AfterIt follows me.
My silver skeined ghost.
An almost imperceptible thread;
only visible when you shine light
directly upon it.
It follows me.
It rides the underground.
It hides under bridges,
It is woven into the spools of tar
that form the roads between.
Inevitably if I walk too fast
it reminds me -
Like the tug of stitches in your cheek
that reminds you; you have lost your wisdom.
It reminds me.
It trips me in doorways,
when my mind is elsewhere.
If I look away from it -
- it slips round my neck.
Another knot to throw over the beams
it mauls me without a fair chance.
I tried to sever it. I can't.
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
Not So Pretty In PinkTypically, this time of year spawned the worst get-ups imaginable. Poorly wrapped mummies, sheet covered ghost, insipid witches. All the same, and all so boring. This year, Fella was determined it would be different. His party, held annually in the bowels of Deviants Dish, was sure to rock the rockers, and shock the norms. Only the best in designs would grace the dank walls. Special lighting effects would rival any haunted house. He had hired the best hard rock band, assured that the pulse-pounding music kept the house jumping until the deepest hours of the night.Not So Pretty In Pink4 years ago in Spooky Stories More Like This
Oh, and no unoriginal costumes this year. No siree. With a costume contest, Fe
mad libsA young woman named Kou loved making art, and practiced human being all day long to become the very best in all her town. But one day, she was completely stumped. She looked around her room, full of art pieces featuring mystical junkyards, sci-fi landscapes of a futuristic Osaka, and a portrait of Tezuka Osamu that looked so real, you could start a conversation with it. But nothing inspired her. Had she really created everything there was to create? Depressed, she looked out her window, and made a wish on a nearby anything for inspiration to return to her. The next morning, she sprung out of bed, and used her skill in human being to create thmad libs9 months ago in Create a Story Contest More Like This
the forest breathes for youInhalethe forest breathes for you4 months ago in Four Line Poems More Like This
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
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
Dear Teen MeDear Teen Me,Dear Teen Me7 months ago in Adult More Like This
Too often, we lean toward writing to the general audience. I've rewritten this very letter at least three times, and had to scrap it each time because it did not accomplish what it needs to accomplish. It needs to be a letter to you, not to every teenage girl in America. It needs to speak to your heart, your dreams, and your faults. It needs to be about you.
Since we were able to comprehend compassion, we've used it as a shield to avoid ourselves. We've sympathized with the plights of the starving in Asia, the trafficked in India, the raped and tortured in Sudan and Burma. We've given to the Red Cross on behalf of hurricane an
november.the day i was born was not a day of sparkling stars and soft-spoken lullabies, of rose-colored memories and warm autumn hearts. time did not stand still, but instead slipped between shrill cries and bitter words. but i would not know; i was not there. i cannot remember my first breath, and i cannot remember what i saw the first time i opened my eyes. but perhaps i never really learned to breathe perhaps my eyes never opened after all.november.3 years ago in Write Memoirs More Like This
when i turned five, i discovered the art of being alone.
i learned that there is no celebration song when you are twenty-three hundred miles from where you belong and your family has fluttered off into
4 word poemPole |4 word poem4 months ago in Four Line Poems More Like This
To My Future SelfTo my Future Self,To My Future Self6 months ago in Teen More Like This
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 Daddy's GirlDear Naive 15,Dear Daddy's Girl6 months ago in Adult More Like This
You're ignorant as Hell.
You dress in baggy blue jeans, wear an oversized hoodie every day, and never let your hair down. Students at school, and even your mom, think you're gay… and you don't even know.
All of your classmates blame you for a burn book that circulated after that Mean Girls movie. Everyone thinks you're a jealous bitch and secretly they mock you. How can you not see that?
Your teachers are all positive that you cut yourself and that you're always on drugs. Even now you have no idea why they ask you to take your jacket off during class. Could it be that you always wear long sleeves?
It's okay, sweetheart.
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,
I had to.A young woman named Frederickerity (Fred) loved making art, and practiced derping all day long to become the very best in all her town. But one day, she was completely stumped. She looked around her room, full of art pieces featuring mystical Compsognathus, sci-fi landscapes of a futuristic Horsefly, and a portrait of Johnny Bravo that looked so real, you could start a conversation with it. But nothing inspired her. Had she really created everything there was to create? Depressed, she looked out her window, and made a wish on a nearby echidna for inspiration to return to her. The next morning, she sprung out of bed, and used her skill in derpI had to.10 months ago in Create a Story Contest More Like This
My Name is ElaineShe stood before the mirror, one hand placed against the glass. The other held a washcloth to wipe away her mask. She tried to purse her ruby lips, looking like a tease. Wondering what they saw in her, their touch a brutal squeeze.My Name is Elaine4 years ago in Think Pink IV More Like This
First came off the eye shadow, her smoky gaze now blue. Then came the pale pink that stained her cheeks untrue. Finally her lips, no longer the shade of blood. She attempted to pull a smile, but it turned into a dud.
Will you still loved me? she asked her own reflection. Am I still beautiful, or a doll in a collection? Can you see the truth behind my lies? Do you know the reason for m
The Dance Of The MothFew have ever witnessed the dancing of the mothThe Dance Of The Moth4 years ago in Poetry More Like This
When he flits across the ceiling in the night
A most magical scene as he dances back and forth
And he's never lacking elegance in flight
As he swoops and twirls to a song all his own
A song, of which, us humans will never hear
And at first glance he appears to dance alone
A closer look reveals that something's there
Once he had a partner he loved with all his heart
And when she passed she left a piece behind
For their souls could not bear to ever have to part
So she left her shadow there for him to find
For this serenade's designed not for one but two
It's a tribute for the lovers o
Dear Teen Ruby RoseDear Ruby,Dear Teen Ruby Rose7 months ago in Adult More Like This
I know you hate me calling you that. I know you'd rather I use one of the millions of aliases you've buried yourself under over the years, the way you used to hide under pillows or disappear into piles of leaves, or cover yourself in snow while the other kids made snow angels (because you didn't have wings - you're the abominable snowman).
You're still that little girl, as much as you disguise it - the only difference is that now you're hiding in words and clothes. I know what you're doing with all of that lace and the skirts and PVC. The way you wear provocative clothing so that people look at you and judge you by the threads, s