his+mine.i won't let you go.his+mine.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
someday i'll write all about you and i and pretend it was a tragic romance with a lost fairytale ending. but that wasn't how it really happened.
i loved you in some way. i won't say you belong with me, because we both know that would be lying. even so, you don't belong with her either. don't fool yourself. i picked you because you were a lost little boy who wanted to grow up too quickly. that's what they call premature aging, don't you know? it's not your time yet. so why don't you just lie down and breathe the night sky while you can? but you were just a boy. a boy with golden hair, darkened by pitiful sins and bleached skin from all that alcohol you ingested. you were one with ice blue eyes, eyes that had a glacier-like surface. i only scratched a layer of it, but we both know that it would crack and shatter sooner or later.
i was, and still am, a scared little girl. i was lost in my dreams. so were you. instead of finding one another, i thought we could
sometimes surgeons like to kidsometimes surgeons like to kid9 years ago in Open More Like This
Sometimes I cannot sleep.
Earthquakes burrow into sheet fibres,
knees meet the radiator, the chunks clunk
then chip away, like the roller coaster thoughts
that spin around the room.
My head smacks pillows, and I remember
all the faces I scanned today,
up/down; they sighed boredom --
and had eyeballs where mattresses should be.
Fingertips feel sore, they say sorry
for touching you. I only wanted to see
what your heart felt like on the inside
but these hands did not belong
blood-drenched in you. Right then I decided --
I will never go to the dentist ever again.
He compliments my oral hygiene
as he asks me to open wide. It makes me sick
to bear my teeth like coffee cups to the world.
My spit embarrasses me, reminds me
of all the words caught inside my palate
that I could not say.
I had a dream last night. God came to me and said
'eleven thirty and something
will happen'. He showed me you in my room
like it was October, apple blossoms were by the window
and white strips down th
autumn in englandi wouldn't take upautumn in england4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
much of your time,
i wouldn't dare;
just a quick cup of
coffee or tea
and a drag on an
and i'll evaporate
with its smoke
i will be your evanescent steam
a quiet opening of a letter-
here is the red leaf i pressed for you
now three autumns past,
the trembling black ink quavering
over ocean lines and paper
i will ask you
how is your life now,
and how high were you last night.
how is your girlfriend,
you didn't tell me about her
but i know,
and did you know,
you changed your number
and didn't tell me
well you did
and i can't reach you now and
it scares me
i'm training my eyes
on the blood i watch run down my arms
i'm cutting again
and this time it's deep
i guess i didn't tell you either-
You Poor ThingI am sorry for your skeleton,You Poor Thing4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the way you carry yourself when you walk into a room
like your arms are tied and your mouth is empty and you've been
kept prisoner for a year, waiting for a bird to arrive
at your window. Your eyes are full and I spread my hands and say this;
sorry, like a man abandoning his lover in a cloud of dust. I am sorry for
your eyes, resentful like a North American river.
Sorry, for everything, for your breasts and womanhood.
You are standing on the edge of eighteen
relunctant and awkward; you do not want
to spread your legs wide and let the world drop its' pants
to fuck you. You are standing on the edge of something
looking afraid and saying no,
I don't want any spaghetti. I'm not hungry.
I'm hurting and horrible the way that a person feels
when they shatter the shell of a snail by
accident. I cannot say sorry
enough for your hands, scrabbling at the surface
of a wooden panel unheard, clawing at one another
like you're putting a deer in the headlights
what are tearsit is monday and i am tremblingwhat are tears4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in sadness and hunger and reminiscence
the moon is not out and the air is too cold.
it is here the line between you and him is blurred.
every hour you spend silent is another word from my pen,
pressed onto paper and equally of the cancerous loss of my
heart, and the uncomfortable absence of its stitches.
this is when i feel the ground fall from beneath my feet.
this is when i forget if i am looking (you) up or down,
if i am in love or in hate.
this is when i need you most, a solid set of arms
to steady myself as i am wrapped inside,
a body with a hot heart burning behind soft skin.
it is now that i can't remember that it hurts
more to never know than to know and be damned;
to hold my breath for three weeks in hopes that the
breath of your butterfly will come to me again
instead of the written resignment of
his beautiful sorrow.
here is where i look at you and see his eyes.
here is where i see his lips and find your jaw.
here is where i need
when one speaks to godone day, god asked me:when one speaks to god4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"little c, what on earth are you doing with your life?"
i had no reply for him.
i sat there, dumbfounded, staring at a big grey sky, speechless. i was talking to god, and i was speechless.
"i uh... i guess i'm waiting."
"and what could you possibly be waiting for?"
that was when i thought long and hard. what on earth could i possibly be waiting for? when i wake up every black monday, what is it i am waiting for? when i stare at the food on my mother's 9 year old plates and can't bring myself to touch it, what am i waiting for? when i stand outside in icicle weather just because, what the hell am i waiting for?
"i'm waiting for change." i said.
"change? what kind of change?" he answered.
"the amusement park kind of change."
god was quiet for a little while.
i thought i'd lost him.
"i'm not sure what you're trying to tell me, little c."
"what i am trying to say is that i am waiting for amusement park change. that unexpected change in direction th
closurebukowski once said that the best often die by their own hand -closure2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but you, i think you died at the hand of this world,
in all of its cruelty and darkness
i can't help but wonder if you were scared,
if your hands shook when you fell from this world into the next
i'd like to think though, that you were calm in your dark, concrete haven
that you closed your eyes unafraid
i'd like to think that there is a god -
a gentle hand that wrapped itself around your tired body
and that you were truly happy, where ever it is he took you
but for some reason, i think you're a bird
you'd make a beautiful bird.
i hope that my words, when you scribbled them down
in fury, in desperation, in a numb void
gave you at least a bit of comfort -
made you feel, even for a split second,
i will remember you by the mornings we spent together in the sun,
outside the grey lockers, legs outstretched and warm
and the smile you used to give the world when things were,
tell me is there a Godi'm starting to question the existence of Godtell me is there a God3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
because all religion does is change His image.
as much as i deny it, you can ask
why do i capitalize his
never got the whole in love thing,
accepted the fact when they left
and didn't even look back
i thought it was human nature:
to walk away from something you
then i realized it was wrong
my world's crashing down
it's like the sky was just glass
it's always better to do something
that you'll regret
than never ever taking that chance
and losing a little more than a
mom was a writer in her early twenties.
she had long thick hair, bright big eyes
and a heart well sought-after
she wrote children's stories because they
made kids happy and making kids happy somehow
made her happy
she was independent, loud and proud
and a force to be reckoned with.
although she was a pretty thing herself,
she liked to bounce around too and
never settled for anything less
than shiny and new
i was 4 and i had everything
InsomniaLast night I made paper airplanes out of stray thoughtsInsomnia5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and I let them fly in the space between us.
And while you tapped your feet to a beat I couldn't understand,
I counted stars.
Because sometimes you see yourself reflected in the eyes
of someone you don't know.
And what I know about myself is that I
walk in straight lines and like the smell of orange peels
and know that fog is just low hanging clouds.
But you, with eyes made from a cypress tree
always feel like winter's approaching and your leaves
are going to fall.
I keep stretched out rubber bands long after they've lost their shape
because there were hands like yours to touch its edges
and maybe losing constraints is just a way of finding something,
but you're not the kind to stick around and find out.
I stand with my hands resting on a ledge that belongs to a day
five weeks in the past and I'm watching a sunset in technicolor,
the sky's tainted gold with a child's fairy dust, and my feet stand
on rain soaked pavement.
Do you fee
la la lettersdear you.la la letters4 years ago in Scraps More Like This
i don't really know how to put this.
we can start with: i'm probably leaving you. and don't you dare say that i never cared. i've been numb the last couple days. people are willing to listen but i don't speak.
you spend your days away from me by talking about calling randoms to hear their voice, just to mutter a single word. as if that could keep you amused for days. showing that you care so much about a girl if she were to just... disappear. and i'm the only one who knows you have adhd. i'm the only girl you treat as replaceable. you'd rather be distracted by all the interesting options.
today a boy told me i was amazing. and i don't know why i felt so surprised and so god damn flattered. before you, i was confident. i stood strong. every breath i took was of life itself. but with you, life is dreary. baby, you have no faith. not in me, not in the world, not in yourself. so where's your hope?
let me tell you this: i'm not going to march over to your house and demand a
The Girl By the SeaOnce upon a time there was a girl. And this girl, see, she lived by the ocean. And every day she would go down to the beach and sit by the waves and think. She would think about life and about death, about the moon and the sun, about why the ocean was the way it was and about all the things she had ever heard and had ever seen.The Girl By the Sea9 years ago in Children and Teen More Like This
And every day when she would go down to the beach she would sit on the sand and lay back and close her eyes while she thought, and let the sound of the crashing waves lull her into a semi-state of something or other. And in that state she tended to drift off, and when she tended to drift off, she tended to forget to breathe. And eventually she would be snapped back into the waking world and would sit up, take a deep breath, and forget everything she had ever thought that day.
And when she sat back up, and took a deep breath and forgot everything she had thought of that day, she would stand up, dust the sand from her dress, and turn her back to the ocean. She wou
just himbecause he's my boy,just him4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
he's the exception to the rule
girls all say their boys are special, different.
just because they are theirs.
but i know he is because he's not even mine.
he doesn't have them baby blues, no perfectly gelled hair,
no real cool style, but he's just him. he has no stars in
his eyes. no dreams to complete with me. no sympathy or
pity left in his bones. he has plenty of stupid decisions,
love written on his arms, but not for everyone. when i asked
for a story i was expecting a great tale, but he told me one
of his nephew making fish faces when giving him goodnight kisses.
he's not too special. he's not my better half. but he's really
there isn't much, but what he does have: a troubled past
and a pair of eyes with bruised circles. somehow they suit him.
he's so clumsy with objects and especially hearts.
mostly his own little life. it's a past of sarcasm and
broken trails, empty threats and real threats, too many stories
and too many problems to get start
a novel and a half for youyou know ellie, there's a oscar wilde quote i've always loved.a novel and a half for you4 years ago in Letters More Like This
' to live is the rarest thing in the world -
most people merely exist, that is all'
i know you think i don't remember asking you to walk with me, four years ago on that camp - but i do. i remember the first day of school, sitting in the buzzing classroom full of pre-teens dressed in school uniforms all one size too big. i remember, i was sitting across the classroom from you, and you were one of the only one's not talking, not screaming. you sat there, immersed in your own silence, smiling now and then.
i used to love the idea of who i thought you were -
the quiet achiever, the one with the incomprehensible vocabulary and all the answers.
over the past few years, i have seen you cry, watched you laugh, learnt from you, taught you things - i have grown up with you.
i have watched you change, and to me, it has been one of the most beautiful things i've ever witnessed in my life. and i don't mean beautiful in the