Temporary EtherealityTemporary Ethereality4 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
One moment you're there,
Bringing beauty to my life.
Next moment you're gone,
Leaving me here, all alone
To cope in this hard, grey world.
i was real, oncei.i was real, once2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you told me once
that dreams never really take flight.
that their gossamer wings splinter into
on the harsh planes of reality,
and as i stretch out my fingers and touch
finger tip to claw tip;
a tenuous grasp with the fragments of
what was once
i think that you were right.
i carve prehistoric, cave man sketches into my skin
and hope and against hope that these dragons and dreams will bear wings
[and together we will shine]
but i just can't win because the universe
match each other step for step, move for move
and the chess pieces of our eternal game shatter
as the knight moves to E3 and claims
the crown of a fallen king.
[together we'll illuminate a world]
i heard you speak but i pretended to hear only
the rush of passing memory as you asked
"Why won't you love me?"
[it's can't not won't]
the only question that ever really mattered
and i turn and wonder when my world became
saturated with thoughts as du
Hearing Half of a Conversation Forgive me for helping you understandHearing Half of a Conversation1 year ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
you’re not made of words alone.
—Roque Dalton; Clandestine Poems
I first learned how to build a house of playing cards in an adolescent psychiatric unit in suburban Chicago. A roommate taught me a trick, a mindset really, to have while placing the cards themselves— that a house of cards is always stacked against itself to stand. My trial-and-error attempts led to a lengthy row of playing cards
BrailleI can't read you by sight,Braille2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I don't remember which arm
Your birthmark is on,
Or the number of freckles
On your face.
But by night I learned
Your Braille by heart,
A secret language
Hidden by touch.
I don't remember the exact
Hue of your eyes,
But I remember
Your skin under mine.
My heart over you'reMy heart2 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
takes my When with
smile lips me,
a . my
Different Worlds: Part 1 (Commission). LevixReader Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, you wondered, looking around the unfamiliar, dark streets. It was around one in the morning and if it weren’t for the street lamps, it would be pitch black. It was starting to get cold, and you were ready to go home and end your adventure. You had snuck out in hopes to bring a little excitement into your life, but after wandering around aimlessly for an hour, it had become clear that a secret nighttime excursion wasn’t going to bring any excitement into your life. Let me think, I’m on Sina Boulevard. That’s near the Wallist Church, I think? Or is it by that entrance to the underground? God, why can’t I think?!Different Worlds: Part 1 (Commission). LevixReader6 months ago in General Fiction More Like This
“Let go of me, you son of a bitch!” a female voice cut through the cold night air. Oh no, is someone in trouble? You ran towards the sound of the girl yelling. Out in the open street, three MPs had three thugs in chokeholds. Various pieces of jewelry were scattered aroun
The Problem With Elia.she could have been a violin;The Problem With Elia.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
born a week too late, she had
melancholy in her bones: doctor lizbet
took time out of her schedule to pluck her
newborn strings - calloused sanitation against
mottled pink-and-yellow flesh & thrashing limbs.
in three more years, she will have
nothing in her bones at all: doctor estair
diagnosed her with iatrophobia to fuel her
instinctive chords - ripple-free shells of liquid
lobotomy & a capsule to callous her pink-and-yellow
flesh against the thought of just getting over it all.
ten years after that, her mother will
find her face down and thrashing: her dust
bunny bones will flex as she retches up her memories
for display - lawyers will spend the next few years pawing
through them with clawed hands and heaving breathing until
one day, they find lizbet and estair huddled amid the rubble of her bones.
.i think.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the reason i'm asexual
is because there's so much more to us
and i can't help
but to see all of it,
why you can't see what i do.
we are so much greater
than a mess of sweaty limbs
and desperate breaths,
made atop the sheets,
and i'm so much deeper
than a few choking syllables,
and it's not my fault
that you can't see that.
All the Things You Never KnewIt was your favorite thing to say. “We know everything about each other. Not just the good things, but even the bad ones. We have no secrets.” And the way your eyes lit up when you said it, how your arm would curl around my shoulders and squeeze me against you… I couldn’t say anything. I promised myself that I would when we were alone, but the moment always seemed wrong and eventually the fact that I still had secrets became a secret itself.All the Things You Never Knew2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It turns out I wasn’t the only one.
I never told you about the crying or the cutting or the nights I spent awake staring at the bottle of pills. I was terrified it would be too much for you to handle, so I didn’t mention the time I ran away, or the first time I ended up in the hospital. I locked the memories up in a box inside my head with “For Tom, to open later” written on the outside.
And you, in turn, never told me about the cancer, fearing it would be too much for me to handle. Well, you were ri
700I read a story once about a man who had six PhD's in six different fields. I don't remember what fields they were, but I was impressed - that much I remember. As I read on, it became clear that the reason he found so much success was his severe OCD. He was so consumed by the disorder that he read each page of each textbook hundreds of times. And I remember thinking it was crazy, insane, psychotic. But I guess it worked for him. So I forgot about the man with the six PhD's and the torturous perfectionism that some call "disorder."7002 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Until I Met Candyce Karolyn Ethanson.
It was fourth grade and I called her names behind her back because she had to get on the swings so many times in a row that she never even swung. Before she could get on the swing well enough, recess was over. She cried when our teacher pried her from the swing-set, not allowing the repetition to continue. Then we went back inside for class and I remember seeing blood on her fingernails from where they were buried in her l
EnglandxReader HurtingEnglandxReader Hurting2 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
You picked up the match box, your hands trembling. Pulling out a match you stared down at the box at your feet.
It was filled to the brim with pictures. Pictures of you laughing, smiling with a man you no longer loved.
You flicked the match against the box, staring for a moment at the flame that appeared. Nudging the box further into the fireplace, you flicked the match in.
The pictures slowly burned, the gray smoke looking as heavy as your heart felt. Well, how it used to feel, now you were numb to emotion.
You lit another match, running the tips of your fingers through the flame.
"Love! I'm home!"
You flicked that match into the fireplace. His voice used to make your spirits lift, have you running for the door.
"Love?" He peeked his head into the living room and grinned sheepishly.
"Sorry I was late again. My job, you know how it is."
You nodded, not bothering to get up. He sat next to you, loosening his tie.
AloneTitle: AloneAlone4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Summary: John wants Paul's attention
Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles
"Paul, lock the door."
"John, they live here, we can't just lock them out."
"John," Paul cooed tossing his jacket to the side as he sidled up to his lover, cupping his cheek in his hand gently as he peered into his eyes, "Do you really want George and Ringo to be left wandering the street the whole night? They could get mobbed."
John sighed, "No... But-"
"No buts. C'mere," Paul giggled arms wrapping around John's neck as he pulled the older man in for a kiss, John complied, wrapping his own arms around Paul's waiste as he kissed him back.
"I've missed you."
"We've been together all day" Paul giggled, bumping John's nose with his own.
"No we haven't, we've been Beatle John and Beatle Paul all day, John missed Paul."
"John, I love you."
They kissed again, Paul walking John backwards towards the sofa, unwilling to le
DrawingTitle: DrawingDrawing4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Summary: John draws a picture
Disclaimer: I do not own John and Paul
The only sound in the apartment was pencil on paper. Lines and curves were drawn repeatidly, forming shapes and designs where an expanse of white had once been. The clock on the wall above the desk on which the paper rested ticked quietly, practically unnoticed by the man sitting at the desk, working on that paper.
John Lennon didn't look up when his name was called, choosing instead to focus his attention on the swooping curves and light shading.
There was still no sign of acknowledgment, not even when John's lover poked his head into the little sitting room where his desk was placed and offered him a shining smile filled with love.
"John, what are you doing?" Paul cooed making his way over to his lover and draping his arms over John's shoulders, kissing his cheek.
"Well, I can see that! What'cha drawing?"
"You'll see when I'
Technicolor ClosetsI can get married.Technicolor Closets2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
There are wars outside these walls
where children lay on sidewalks
and are thrown to the ground
with insults and slurs,
riddling their bodies
and the monumental step
mankind has to offer me
is my marriage.
than that of the state
preventing me from being in a union with my partner
recognized by both God and law
I wonder if it even matters
that my rights
are being debated
when there are people
still being hurt by the words of
those who run this society
cisgendered, privileged males
who tell me what to do
with my body
regardless of my gender,
regardless of my race,
we are all below the white, upper class, straight man
Do you ever wonder why I sound so bitter?
Do you ever wonder why I get sad?
My school district was a battleground
the bombs always went off and
at the end of the day, the school
only took a neutral stance on my sex
BitterDusk wrapped us in its ephemeral eternity; moments that lingered before their passing. In their wake, memories would flutter into the distance of remembrance. The ambiguity of time would distort the details, but we still remember the small little things like the date, the shorts she wore, and how water was cold at first and then warm.Bitter6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It was April 22nd and we decided to go bathe in the river behind my house. Though the path was treacherous, we made it down the muddy slope in one piece. Covered in mud, twigs and wet with sweat, we sank like stones into the water. We mingled with the rocking currents, dissipated into the breeze.
Sometimes, shed come up and sit on a lime-covered stone. Leaning forward with elbows propped on her knees, she offered me smiles while her tee cupped her breast in place. Kiss me, shed say and Id oblige. Her breath tasted like the river and her lips had the same texture as rippling waves. They brushed and pushed, pulled li
Slow, LoveI am a box of bones; attic-drenched,Slow, Love1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
gathered in the grief of storms.
I am a catalogue
of failures, listed alphabetically
for ease of use; God knows
why, since no one ever looks
beneath the covers.
Family Secret.You have nearlyFamily Secret.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
(not quite, not yet)
mastered the ability
to bend your back until your human skeleton
into a beasts,
to shape-shift your heart-shaped organ
because god-forbid you feel remorse
for all the wrong you've done.
Don't you dare
dishonor the family name
with something as foolish
as true love or capturing your own dreams,
you must let your disgusting father
crawl inside your vessel,
take control of your limbs
and relive his life through you,
give up yourself to him,
give up your wants for
the little boy with
slurred speech and building paranoia,
because you need an
to be dependent,
to give away your voice,
but the truth is burnt into your flesh,
engraved into the darkness
of your dead, dull eyes;
you wouldn't know what to do with yourself
if you didn't have an order
you wouldn't know how to live any other way
but the way they've
forced into your
Hawkeye x Reader Chapter 13- DowntimeSomehow Tony and Clint were able to convince Fury that it was time you got out of the compound, even if only for a few hours. You guessed it was probably due to the fact that in a day’s time you would, most likely, be in a wooden box. You unlocked the door of your small dorm with a smile, Tony had given you thirty minutes to shower and get ‘dolled up’ before the three of you traveled to the city for dinner.Hawkeye x Reader Chapter 13- Downtime1 year ago in Romance More Like This
Most of the thirty minutes had been spent in the shower; the warm water had enveloped your tired muscles in a loving embrace, an embrace you couldn’t find the will to get out of. In the remaining ten minutes you rushed around, throwing on a bright blue maxi dress and applying a quick flick of liquid eyeliner. Haphazardly putting your hair up into a ‘textured’ ponytail you sighed, getting dressed had never really taken you that long, but ten minutes was too short a time even for you. Slipping on a pair of nice golden sandals you were about to leave
Five and SevenTitle: Five and SevenFive and Seven4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Summary: It's Paul's fifth brithday and the first time our boys ever met
Disclaimer: I do not own John and Paul
"Paulie love stop squirming! The guests will be here any moment for your party and you're not even close to being ready!" A woman growled as she tried to wrestle her son into his silly little birthday hat that his grandmother had gotten for him as a surprise. The little boy would have none of it, however, so Mary McCartney huffed, throwing her hands into the air, "You're impossible!"
Paul pouted, kicking his legs out sadly as he gazed up at his mother, "Five."
Mary sighed, the softest of smiles stretching across her face as she reached back towards Paul carefully, slowly straitening the hat on his head, sighing in relief when he didn't push it off, "Yes hun, you're five today." Paul held out his hand in front of her face, spreading the fingers as wide as he could and smiling proudly and like many t
Anytime At AllTitle: Anytime At AllAnytime At All4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Word Count : 4,944
Disclaimer: The Beatles do not belong to me
Do you know the feeling of a cough that is so throat splittingly painful you can actually feel your ribs shaking as it happens? It's the cough that lets you know you'll be staying home from school that day, or work, depending on your age of course. It's the cough that makes your family pity you and your friends avoid you 'please don't make us sick dear!' Yeah, nobody wants to be sick.
But I am sick my darlings and I have been for the last three days. No matter nothing to worry about there, but I do have a little treat for you. I was scrimmaging through some old misplaced memories and I found quite the story for you! So please ignore my obnoxious coughs and try to enjoy the day Paul fell ill...
"Today class we'll be taking a deeper look into the works of some of the more mod
OuchAfter they kissed each other good morning, George immediately noticed the split on the bottom half of Paul's lip. He blinked a few times and gently took his partner's jaw with one hand, stroking the side of his chin with his thumb.Ouch3 years ago in Humor More Like This
"How the hell did this happen to you, Paulie?" he asked with slight fear and confusion in his voice.
"Mm, what?" Paul said, but already knew what he was talking about.
"Damn it, your lip," George growled. "It's all puffy and swollen up!"
"I fell in the middle of the night," Paul replied lamely. "I wanted a glass of water in the kitchen and tripped over Martha's dog dish, hitting my lip on the counter."
"Jesus," George murmured. "Are you alright?" He leaned over and kissed the corner of his partner's mouth, cupping his free hand over Paul's hip.
"Yuh huh," Paul answered with a faraway look in his eyes, like he just came back from the past. He tried to lift his mouth up to smile, but the pain was still fresh and new. He didn't know what hurt him the worse. The
BelarusXAmerica- Of Guns and KnivesBelarusXAmerica- Of Guns and Knives2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Of Guns and Knives
A Short Story Written by Dezie34
Genre: Angst/Dark Romance
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia nor do I own you Mother Russia does. "DAMMIT!"
It had hurt more than Natasha expected.
She threw the knife with disgust across the Conference Room, flinching when it clattered against the hard, wooden floor. The loud noise echoed as it bounced off the walls that contained the young silver-haired girl, the lonely one who sat in the farthest corner, bathed in darkness. She was wearing a long navy dress that was tied up with a single bow, much like the bow that she wore as a headband with her hair. But the girl didn't boast any shoes or socks of any sort, she was barefoot, her skin burning from the cold of the floor. She girl was Natasha 'Belarus' Arlovskaya. Natasha's eyes dropped from the knife and stared down at her pointer finger, gently squeezing the very tip, turning her pale finger a gentle maroon. A sin