HomophobiaI'm different.Homophobia1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I don't fit in.
I like something different...
And I keep it all in.
Pick yourself up.
You're different, yes.
But you're just as good as them.
No matter what they say...
I won't earn their respect.
Don't you see?
They hate me because I am me.
They walk all over my dreams.
I won't accomplish anything.
I won't be let in.
Thrown away like rubbish.
Just left and not let in.
You can accomplish anything.
They don't know what they say.
You are an amazing individual.
Don't let them stop you dream.
I don't know how to stand it.
All the comments and the digs.
Just stop this Homophobia.
I want to be let in...
Why Peter is not a poet.Cole is eleven. Age matters in October, when twelve is the only difference between the haunted hayride and the shelled corn sandbox. Age matters when a boy says the word "shit" in school (and Cole does). But age doesn't matter when the same boy has both sneakers dangling over the edge of a 250-foot grain silo, his hands sweaty on the rungs, the state of Nebraska breathing vacant and honeyed and infinite below him. For the first time in his life, Cole can't be quantified by the candles on his last birthday cake. Cole is young, but today, he is worth saving. Three facts about Cole:Why Peter is not a poet.4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
1. His eyebrows are the most expressive arches his body has to offer.
2. He's so terrified that his very expressive eyebrows are threatening to take up permanent residence in his hairline.
3. He does not have suicidal tendencies, and later understands--for the sake of his mother's heart and Officer Roy's bladder control--that his strategies for
The SketchHe loses his first kiss in autumn. He's twelve, she's just turned thirteen, and at the time he isn't sure what all the fuss is about but knows how special it is anyway.The Sketch2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
She's gorgeous, pale-skin, brown hair, dark eyes always filled with happiness and joy the way he wishes he could be. She doesn't want to be there any more than he does, and they grouse to each other about how they don't need a 'special school.' It's the first time he's worked up the courage to say it.
She carries a book too, just like his sketchbook, but she says it's a diary. It's hung with a little lock on the front and he jokes about it being the key to her heart, a little boy's poor attempt at flirting but she laughs anyway. He wants to hear that laugh again, and he does, when he shyly asks if he can draw her.
It's half-way through his sketch that she leans in and presses her soft lips to his. It's a little clumsy and awkward, given how she's standing up and he's cross-legged on the ground, and nowhere as romantic l
Hellsing: Dreams Part 2For a moment, Seras couldn't answer. Her mind went blank, her jaw slacked very slightly, and she could not look away from his intense and pained gaze. His words started to sink in, and then she looked at him, really looked at him, as if for the first time. Instead of teasing and cruelty, violence and bloodlust, his eyes just held a sorrow that cut her to the core, a wound that had never been healed properly. She wanted to suddenly embrace him, hold him, and make that look go away.Hellsing: Dreams Part 27 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
This wasn't the Master she knew.
Alucard only looked away when Seras' crimson eyes started to soften, a gently smile gracing her lips. She walked over and sat down on her knees, trying to catch his eyes again. "...So even Master has his days," She whispered, and received no reply. She didn't expect one, and just kept smiling. Instead, she rested her head against his knee, sighing softly. The sudden contact would have normally infuriated Alucard. He didn't like being touched at all very much, and his fl
Old SoulsDoc says I’m an oldOld Souls7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
soul, with my postcards
and letters, and waste-no-words
policy. Doc says old souls still make eye
contact instead of playing with iPhones,
mirrors that stare back, and tell
us who we are by knowing
who they are.
Doc tells me I’m an old
soul in a young body, taming
wild Internets and bringing my words
to heel like a triple score
in a game of Scrabble.
That I was born in the wrong
decade, that I was meant to punch
typewriter keys like a boxer,
that the twenty-first century
wasn’t made for old souls like mine.
Doc thinks I’m too old
to be twenty-three, constantly forgetting
the barriers of my few years.
Like that I never wrote about myself
until he gave me moments
worth writing down, and cared
about the person behind the words.
That I learned who I was by learning
who he was, and drew a timeline
of intersection points where each
node became a poem, and each poem
became a stepping stone.
Doc unearthed an old
soul in my notebook.
Old like a favori
61.8% Waterthe veins along my racing heart are rivers.61.8% Water2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
their waterfalls cascade into my stomach,
and hit the bottom with an empty thump.
waves run along the inner linings of my lungs,
crashing into every breath.
no wonder I can never seem to take in enough air.
the bottom of my throat is consumed by a whirlpool.
it steals all of my words,
and tucks them deep into the crevices of my bones.
the pressure of all these words under my skin builds up,
so that every so often a flood hits my brain,
and all my thoughts are scrambled up and confused.
some days I wish for a tsunami
to wash away all of these helpless scars.
Strangely Fulfilling, Like Rabbit HeartsI was a hawk,Strangely Fulfilling, Like Rabbit Hearts2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a sweeping, broom-winged raptor;
a scent of violent and raw hearts on the air
eating my fill of rabbits—
brown and copper-breath’d,
witch of the western woods
sipping my hemlock-spiked tea.
I distrusted words like “always”—
something about the way the mouth falls open,
the throat muscles that clench, chicken-necked.
Fragility has its dark side,
a biding time, like Snow White
I wonder if you smelled me,
smelled the challenge on my dustland sighs.
I know I could smell the thief on you.
You came from my own forest,
a sleek and curly-haired monster
indigo and antler’d.
You said you hated always, too,
and we smiled our fanged smiles
and readied our claws for the weaknesses we’d found.
So imagine my surprise when
you said the always word yourself—
when I saw your Loki-tongue,
cynical in every tastebud,
rest soft and pink as rabbit innards
against the teeth of your open mouth,
gentle and hoping.
I would not beli
I'm sorry MasterI'm sorry Master3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
I lay here..On the cold floor
fading away into the light..
It's so warm..
It's so peaceful..
I'm sorry i have failed you..
I'm just a broken weapon..
That you can not fix..
I'm sorry for being so useless..Master
I only wish..i could stay longer and be..useful to you..
I took my life for you..
To save you..
for i am just a broken weapon..
It's all said and done, it's real, and it's been fun.
a man comes next to me..
He closes my eyes..
Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened.
i give a small smile..
and fade away..
Into a eternal happiness..
I'm sorry Master..
For it's my time to depart from you..
So..do not be sad..Not mad..
For Goodbye is not forever..
Feels Like Home - AndleyLove isn't something you can just dismiss into the wind, something you can forget about. True love strikes you at the worst moments and leaves you breathless. It leaves your soul, the very core of your existence, begging for more. Simply laying eyes upon that lucky person makes every single cell in your body vibrate with pure energy and unadulterated love. Their voice sends shivers down your spine and one look into their god-sent eyes is like a gift bestowed upon you by the highest powers of heaven. The smallest touch can be felt days afterwards, a delicate heat that warms even the darkest depths of your heart. Every heartbeat and electric impulse, all of it whispers their name through the life blood slipping through your veins; every breath and blink of your eyes exists because they do.Feels Like Home - Andley3 years ago in Romance More Like This
Everything you do belongs to them because your heart is their's. It always has been and always will be.
CheersHere’s to all those rude awakeningsCheers8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
those things we swore we’d never do but did anyway
those silently deafening times and deafeningly silent times
and every decibel in between.
Here’s to the nights we thought we were lost
the nights we really were lost
and the nights we had nothing more to lose.
Here’s to us spinning our heads in knots
over unanswerable questions like why we existed
and whether this life was all we had.
Here’s to when we realized dreams can be caught
if you only have the courage to chase them
and sometimes when you let yourself fall
you discover how unbreakable you are
how unbreakable you always were.
Here’s to every time you told me I had enough
to live for, just being me
and to the moments you proved I did
by being you.
e.e.cummingsThe day you left, I skipped school to see you off.e.e.cummings3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I said, "There are more important things than school."
You said, "I never said there weren't."
Now, I mostly miss you, and usually on Sundays, I make my way to the place where we used to sit out Sunday School. There's still a Bible on the rock where I think you might have left it, and I pick it up and read it. I've never gotten past the gospel of Matthew, because every time I read it I see you staring at the sky and asking if Heaven's hypothetical.
There were stars in the sky that night, and you said you used to think they were god shining through a curtain.
Once we talked about Our Father who Art in Heaven and you told me that if you were a believer, you'd say both your fathers art in heaven, and hallowed be their names.
I remember the day I skipped fourth block, and we sat on the rocks and smoked. You told me it wasn't good to abandon my education, so you taught me e.e.cummings-
"I like my body when it is with your
I learned t
but when is enough enough?can i tell you now how i've dissipated,but when is enough enough?4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dissolved into the fabric's interstices
swallowed like living pride
i weigh less than i ever have,
i am less than i've ever been,
let's watch as i count every single
calorie in every single
morsel to touch my tongue,
let's see how far i've fallen,
let's see how much i hurt.
how hollow i'm painted these days,
dark shadows gracing the lines
of every feeling i beat,
can you see the way i breathe
conflict with every gasp,
the happiness i bend over backwards
for in hopes of bowing to my breast,
the abandoned fears burning under
my skin, the broken stars boiling beneath
the thin-painted husk of reds and blues
do you feel lovely,
for every scar stretched across my skin,
for every number burning through
it's all for you in
the way that it's not for you at all, just
the way you are
not there for me at all.
This must be how Gatsby felt.The dock slats of my FacebookThis must be how Gatsby felt.9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
chat list have a green light
at the end, flickering on
and on again.
That’s Internet in small
town Virginia. So close.
So far from your Midwest
hometown, the one you left
me in, stretching my arms out.
And then one fine morning –
When I see you.When I see you,When I see you.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My mouth goes dry,
My palms get sweaty,
And I get shy.
When I see you,
I have to smile.
Because being with you,
Is worth my while.
When I see you,
No words can describe,
The warm feeling I get,
That feels me inside.
When I see you,
I wonder if you know,
That I feel so empty,
Whenever you go.
When I see you,
I think how it would be,
If you said that,
You love me.
I'm sorry. NOT.I'm sorry that I'm not you.I'm sorry. NOT.3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I'm sorry that I'm not skinny.
And that I'm not cut out for a model.
I'm sorry that I don't have a fake tan.
And that I prefer to keep my skin natural.
I'm sorry that my hair is red.
And not a fake bleach blonde like yours.
I'm sorry that I don't wear clothes that reveal too much.
And that I prefer to wear band t shirts and jeans.
I'm sorry that I don't wear those massive hoop earrings.
That I think are uncomfortable.
I'm sorry that I don't listen to the same music as you.
That I don't like the overplayed RnB songs and prefer Heavy Metal.
I'm sorry that I don't act like you.
That I don't go out every Friday night to night clubs and prefer to stay indoors and read, draw or write.
I'm sorry that I'm not as popular as you.
That I don't go around in a big group trying to act cool.
I'm sorry that I'm not as pretty as you.
That I don't cake my face with make up and just wear eyeliner.
So that's all I want to say.
on drowning, swimming, and the difference thereintwo girls are swimming in two lanes, separate with a timer overheadon drowning, swimming, and the difference therein8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
counting up their seconds. it’s a race to first, to the end of the lane,
to the medals and the glory and the place where water turns into land
and the dry hugs that wait there. it’s a race and
there’s a winner in the pool right now and it’s
either the girl with the red swim cap
or the one whose goggles fall off as soon as
she hits the water.
they are both in high school and they both do not know the other’s name.
the girl with the loose goggles is the crowd’s f
Combat ZonesHe wakes up in Vietnam every night,Combat Zones1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
boot-clad feet trudging over mined ground,
trigger finger numb, back sore,
fatigue drenched from the monsoons,
and he prays to go home to her.
He finds himself next to her every morning,
dark bags under her eyes telling him
his twitching kept her awake again.
At breakfast she throws the dishes
and cries as the china shatters against the wall—
cries that she’s living in a combat zone
with a man who’s battling himself.
"Is there anything more destructive
than war?" she asks, and he looks at her
and says, “Love."
Don't Give me a Reason to Sell My SoulDon't give me a reason to sell my soul, she should have said.Don't Give me a Reason to Sell My Soul4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Instead, she just stared at the man on the screen in front of her, the man with his long, drooping skin, tired eyes, haggard face and balding head. He was hardly the admiral we had once known. She said "I don't have any desire to do it," and then quickly, "but I'll follow my orders, if you give them to me."
There was fright in her eyes. She gripped the edges of the captain's chair and bit her cheek, fighting off inevitable tears. But not here. She couldn't cry now. People relied on her to be strong. What people she wasn’t sure, but someone, somewhere, surely. She had to believe that.
"Those are your orders," the man said, sinking heavily into his chair. "I trust you'll carry them out."
She snapped off communications with ill-hid despair. Her blonde hair, thin and almost colorless, hung around her face like a fallen halo, fading with every sin. Her lips were tight, her cheeks drawn, and her eyes stared out of bru