a paradiseEveryday, a sticky sun squeezes its viscous light out of the corner of the sky. It oozes out, slowly dripping down the throbbing walls of the earth. The walls aren't brittle - they're hard as bone, strong and thick; so thick that they let no sticky, yellow light leak through. Everyday we stretch out our arms, just to imagine the feeling of that sticky, yellow light touching our fingers.a paradise2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Every night the sun gets washed away by a river of tiny, white lights. Every night we tilt our faces upwards, religiously, almost asking the lights for forgiveness. Forgive us for our pain, forgive us for tearing our muscles as we reach for the sweet, warm light during the day. Every night, thousands of us gather under the lights, each one a link on the pulsing chain wrapped around the face of the earth.
What shall we do with this monster? His round, bright face smiles down at us, his condescending beams illuminate our steps. I want to watch him burn - but how can one set alight a glow
Stupid poetrySoul-splitting literature isn't your thing.Stupid poetry2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I like that.
No feathery weatherman poetry.
all that stuff in lower case about punctured bones and hollow, aching skies.
About the discovery of
Basking in some purple floral essence of souls and synapses
Those deep red, masochistic writings of blotchy, crying eyes
staring at galaxies of colourful bruises
thinking about the twisted shadows of days beautifully and uncontrollably slipping behind
birds and trees
and glowing bees
and precious scars
and lah dee dahs
and erratic long sentences that use up the air in your chest because fuck you and your structured grammared punctuated literature ive got poetic license
I think of it all the time but it's never what I want to hear from you.
Your words are easy and clean.
I like that.
It's not that you don't feel your soul splitting-
you most certainly do,
I see it in your eyes.
You've just found the secret to dealing with it.
You don't need feathery weatherman poetry.
The Ghosts Of Days Gone ByI've been searching for a whileThe Ghosts Of Days Gone By3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
For those things that I once knew
Racing through blurred memories
Missing pieces hide the view
Its been so long since I've looked back
Faint flames have long since died
These fragile thoughts I've kept intact
My ghosts won't be denied
A strange sensation leads me on
Through doors I've left for dead
Forgotten feelings draw me in
Lost dreams locked in my head
The matching keys rusted away
I now look back with shame
Millions of chances gone to waste
Alone I take the blame
This desperate search I choose to end
My heart now says goodbye
I've found no way to resurrect
The ghosts of days gone by
Stealing WednesdayJust this once,Stealing Wednesday2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
let it be an angel plume
floating on the borrowed breeze.
Something living but also alive.
A bouquet of forget-me-nots nestled
in the arms of Alzheimer's
the hands of hatred.
We aren't asking for a field-
The strength to take back tomorrow
Just this once,
Give us something we deserve:
The hidden dirt road
Never Feel AloneNever Feel AloneNever Feel Alone11 months ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
For those in need; help them
So they don’t feel alone in this sometimes evil and sick world we live in
No one deserves to go live a life alone or feel like they’re by themselves,
Because as a team, any group of people can fight on through this,
And with love they will prosper through these dark and critical times
Let people have someone to lean on, something that will help them moving forward
And help them return to comfort; so someone can comfortably live their life
Give them something to strive for and look towards,
Because with a set of goals it can give one’s life meaning
It can give a lost soul some direction
And with love and determination, we can get through this phase of testing,
Tests that will forever help mold us as people; difficult times will be our defining moments
And I know those that have lost or feel hopeless may not see this,
But there’s hope, there’s life; somehow, someway we’ll find positivity throu
FallaciousYou believe youFallacious4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
speak of truth
yet all I see
Your acid tongue
on my skin
for every single
word you've spoken.
You can only
so much of
your own reality
just to save face.
June 29th, 2010
For These Things I AmFor all the things I couldn't do,For These Things I Am4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
For all my plans that fell through,
For the lies I told in lieu of truth,
I am sorrowful.
For all your tomorrows that wouldn't come,
For all my wrongs in their awful sum,
For the words I used that made you glum,
I am regretful.
For all the smiles you put on my face,
For all your beauty and all your grace,
For the warmth you gave in each embrace,
I am joyful.
001 -- IntroductionThere are times I wish I could start at the end. Endings are what people cling to; what we remember when the book has been shut. It's the ending we talk about with our friends and stay up until the early hours of morning pondering about. Perhaps that's why endings are so beautifulit is only then that we know the truth of all which came prior.001 -- Introduction2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
If only our beginnings could be as simple. What are we when we start but a blank sheet, ready for anything to be written. Some of us will be etched with beautiful design, calligraphic texts of love letters sent and responded to; others hastily scribbled upon and then crinkled up and tossed into the waste basket, never to be read again. Time can bring beauty or death, cruelty only as harsh as the quill decides to press.
In the beginning, we are all the same. No ink, no tears, no bends. We stand together upon a shelf, awaiting the first stroke of the master's quill to guide us to our eventual ends. We are pure, clean, and intact. Naivety is ou
Make it BeautifulSome say that writers have a giftMake it Beautiful4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
To write about the mundane.
To make it beautiful; set thoughts adrift.
But if you'll listen, let me explain
That making beauty is not great;
Especially beauty from pain and hate.
Poets turn love into what it's not;
A devouring monster or sweet peace,
What is love truly? Your scribbled ink-knot?
Reading that sadness grants no release,
And happiness is always so short;
Happiness is many poets' final resort.
Are we the doomed generation?
So many of us are liars by trade
Can the few poets give an explanation,
Or are we also just liars, unswayed?
Poets fill hearts with a burning desire
To experience passionate things
Yet a poet might be a glamorous liar
Or just able to feel awe for all life brings;
What I say is probably slander
Against the poets that write with candour.
The UsedWhy do you feel like you have to lie?The Used6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Why can't you say what you truly feel inside?
Can't you see that there's no reason to hide from me,
whatever your true feelings happen to be?
To me, you have no obligation,
I know where I stand.
I know I'm just an opportunity
here to take away the sting of lonliness,
willing to be your toy,
at least for a little while.
I have needs too,
ones only you can fulfill,
so come lay with me,
and I'll kiss your troubles away.
I don't mind being used,
at least that's what I tell my heart.
It's happened before,
but then I was stupid enough
to think of it as and wish for more.
I'm wiser now.
I know not to expect or hope for anything else.
So please, don't bullshit me,
don't make this into anything more than what it is.
There's no point lying,
I know you don't see me as anything
but a friend with added benefits.
A Rebirth of Sky and SeaA Rebirth of Sky and Sea3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Your memory carried me through countless nights
Nothing more than a glorified incubus
Your serpent words wrapping there way around my heart
We both need to move on, fellow lost soul,
The coming dawn waits for no one.
I'm only your princess when no one else is looking
A pet trained to come when your lonely.
I can't wait forever for you to make up your mind
The fading night leaves everyone behind.
I would have been your everything if I only had a chance
But we are young and your heart wanders while I look on
My wounds heal, your poison drains away leaving a clear mind
With my face to the rising sun, I am born.
It is your turn to wake up Lord of dreams and wishes
My hands once reached out to you, craving the feel of your skin
Bitter reality waits to greet you as I walk away with few glances back
The moon sets and a young girl dies.
Hours spent missing what never was is a heavy burden
My shoulders feel free once again and I pray you find the same peace
The fissures and cracks in a young he
An Essay On TruthThe Civil Rights Movement is an iconic one that even those that weren't alive yet can understand the significance of. Basic human rights were being fought for, and in some ways, they still are. Yes, black men and women can go to the same schools and public places as white men and women. Yes, they can serve in the same unit together in the military. Yes, they are seen, today, as just another American. What about homosexuals? They have yet to receive all of their rights, but change is on its way.An Essay On Truth3 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
Almost fifty years ago, the Civil Rights Movement started. Through it, segregation came to an end. Sure, people didn't like it at first, but they got used to it. It became something that wasn't even thought about, children of all races sitting together, in any order, in the exact same classroom. Now, in my time, this is standard. The unfortunate thing is that not every one of those school-aged youths is able to just be themselves in those chairs. Race has no hand in the separation that is felt,
Murders at WhitechapelIt was when the papers spoke of a second victim that Lawrence Caldwell decided to get on the case. It had been only about a week since the last attack by the Whitechapel Murderer, and the district papers couldn't stop talking about it. Amongst the graphic details of how Miss Chapman was brutally murdered were more assumptions of who the mysterious killer could be. Perhaps an Irish immigrant? Jew? "Pervert"? All were simply more targets of minorities to feed the imagination of gossip around Whitechapel. At least, that's how Lawrence saw it.Murders at Whitechapel2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Adjusting the brim of his hat, Lawrence tucked the paper under his arm before heading down Wentworth Street. From the alleyways and corners, he could hear hushed whispers of the locals; women of their safety and men of the discovery of the killer so he too could be put to death. Lawrence rounded a corner into the street seller's section of townthe area inhabited mostly by Irish immigrants. His eyes skimmed up and down the vendors, hastily catch
boys who love their grandmothersnever fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.boys who love their grandmothers1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
he will be too gentle with your lips,
too sincere when he whispers blessings into your ears
pleading that he doesn't deserve you.
his tongue will not slither between your teeth.
instead, the heat of his mouth will melt your scar tissue
until there is no trace of your travels.
never fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.
he knows patience.
you will try to convince him
that it is one of the many virtues
you don't yet possess,
but he will dig through the flesh in your ribcage
until he finds it lodged beneath everything
you're too scared to confess.
he will teach you forgiveness, remind you that you are not a mistake.
he will wipe the trails of tears that always seem to decorate your cheeks
and replace them with rose petals, saying that he chose the color red
to match the passion he knows flows through your veins.
never fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.
he will trace the freckles on your skin
What Friends Are ForHelp me,What Friends Are For4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Save me from myself.
When I turn away,
Will I feel your once practiced blade,
Yet meticulously cared for,
The old, fading scars
Across the pale flesh of my back?
twenty.You will never be a teenage mothertwenty.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
or a teenage prodigy.
No teenage kicks excusing drunken antics;
you are no longer a teenage dirtbag.
You will never break world records now
or have a distinguished academic career.
You will never be head girl
or swing your schoolbag hand to hand on sticky summer days.
You will never again be innocent
you have nothing left to learn
and you feel you know so little.
You don't have the excuse of youth
nor the wisdom of age
to keep you safe from prying eyes
and mocking tongues.
You will never know young love again
or suffer for sneaking out on schoolnights
and you will never sneak in underage
or stand outside defeated.
You will never again be 'far too young',
yet still too old to dream,
and never again will you be forced from the room
for the grownups to talk and you to idle.
No, you will never again be young:
now that you have learned to be young
you find yourself at sea; old.
An Angel's MaskAn Angel's MaskAn Angel's Mask3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Hiding the tears,
Hiding the shame,
Hiding self loathing,
Hiding the pain,
Donning my mask
Behind this mask so many emotions I feel,
Never again will I share them
and express how I feel,
Buried deep they will stay,
away from all that causes me pain.
Taking off this mask was a big mistake,
All it did was cause me more misery
Trusting people, letting them in,
only caused me to be hurt again.
So from this moment on none will see,
all of this turmoil inside of me.
I will smile in your face,
and you won't know,
the depths of the tears,
that run from my soul. '
My laughter is the screams,
that echo in my mind.
My joy is the fear,
that lurks from behind.
The twinkling gleam you see in my eyes,
are really tears I try to hide.
Up and down my emotions glide,
but never will you see this;
it is hidden inside.
Never again will this mask come off
It is safer here in the dark,
An Angel smile is what you
Happiness and joy I will spread
I am...Through my eyes,I am...4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
The abyss flows.
A gentle breeze,
A stream of shadow.
The masking cover,
The cloak of night,
It hides my actions,
And shows your fright.
This revealing light
Shall be snuffed out.
And your pleas muffled,
Every single shout.
I come for you,
And I come for your soul.
Clothed in darkness,
To swallow you whole.
I am the end,
I am your fear.
Yet your frightened breathing
Is all you hear.
I am death.
The UsedI look at all the lonely people,The Used4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And what do I see?
I see the loner sitting in the corner.
I see the stoner passed out on the floor.
I see the person contemplating suicide with a gun to his head.
I see the nice guy who was waiting for his friend through the cold harsh night.
Freezing himself to death on the bench cold and tired.
What I see are the people who need to be with somebody.
But aren't because they can't.
People don't want them.
People don't listen to them.
People use them.
I look at all the lonely people.
And I see you and me.
Fairly Feminist Fairy-TaleFairly Feminist Fairy-Tale2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Let me tell you a story, child;
A story of wonder and awe
A story where good triumphs evil.
It takes place in a land afar.
Does this story have dragons and witches, mama,
and a knight that defeats them all?
And where's the princess?
is she in trouble?
Will she come out standing tall?
Yes, my dear, in fact, it does!
there's a princess and dragons galore.
the story stems from your own mind-
please, tell me some more!
"In this land far away, dreams become real
there's princess trapped in a tower.
She has twinkling eyes and long flowing hair;
She is as fair as the daintiest flower!
Well what became of the witch and her doings?
Where is the evil in this?
be patient my dear
for the witch does exist
with a plot to steal the beauty
of our fair maiden, the princess.
Why her beauty?
Why not her brains?
Wouldn't that be much more useful?
She's not known well by her brains,
yet, her beauty is coveted by all
I don't understand.
that doesn't make sense.
brains are better by far.
As I was saying,
The Spacer's SongI see infinity lying at my fingertipsThe Spacer's Song4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
When the moon rises and the stars quip
In their speechless tongue,
Measured in nanometers and wrung
From the union of basic simplicity,
The language of our complicity
In mysteries billions of times
Beyond our scale and sublime
Before our minds ever existed:
We are small, yet we persisted
In walking out of ourselves
Into foreign gravities, to delve
Deeper into the words stars shine
Into our eyes and trace their lines
Back to the beginning, so that one day
We may see a foreign sunrise and say
"It's beautiful" in the company
Of others from another place, and finally
Know why everything came to be.
I don't understand the words reaching me,
But trusting the possibilities of their meaning
I continue in observing the sky and freeing
My fellows from the surly bonds of Earth;
For their meaning I'll give all I'm worth.