R.I.P WordsDo you know what it feels like?R.I.P Words3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
To feel something, but...
be unable to express what it is;
to be silent;
to fight it alone.
I know how much it hurts,
but I don't know how to show it.
Poetry used to be my refuge,
a place where I could be alone -
express all my emotions,
without being judged.
I'm losing it.
I can't connect to poetry.
Everything sounds so stupid...
Everything I write sounds stupid.
I have to erase all my feelings,
because they don't sound right.
The words aren't real.
They don't show what I feel
And maybe this will be the last.
Maybe I'm gone:
lost of all emotions.
I'm truly alone...
I used to have poetry.
Now I have nothing.
SilenceQuietSilence2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
There is nothing that we can tell each other
We just stand there
staring at each other
We wonder what had happened
We used to have so much to say
we had so much to laugh
but now there is just silence
and we turn around and
...in different directions
Hoping that we'll never meet again
Everything seem said
and it's over, we're done with it
Rose Scented Ashes III - SchoolFast forward a few years...Rose Scented Ashes III - School2 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Daniel was now about four, five years old, and getting ready for his first day of school, of Kindergarten. His mother had recently suffered another bout of infuriation toward Valance, who had made one remark about "What happens if the other children find out Daniel's partly plant?" Apparently, she had assumed he meant to reveal it to the other kids, and instantly snapped, chucking a vase at his head, and - thankfully - missing.
Suppose she really didn't want me to have any part in his life, Valance thought as he leaned back in the chair at his desk, reading by the sunlight, slate-violet eyes not really seeing the words on the page in front of him. Not beyond giving him a name - which she has probably already claimed as something she thought of anyway. No, not probably, he already knew as much from the whisperings he tuned in on.
As he listened to the tumult outside of his door, of the babysitter attempting to get the rowdy young c
LiminalSome time ago, when I first started analyzing my art, I saw the metaphors embedded in it, and intuitively refined my way of introducing those metaphors into each new piece.Liminal2 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
But I'm starting to realize that maybe I moved away from my original purpose and I've been looking at this too narrowly.
It's not so much about the metaphors...
More importantly it's about those creatures we shall never be and the worlds we can never fully grasp with our minds.
It's about understanding this world for what it is - not in every detail, but in general - and realizing it's not enough, it's never enough.
And then I came to realize something else:
I am not an artist. Or at least it doesn't really mean that much.
What I am trying to do is merely to expand my mind beyond what is. Art is just one of the ways to do this.
I am also not entirely human... I look at myself and I am stretched and d
The Day He Met You, DracoxFem!Reader The Day He Met You, DracoxFem!Reader 7 months ago in General Fiction More Like This
The tall blond glared at you with his silvery blue eyes. They were piercing against his stark white skin. His pale hand was holding his wand painfully underneath your chin, forcing you to look up at him.
"What makes you so special?" He hissed, his tone matching the iciness in his eyes.
You raised an eyebrow to seem confident and made your voice sound bored, "I know I'm stronger than you. You act crude to mask your weakness."
He gritted his teeth. His eyes flashed. "Codswallop. Stupid mudblood Hufflepuff, not making any sense again."
You clenched your jaw and bunched your hands into fists, about to let him have it when a warm hand grabbed your elbow.
"Goodness, you ferret. Can't you leave the new girl alone for one day?" A familiar voice grumbled. Hermione was standing there, her brown hair in a bun and her dark eyes nearly black.
You and IYou & I are a poem thatYou and I1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Was never finished, tucked
Beneath in our writer’s Desk
With scratches on half our words.
I’ve heard he died decades
Ago, but I still hold on to hope
That someone will find us here,
That someone will find us here.
Insults And ClosetsSasuke and Sakura were bickering..Again.Insults And Closets5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Its not like they hated each other...Nah, they did with a burning passion. Their war has been going on for years, starting with kindergarten. What happened was, that Sakura kindly asked Sasuke if she could sit in the seat that was beside him. He rudely replied 'no', and Sakura then hated thought it was stupid about how all the girls chased after him, and that the girls were stupid enough to 'love' and follow (stalk) him. She hates fangirls with a passion, and that goes with her other best friends from her childhood; Ino, Hinata, and TenTen, and Naruto. She only hung out with them, and sometimes their other guy friends. That included, Shikamaru, and Neji. She didn't count Sasuke as a friend, for obvious reasons.
Now, its their senior year in high school, and Sakura can't wait to graduate and fulfill her scholarship at the hospital, to train under the best doctor in the Fire Country, Tsunade. Who also happens to be the leader of the small village
ily2i wrote a poem for you becauseily22 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you make me believe in happily ever afters,
romantic suicides and the fact that one day
i might not break everything i touch.
i don’t know what i’m going to do in four years
because i can’t comprehend a life without you.
and i hate you for it.
you’re just so—
you adjust my skirt and give me a pair of jeans
and say, “don’t let society make you .”
you stay up late with me to watch the sun set
only to wake me up early to see it rise.
you guide me out of the way of
already-broken leaves and
piggy-back me straight into puddles and snowdrifts.
you steal pieces from every one of my jigsaw
puzzles and call it a metaphor.
you’re beautiful and amazing and
if anyone ever tries to tell you differently,
it’s because they’ve never seen you
laugh at two o’clock in the morning
or spend days trying to figure out how to knit
a scarf for your step-sister’s birthday.
they’ve never seen you ba
Ocean Floor Homicideif i asked you to save me -Ocean Floor Homicide4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
you'd bury me
the ocean floor.
you always said -
i'd be more
if i was
Boy. Poet.Boy poet fellBoy. Poet.4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
out of the dog-ears you left to mark the passages you wanted to remember,
That now you cannot forget;
The creases too well worn into the paper,
The book too well known to throw away.
Boy poet landed
between the lines,
Swaddled in that silent space,
In what wasn’t said.
Boy poet learned
to breathe ink,
(his lungs sometimes mistake it for oxygen)
It sustains him in solitude.
Boy poet is not
Boy poet wishes
he could read people like he reads books,
(at arms length)
Savouring each sentence.
Only letting them rest on his chest when he knew they were good,
Their pages seeping into his skin.
He looks at their cover
glances at their blurb
imagines how their volume together ends,
So even the first word tastes like the last,
All his hellos echo back as goodbyes.
Boy poet wishes
he didn’t think of people as books;
He knows they are more than the metaphor allows,
He knows they cannot be catalogued and shelved.
Boy poet w
Unnamed Novel IntroBreath, it's the one single thing that connects all living organisms together. From every shaky first gasp, to the long drinks of air after running, we all breathe. Even the trees respire. All life needs to breathe; it's a function so primeval that it's built into our brains, our instincts. Unfortunately the ability to breathe is no longer a right, but a privilege. A privilege of those who can afford it.Unnamed Novel Intro3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Welcome to Earth.
It is nothing like you know.
There was no asshole that started an apocalypse, or messed with vile chemicals. There was no global warming, or terrorist threat. The planet did not shift or veer closer to the sun. It just happened. Simple as that. Air became a luxury, oxygen a precious resource. There just isn't enough and no viable way to produce it. Other gases began leaking into sky, mixing and making it less than pure. It stings and burns when inhaled. Slowly it poisons the body and mind.
Animals started dying. First the small mammals, then birds, soon larger beasts
My Personal PreferenceI don’t careMy Personal Preference9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
for pretty hearts.
I like the ones
that are scarred,
and taped together,
because those are the ones
who have been through Hell
and have the courage
to keep beating.
May 29.Rain tears foggy air;May 29.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
soaking you down.
I hide in dryness,
leaving you to your own
your sins don't wash
Because, like a mask
that rips flesh
the ill you do
is all you are,
and I know
that if your wrongs
with the downpour,
Why The Mirror Cracked"Tell me a story. Before I go. Speak to me about something." I say.Why The Mirror Cracked3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Their eyes unfocus.
Once upon a time there was a crack. It was slim and delicate, like a sparrow's little bone, but it was homeless.
It was homeless because every time it tried to settle down somewhere, it never worked out. It did live somewhere altogether a big Victorian-style house, with rooms and terraces but you know how it is a crack needs somewhere quite cozier and smaller to call its own. Cracks are domestic things, of course. They only want permanence.
The crack had recently had to leave a mug it had been living in after it fell apart rather abruptly one afternoon. It was a shame, because the crack had been happy for a while. Such a hairline crack; no-one had noticed it.
"Alright." Thought the crack. "I'll just find somewhere else. This'll be okay. It will. It has to be okay."
So the crack, intrepid as it was, little bravery, travelled. It wasn't accustomed to it, of course.
leaving togetherhe held close his waif of a wife,leaving together3 years ago in Letters More Like This
her bones cutting into him, at least it felt that way,
her pointy little ribs, her paperthin wrists,
everything small and angular and white.
she was the rain in winter, the hail in summer.
when you’ve been inside for the winter months
and crack a window to taste the air, the evergreen,
this is how it felt to breathe with her. his fingers spidered
down her icy back in lovelace patterns, spelling
her favourite words like “aspen” and “sensual”
and “espresso” which she always said with
a honey-sweet curl of her small pretty tongue.
he wanted to keep her, her sunday laughs and long
nights in the week of slow, hypnotic sex, her wild hair
the color of blood dripping down her thighs, his sure movements
inside of her that lost him to the silvery fog of tears.
he would miss her, need her in his bed, his mouth
tracing the feel of her body. part of him will always
be touching her, nothing but a finger fitting snug
haiku - deathstarlight dusthaiku - death6 months ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
she takes small breaths as
Loose Necktie (Natsu x Reader)You tapped your perfectly polished fingernails on table in Fairy Tail impatiently. The hands on the clock were on 8:07 pm. The rest of Team Natsu were supposed here so you could all catch a train to your job together, but only you and Lucy had shown up.Loose Necktie (Natsu x Reader)10 months ago in Romance More Like This
“What’s keeping them held up so long?!” You complained smashing a fist down on the table. So what if your nails got chipped, you wouldn’t care anyways. The client of this particular job was very picky, he insisted you all wore formal attire. Lucy picked this job of decorating for a party because she was low on rent. Mostly due to Natsu literally destroying every possibility of a reward for a job.
“They better hurry up, I don’t want to be stuck in this dress all night!” Lucy exclaimed while pointing towards herself. She was stuck in a teal skin tight dress that only extended down to her mid-thigh. It flaunted her figure and showed off her every curve, you didn’t see a problem
where i dance alonei. I mistook a shy boy for a thunderous one in the days when I lived inside his lungs.where i dance alone3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
ii. I wanted your hands in the early morning, or in 8 o' clock light. (Does it matter? I just wanted you.) Hands like paper cranes, hands like wind chimes. Then we could've been like lovers in a parody: "I love you, I love youno, I don't. But you are beautiful." And while I was not your lover, neither was I your queen. Either way, you wouldn't hold my heart.
iii. Our fingers would've taken flight and then the rest of us, too. Then you would've known of the ballroom in my chest, the migrations inside my body, of the tiny secret nothings that make their way like monarchsas if by instinct, as if they have been here beforefrom ballroom to piano hands to the museum that is my mind to my stomach. But you are the only lost boy afraid to fly.
iv. I was a foreign land and you would not dare travel without a map. But I do not possess a souvenir shop in which to purchase one. I am a des
On KyotoI fell in love in Kyoto city. It was a city beautiful even in the rain,On Kyoto4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
especially radiant in the sun; all temples, shrines, pagodas. I wandered
from neon arcades to wooden halls with one thousand and one
golden buddhas, to mountains and monkeys and back
again. There were handsome varnished wooden walkways,
winking red lanterns, enchanting golden pavilions and yet
I can only remember him. In a city of cultivated charm, of
practised refined beauty, I can only remember his face.
I fell in love in Kyoto with a boy who taught me magic tricks
at midnight, who held me like a promise, who’s blue eyes
glittered like his native seas and I swear his smile was
stellar. The bonsai twisted in the yards, the monks
hummed in the courtyards and we kissed in a
dark room. We could have been in France or
America or the Marianas Trench and it would
have been the same; two arrows flying,
two archers intertwining their bows,
two hearts caught in the middle of
(I have started to say Kyoto in lie
From the HeartThe Artist in me would convey,From the Heart7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
That it is the composition of your chroma eyes that first drew me in,
Accompanied by the austere shades of your profound personality.
But the Poet...
The poet in me would speak...
With words and lines drawn directly from the heart.
And spun with all those little things you do that make me smolder inside.
But it’s a h a z y line.
Shall I sketch you a picture of everything that makes me feel alive?
Or perhaps speak in words of pure fancy,
Until I’ve filled the page to B u r s t i n g,
With metaphors and embellishments of every kind.
It is your love that sustains me.
And every out-pour of words and silly phrases,
Is fueled only by your understanding,
That it is all for me and you.
And not a single word is wasted,
So long as that remains to be the truth.
Love me back.
That is all that I ask.
So long as you do, I will speak in artistic
Conversations with The DeadWhere is my heart that I hung on a thread?Conversations with The Dead2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
'Little girl, don't you know, your heart, it is dead?'
Then why do I feel such a pain in my chest?
'Because secrets still bury their way through your vest'
Is that why there are burn marks all over my skin?
'They are to remind you of all the places you've been'
And what of my mind, do I still have that?
'My darling child, you're dead! Or have you forgot?'
But what of the blood, will that ever stop?
'Oh no, little one, we don't want you to clot!'
But my eyes, they sting, and my face, it is raw -
'Once you heat up your body will thaw'
Well that's quite alright, I suppose - but I think I'll go home.
'But you have none sweet child. You're a ghost. You're alone'
But why, out of everyone, did you choose to take me?
'Sweet little child, you chose it, you see'
Well that's silly ofcourse! Why would I choose death?
'Because little changeling, your colour is red'
wading (through amber waters)i went swimming in his amber oceanswading (through amber waters)1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
one lonely summer afternoon-
well, i dipped my toes in
down to my ankles- and looked
to make sure the shore would console my
heels if my soul never made it home
gasps and shock go hand in hand
or so they tell me,
i tipped forward to glimpse deeper and lost
hold of myself, empty breast
beat-heart hunger pangs falling into
those distilled waves
when the tide came in
i scrambled back
ward hands against all forces
to the beachhead. knuckle-tread feet
left well washed footprints in the shapely sand
and the funny thing is: i don't think he ever noticed
wildernesshey pan, i say softly, my hands behind my head. do you think monsters feel things?wilderness3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
it is january and we are laying stoned in the dark.
this man is my secret garden, the light pooling in around my feet
as my darkness cascades through waterfall and dribbles between his cold toes.
we clear the way for each other in fields of long grass, our hair growing long and wild
beneath the candied colours of the skies. me, the drippy redhead tangle barefoot and dirty, lovely
lipstick-kissing his big fingers, my little claws translucent and buried in his strong back.
i feel things, he says, threading lily stems in my hair.
i feel things, i retort, my lips pressing his skin. tasting him.
the night trembles around his cheek, the moon wavering on our watery skin.
our night-puppet bodies feel each other.
what sort of things? he asks, hands in my hair.
there is a golden sort of silence between our bodies. an understanding. i shiver.
you know, things. like, fear. sadness. loneliness, i say.
he nods. lily,