Storybook EndingHer ink-stained lips have kissed too many a forgotten page,
and phoenix down]
And her Prince Charming has yet to come,
shattering like stars]
So all she can do is gaze out her tower window,
concealing poisoned apples]
Clutch that corroded and timeworn blade,
tearing down castle walls]
Toss her childhood fables to the waltzing of the moon,
[even broken wings
wish for happily ever afters]
[once upon a time
there was a girl who became her own hero.]
Dear Future Self,Dear Future Self,3 years ago in Teen More Like This
Dear Future Me,
I bet you weren't expecting a letter from your past self, were you?
Well, you probably were, considering we're the same person and
you'd have to know I was writing you a letter since you wrote it in the
past so I guess you know already what's in this letter, right? Do I even
need to write it? If I don't write it… will that set off a chain of events
that lead to the you who won't read this being someone completely different!?
I've watched 'Back to the Future' far too many times.
Well, I'm going to write it. I guess I can't offer you infinite insight
about your future since I'm writing forward as opposed to back, and I
don't know what the future is going to be like, but I want to reiterate
a couple of things for you that might be weathered by time.
Alrighty, for starters:
a) Zombies will always be awesome. Forever and always. Don't lose your love for the genre, buddy.
b) There's always time. When it comes to projects, the less of it you have, t
To My Future SelfTo my Future Self,To My Future Self3 years 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
GalactusTo whomever finds meGalactus4 years ago in Literature Entries More Like This
I fear I have held something from you and from the galaxy, for many a year. As you all know I am the last of my kin and as I am approaching the end of my life, I feel it is appropriate to tell you the truth.
Back when I was Galan in the year 27π it was the morn of the seventeenth moon. I was no older than nine, a number which, said to represent satisfaction, brought only sorrow. The sun had set with a smooth sky yet there was a disconcerting air of the cavern. The only woman who ever loved me was resting peacefully, with child, upon the chaise longue, the fire kissing her toes with the sweetest crackling sound. The suns upper corona was casting its final rays, illuminating her tired face.
As her chest gently rose, a hoarse braying came from within the barn, followed by a consenting uproar from the other animals. I rushed out to tame the mounting pandemonium emanating from the farmyard. The barn doors had burst open. Shards lay across the drive. Ebbs soa
Dear Teen Ruby RoseDear Ruby,Dear Teen Ruby Rose3 years 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, so you can always tell yourself that if they hate you, it's not you, it's just the clothes instead (you're not a coat-hanger or a mannequin, babe. You don't have to be afraid).
One day, you won't feel like you have to be someone else, or hide who you are. One day you won't whisper those nicknames over and over again to yourself like a mantra or some
War's RemainsDancingWar's Remains3 years ago in Four Line Poems More Like This
Dear Teen MeDear Adolescent Self,Dear Teen Me3 years 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, and it's called being happy. No, I'm not high. Yes, this is really quite terrible and hokey. Shut up and stop judging me for a minute, I'm trying to help you, you little twonk. Also, start thinking of absurd insults now, it will help you in the long run.
As I was SAYING, you spend far too much time and effort on being miserable. Part of it is the ho
Ten painted momentsOne. The circumstances of her birthTen painted moments5 years ago in Write Memoirs More Like This
She was supposed to be a Christmas child. Her sister, older than her by 6 years, kept wishing for a live doll to play with. Much later, she found out that her mother cried when she first heard she was pregnant, all the way from the hospital to the house. Apparently, she had considered an abortion, but under the communist regime, it was illegal and also a very dangerous endeavour. In the end, her mother's mother, in her wisdom, convinced her to welcome the child that was to be born.
During the months of pregnancy, everyone expected her to be a boy. The shape of her belly, as well as other old wives tales, made the whole family believe that. A revolution passed by, and her mother spent the last month of pregnancy in bed. Eventually, she got sick of that, drove to the hospital in an old Skoda with her husband, and apparently said to the doctor she would give birth today, thank you very much.
She ended up being a quiet, round-faced and