HomophobiaI'm different.Homophobia2 years 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...
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 28 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
divine silencespearsdivine silence1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
those fragile moments I spent etching my prayers into my skin,
holding them up like gifts for a mute god to see, blood collapsing
ly be dead
Silencio"¡Pero no dije nada!"Silencio3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
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 Sketch3 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
april 18th, 2012.therapy:april 18th, 2012.2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
"I'm not an artist. I'm just a kid with a keyboard."
“And, y'know, I’m probably not really sick.”
“I read a lot of books. I probably just act like this because I saw it somewhere on the Internet.”
“I just want to be more like my dad.”
“I’m really just a pathological crybaby who wants attention,” I tell you.
You say, “I think there are better ways to get attention than fake a mental disorder.”
“Maybe I’m doing it for fun.”
The problem isn’t that I need to see a therapist.
The problem is that I need to see a therapist because I dream about slamming your head into a tree.
Right after we broke up, you took me to the bike cage and promised me everything would be okay. Then you got together with that fifteen year old from Michigan and told our friends that I was a freak.
Slamming your head into a tree might be painful, but nothing will ever hurt more than kn
RelativityWhat could do me some good, you ask? A deep-tissue massage and a nice, long nap. No alarm clocks, no fitful dreams, no banging on my door, yelling at me to get my ass in gear. Just a few hours of undisturbed sleep.Relativity2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Sleep is proof God loves us and wants us to be happy. Benjamin Franklin said it was beer, but I think it’s sleep. Now don’t get me wrong, I love a good beer, but let’s be honest, what’s better: waking up with one bitch of a hangover and a bad case of the shits, or waking up refreshed and realizing you’re not quite as dead as you thought you were? And let’s not forget, sleep is more important. That might be hard to believe, but think about it. You can go your whole life without a drink, but try and go one too many nights without sleep and you start climbing the walls.
You tell me I look a little outta sorts and then clap me on the back. Real hard. The force almost sends me hurtling to the floor. And then you tell me you
What Soft DreamsWhat soft dreams we lay -What Soft Dreams3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
What soft dreams, like infants put to rest -
Frightfully bare, and compromised,
Our kisses on their breasts.
We close our eyes and trust them safe,
Kept 'til break of dawn -
Forgetting that the night is fickle,
And dutifully, as long -
It safeguards some,
Moved by neither coin nor threat
Nor anguished mother's cry.
A Hierarchy of Things I'd Like to BeI would rather be stupid but kind, than intelligent but cruel. It goes without saying that I would prefer both virtues with none of the vices, but life is all about hard choices. There’s a ladder of preference:A Hierarchy of Things I'd Like to Be1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The cruelty of the stupid is born out of fear and ignorance. The cruelty of the intelligent is multiplied by their capacity for thought; they should know better.
I did know better – but I left the blade dull anyway. You swing, you miss, you swing, you miss; a nick on the neck, a lock of hair.
Dad trained me on logs. You split it right down the middle – one cut, two logs. He showed me where the arteries are, how to cause the least pain, how to use your intelligence to be kind when you’re being cruel.
You swing, you slice; red. You swing, you hit; the first vertebrae. You swing, you jump; right in the puddle. You swing, he pushes; callused hands on your back. You swing, you thump;
Casualties of WarLike your duffle bag strings,Casualties of War2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
we were burdened and taut.
In the hangar full
of camouflaged men,
we all blended;
another family thinking about
how if this were World War Two,
we’d be hanging you a blue star
and praying that
the alchemy of war
didn't turn it gold.
We wondered if the photograph of us,
soon to be framed on the mantle,
would be our final documentation
that you existed,
and “single mother” would become
permanent status for our matriarch,
eyes tight as she hugged us four
to her chest as if to ward away
thoughts of widowhood.
They don’t tell you about
the deaths on the home front,
how the father comes home
and can’t look at the trash,
‘cause there might be bombs hidden
and he hasn’t learned to adjust.
They don’t tell you about
how the mother some mornings
barely bundles her children out the door
before thinking she’s losing her mind,
hand pressed to her heart and shaking.
And you don’t hear about the daughter
to Nat, my own catcher in the ryeon the day you were buriedto Nat, my own catcher in the rye7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
it was warm and sunny out
and little children played all day-
it’s also ironic how they handed
out flowers to your bones
when they couldn’t do it
with your bones
intact with pumping blood
and warm skin
the cycle of life turning to death
is being thrown at your face,
petals counting off
the days you wasted drunk
with regret wishing
you kissed her
or how you should never
have gave away yourself so easily
or how you were never
suppose to die
with your heart
tiring itself out from
giving you all the time
you will never get back
the stem bent
like a big i told you so
with it’s empty head
and shriveled body
could’ve been that bottle full of
paper stars you made when
you were seven
or that Little Shirley Beans
record you smashed
the first morning you had
some souvenir to turn
into your own personal
other than your coffin
because flowers are
a grave fo
Right Here Waiting -Destiel-Right Here Waiting -Destiel-5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
As if the week had not be stressful enough, Dean had found himself thrust into the future against his will, and so far he had not liked what he had seen, not just because his future self was a complete dick, and Sam was no where to be seen. It was the extremely drastic change in Castiel that had startled him the most, the way that future Dean acted with the ex-angel. They were cold to each other, not to mention the fact that Castiel was essentially on a constant high.
Back in his own time, back in 2009, he and Castiel were friends; hell they were almost more than friends as his damned heart and mind kept reminding him. The thoughts that he had about the angel back in his own time; it took all his strength to hide the thoughts from Castiel. Though once or twice he had knew almost instantly he had failed, occasionally catching a blush on his cheeks and only smiled when Castiel would sheepishly turn away from him. Castiel was by far one of his best friends, and Dean had been doing his bes
A Feeling 5A Feeling 5A Feeling 54 years ago in Romance More Like This
After yesterday, Raven and Beastboy were becoming much better at cooperating with each other. Though, Raven still enjoyed her space and Beastboy knew that, therefore he left her pretty much alone after their little swim.
When she was finished with her herbal tea, she beckoned all her emotions to come to her room. Taking Beastboy's plan yesterday was fun, but she hadn't managed to get rid of many of her personalities. Since most of these emotions were agreeable, they lined up to help her decide what to do.
Affection, Happiness, Desire, and Hope stood together smiling and then Timid and Surprise were nervously gripping one another in anticipation. Boredom, Curiosity, and Sober were absently staring in a random direction.
"You and me should cuddle with someone!" Affection suggested.
"Maybe Beastboy?" Lust proposed.
Raven turned red, "No!"
"You're no fun, dude," Sober drew out slowly, "You have to l
Faces Of MineFaces Of Mine2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Faces Of Mine
A smile once so true
But it changed direction over time
I knew it was there because of you
But it was just belief based on a lie
Hope cannot be granted
And then stripped away
You have left my core tainted
With these wicked games that you play
May it be a lesson
Or turn it into fact and truth
Love won't be as important
As I use these scars as my proof
These eyes were once so hopeful
It was considered the rise after the fall
But my tears became unfaithful
As pain plunged out of my skull
No passion for the heart / No light for the dark
No love for the liars / No guilt for the betrayers
No truth for the corrupted / No solace for the hatred
No burden for the departed / No shame for the discarded
An innocent outlook on life
Once so pure and whole
But now it's twisted to survive
There is no caring anymore
Forced to adapt to cruelty
I injected ice into my
55 Word Stories - Part One1. Roulette55 Word Stories - Part One3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Logic dictated that he had to die eventually. By bullet or bullet train, he didn't care. And end was an end.
He's heard of this condition before Quantum Immortality. One multiverse incarnate that would live forever. Him. It was just his luck that he would be saddled with eternity.
He sighed and reloaded the gun.
2. The Chase
There is no scientific name for the delay between lightning and thunder. The light flashes across the empty fields of gold followed by the crash of sound racing to keep up, to catch its always faster partner. The thunder never quite reaches its elusive lover.
I guess what I'm trying to say is come back.
Roy G. Biv hated his name. He was not, nor had he ever been, a colorful man. His gray eyes were the same shade as the gray suit he wore to hide the gray hair that fell out and stuck to his jacket.
The gray clouds gathered overhead as he pulled out a gray umbrella.
Hollow SuicideI love this world.Hollow Suicide4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I love it even when it's so beautifully achingly lonely that I can feel the drum of my pulse throbbing just under my skin, a constant reminder of the hollow center the veins connect back to.
Sometimes I think I want to build my future in the forest because the trees are so lovely but then I realize that I would be missing out on the vast, limitless blue expanses of oceanwater and the sound of the waves lapping at the shoreline. And then I think of the view from the mountains, or the honey-golden tones of the desert at sunset, the neon lights of the great cities, all the beautiful places in the world I have to choose from, but which one is the most beautiful in the end?
I think about the end of the world, how the forests would burn and the seas would dry up and the mountains would crumble and the cities would fall, and the destruction would still be hauntingly beautiful because it's a reminder of our own impermanence. A gentle memory of that faint
Sex and Hollywood chapter 1**Andy's Point of Veiw chapter**Sex and Hollywood chapter 13 years ago in Romance More Like This
The teacher took roll call. It was the start of the new school year. I sat in back as usal with the goths, but it was better then sitting up front where the teacher is constantly bugging you to stop writing or drawing. A perfect black and white drawn batman symbol covered my green and blue notebook.
"Okay. Welcome to 7th grande math. Lets begin by introducing ourselfs around the room-"
I groaned audiably that ehoed in the classroom. The teacher looked at me "seems like Andrew-"
"I'm SO sorry, I ment ANDY might want to go first" the old hag said pointing at me "come now, Andy, introduce yourself. What do you like?"
"I like batman and blood." I said plainly.
The reason i wasn't a very happy sweet little 7th grade boy was because a: I was picked on every day for my sexuality and b: I had damn near no friends. All I had were
Germany X Reader ~Adoption: Chapter 1~Screams were all around you, fire closing in ready to engulf you, the only thing you could see through your teary eyes was the figure of a well built, tall man with his bright blue eyes looking menacingly down at you. He moves his left arm towards you which has blood on it, his huge gloved hand almost touching your head, you wake up from your nightmare with a gasp and bolted straight up in your bed.Germany X Reader ~Adoption: Chapter 1~3 years ago in Romance More Like This
Holding your hand to your head and shutting your eyes, you bring your knees up to your chest and lean on them as your heavy breathing started forming into sobs. As you were doing this you tried thinking of a time when you didn't have these nightmares.
"Why do I constantly have them? Does it mean something? Is something bad going to happen? "
Not knowing any of the answers, you try to stop crying by sucking in a huge breath of air then exhaling slowly. The only thing that did though was give you a headache.
Brushing Up Against HistoryNovember 1963Brushing Up Against History4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
I'm eight years old and sitting in class (I strangely recall that my seat was in the middle of second row, on the side away from the window), when the principal comes in to tell us that the president has been shot.
I do not know
what it means, but I know
that it scares me.
My mother meets Senator Robert F. Kennedy while he is campaigning in San Francisco and gets his autograph. I live with my father in a small town in Michigan, where every year leading up to Memorial Day, I sell paper poppies for the VFW.
blood of soldiers on the field
war has come home
I watch the news and see the body count, arranged like a scorecard. The numbers say we are winning, but one of those numbers is from our town, the only casualty that week. I don't know him, but I see his picture on the cover of Life Magazine.
I turn 17 the next month
and try to join the Marine Corp
my father will not sign
As a small-town b
Cold CoffeeThere’s a cold cup of coffee on the table by his hand. He can’t stop picking it up and tasting the liquid within, only for it to slide out again with his breath. The man sitting across from him wrinkles his nose at this, but won’t stop talking about the very important Paper in front of him and how everything would be so much simpler if Mr. Staden would just sign, thank you very much and enjoy the rest of your coffee without me.Cold Coffee7 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
Mr. Staden just looks back at the man and the papers, feeling the pen that he holds loosely in his left hand. It’s heavy, but looks cheap. He scribbles it against the napkin coaster and it doesn’t leave a mark, moving it faster back and forth just tears the paper.
“This doesn’t work,” he says, and he watches as the man—the lawyer—reaches inside his bag—his briefcase, where the other Papers are—and produces another pen, this one lighter, blue ink instead of black.
“Here, try this,
Better Left Unsaid.You'll be a lawyer-Better Left Unsaid.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'll be a writer.
You'll probably make more money but-
At least we'll both be doing things we love.
And we'll live on a farm,
Just like you always wanted and...
I want to marry you-
I can't imagine myself with anyone else.
But you don't know that.
We'd both laugh if I told you.
So it's better left unsaid.
I can see us staying up late...
Watching kiddie movies and eating chocolate ice cream.
And having candle lit dates on our bedroom floor-
Taco Bell, of course.
And on winter evenings, we'll curl up on the couch...
With hot chocolate...
As I read aloud to you-
From a book of my choice, of course.
But you don't know this...
You'd think I was weird if I told you.
So it's better left unsaid.
And one day we'll pick out a huge chair.
A chair for cuddling.
And when I'm sad-
You'll hold me in our chair...
And we'll both stay real quiet,
Taking each other in.
And eventually we'll start to talk-
Quiet murmurs at first...
sleep sequencesleep doesn't work as a cure or remedysleep sequence2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when 3am leaves you clutching at the dark
clambering for stability in your personal ocean.
and you are quartz so the inside
of your skin is lined with the interior
monologues of vaporized shellfish.
sure, you could have saved them. but how else
could we communicate, if not for this ocean
digesting us softly and churning us into one?
you exhale, or maybe it was a sigh
i cannot tell anymore with your constant
breaking waves and breaking bones.
and you can talk about death in such
elegant phrasings of crescent moons claiming
and guiding lost souls.
but you never were so good at telling me about
your own personal little deaths.
the littlest deaths, the ones that slip
through the spaces between your fingers
when you hold your safety net so close against you
and so tightly. if i can't get that close to you
i'll swing the moon around your shoulders
so that no one can. because nothing else
in the solar system could be so stark
and yet so quieting.
Heart, Have No PityThe train sways from side to side, gray subway lights washing away all color from the world, and the shuffle on his music player is playing only the songs Jesper hates. He hits the skip button again and again, tries to keep his briefcase pinned between his legs. There is a coffee stain on his shirt, but he did not have enough time to sprint to his bedroom and change before he had to leave to make his train on time. He cannot afford to be late again.Heart, Have No Pity3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Skip-skip-skip. He should stop allowing his sister into his apartment; she always deletes his good music and replaces it with pop that Jesper despises. He thinks he hears his station being called in between the melodious shrieks of ABBA, so he snatches his bag and stumbles out the door, unwinding his headphones and stuffing his music player in his trench coat's pocket.
Jesper takes five steps before he glances up. The train has already rattled out of the station, and he is not in the correct place. He did not even know that the subway runs
WashedSeems a high blunt tasteWashed2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Seems a beautiful waste
Such an elegant shade
Why is it to fade?
Ribs so grey made?
Cities blind in chase
Pictures greased to phrase
Just as the cloudy air planes that soar above
Once playful raindrops, now gloomy love
Off painted scapes they shove
Colors in history glowed childishly
Every tint of earth poured meaningfully
Eyes to see beyond what is to be seen
Textures and radiance never better then what could have been
Pinnacle in the canvas of the wind so lean
Glass works sculpted of broken diamonds too keen
Else Heaven bend to re-imagine