me--
i see your pain, and i cry.
burnthe earth awoke from coalesced space dustburn2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
-- the universe burned, and we were alive
antediluvian sunsets, smearing the
midsummer sky with stained glass prophecy;
cool beads of lemonade sweat drip between
the beach at silent midnight, when the stars
go for a swim in the big dipper & the moon
the sound of the sea, returning her sweet lips
to the passionate shoreline no matter how many
times it's sent away;
mother ocean, she's done this a couple times
before-- can you see the ripples on her charted skin?
in her belly she holds treasures, i've seen them,
they sparkle when the sun hits, she's got friends,
purpled & ivory, turquiose too:
they'll speak if you give them a chance
in carolina they have sweet tea for breakfast,
barbecue for every meal and fall asleep to
sand dunes are red and they have faces, burnt
in the sun,
family is mounted on mahogany boards,
embellished with a gold plaque and hung from
every wall of the house;
bruises that won't healthe days i will not think of you mostbruises that won't heal5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
are the days i am in therapy.
i hate walking through the doors in
sadness so full that my heart
is begging to burst.
i won't say i've missed you,
but i have. your number is dead
in my phone, & i long for the
music of change echoing from
your heart to your
jean pockets. i don't mean to
apologise, it's only a habit,
just like your nightly smoke fix.
do you remember singing 'no surprises'
to me over the phone,
laughing as your thumbs stumble
over errant strings?
every strum feels like my heart,
i hope you know
the rumble in your throat
becomes its beat.
you are so hard to look at
and everybody looks like you.
the stultified stammer in my belly
flutters like a hummingbird
catching fire on every feather.
any photo of you i can get my hands on,
i do. i let my eyes take in breathless
mouthfuls, my fingers, clawing
daggers digging into the photo and
crumpling it with want.
the hurt is what makes it
you were never supposed
to mean this much to me.