MountainsI'm standing in the valley
Up around me are the mountains
Seated there like thrones
My faith is so small
That I can't seem to move em
They stay rock solid..
But why can't I now?
Is it my faith thats wrong?
Or is it that they belong?
Still, so stuck am I...
Staring at the mountains
That I can't see your grace
For the train of your robe
Is filling the heavens
And you are seated on your throne...
Challenge Prompts for WritersChallenge Prompts for Writers7 years ago in Scraps More Like This
2. a flooded field
3. what she keeps in
4. too precise
5. the most cutting criticism
7. ghost fingers
9. the disease that is not a disease
10. her greatest fear
12. moon eye
13. her feet are dragonflies
14. lights in the trees
15. the dead hawk
16. disaster in the snow
17. a memento
19. failed attempt
20. his rabbit paw
21. their unspoken understanding
22. that smell conjures memories
23. the room
24. jar of olives
25. wine and sea
27. wander through the fair
28. the wrong man's hand
30. unexpected call
31. sudden rain
32. clever fox
33. car in a field
34. the worst of human agonies
36. unfettered laughter
37. stolen fish
40. his umbrella he kept close but never opened
41. spotted cat
42. fortune teller
46. wife box
47. a disappointing affair
48. cruel intentions
49. hands tied
50. love a stranger
51. incense of one's soul
starbucksi sat on the bus and realised asstarbucks6 years ago in Scraps More Like This
a speed bump jostled
brain against bone in a
people were not speaking of
smashing my skull;
no plots were made to pitch
me beneath the churning
wheels, no innate desires to
see my blood spill.
today i would not be
sent to the emergency room,
i would not see the
beautiful emt, he would not
press a button on his watch and
two fingers to my wrist, and
i would not imagine that he pretended
my pulse was raised- not from
blood loss- but from his touch.
my bones would not break,
my body would not bear tire treads
or gorgeous surgical scars.
i would live and breathe and be able to
ask the emt out for a cup of coffee,
only he would order lemonade and i, tea.
we would laugh at the irony, imagine
the puzzled thoughts of the baristas when
they took our orders.
he would touch
my hand and understand that my heart
was leaping under his fingers,
and he would take the initiative and do
what such chemistry often suggests
and kiss me.
LonerI don't careLoner7 years ago in Scraps More Like This
I don't care about
your filthy little friends
watch me paint my nails
my precious nails
I don't care
I don't care if
you work on weekends
watch me paint my face
I know somewhere
I'm beautiful inside
I don't care
I don't care what
your pink shirt says
I'll just sit by myself
in the corner and pretend
Cuz I'm sick
I'm sick of your
little funny games
gossip is always
is always in style
yes I know yes I know
I may look a little stupid
but at least I'm not you
pretty little princess
I don't care
I don't care if
you have new clothes
every single damn day
black is alright for me
I'm safe within my corner
with this black hood of mine
little princess, little princess
I don't care
I don't care what
you like to wear
what the hell
I would just rather be alone
than be you
pretty little princess
prissy little princess
I'd rather be me than you
turn your back to the skyhello,turn your back to the sky6 years ago in Scraps More Like This
i cannot talk to you about birthdays,
but i have thought of it and i
do not think i can listen to your
heartbeat because i cannot
rest my heavy head to
i am so sorry i make you cry.
it does not matter if it is not because
you are sad, or if you feel you could
just look down and say,
here is my heart in my hands-
i cannot stop feeling as though i've
ruined you, you beautiful soul.
for you, i would make it rain
until the daisies were undulating
in a thick green ocean.
tell me to stop rummaging through
scraps of paper and the layers of
skin from the back of my hand;
you are of-the-moment and a heartbeat
pressed to my ear. you do not deserve me,
you say. and i know all-too-well that you
are right, because you deserve much more.
Uncertain SeasonsI.Uncertain Seasons7 years ago in Scraps More Like This
She's beautiful I tell myself
Cornsilk hair and honey eyes
And delicate hands that
Play piano in the twilight
And every night I pass her by
Window open to the dark
In perfect profile and I think
She smiles at the music
A faded sundress and the
Blue ribbon in her hair
Make her eyes dance
And summer fades and
Autumn falls and the
Window closes and I think
Her hazy frosted profile
Glows gold against the glass
The music, muted, warms the
Tips of my reddened ears
I leave tracks in the snow and
Breathe in the dry cold and the
Ice begins to melt and I think
Her face against the green
Of a thousand climbing vines
Her window framed by roses and
Thrown open to the night again
I stop and I listen in my own
Quiet way and I wonder if maybe
Tomorrow yes tomorrow maybe
What They StealFifteen years removedWhat They Steal4 years ago in Scraps More Like This
from my fragile child body,
traumatized fetal mind.
Still I will not go
where dreams may follow.
Little Star.Shine bright, little star.Little Star.7 years ago in Scraps More Like This
Little star, shine far.
Broken little star.
Can't see how beautiful you are.
I can see, little star.
So beautiful, yet so far.
You Can't Save The WorldTo a world of people who might as well already be extinct,You Can't Save The World7 years ago in Scraps More Like This
I'm speaking for every boy who is dead when I say
"You're not as smart as you think"
And I'm speaking for every one eyed girl when I moan,
"You're not the only one alone"
And I'm crying for every child who can't breathe when I laugh,
"It's not what you take, but what you can grab"
To a world of people who live their life eating my air
I'll cut your heads off,
"You're playing unfair"
CompressWhen I was young, my motherCompress2 years ago in Scraps More Like This
taught me how to draw the curves
of a profile.
Strange to think, of course, that
the side of a head is easier to face
when I, as a child, rarely saw more
than the pointed chin of an adult
looking down their nose. How I
wished, so innocently, for her approval;
to know that she would love
the fruit of my juvenile efforts
so that I would always feel
her arms wrapped around the
angles of those brittle tooth-pick
boxes I kept for shoulders.
My father, she drew him once –
the silver gel-ink sketch still sticks to the
fridge door. Perhaps she feared
that I would forget him.
Maybe I would have.
Maybe I have.
And sometimes I think that nothing
has changed, that I’m still a child
with a hole for a memory, because
I’m still facing life side on, and
vying for my mother’s approval so
that she’ll never leave.
The ExchangeTell me something quiet, youThe Exchange4 years ago in Scraps More Like This
asked, so I did. I told you the
day I skipped school because I
hated the look of the carpet
so I walked out of the doors
by the cafeteria until I found
the forest. and then I hit the
forest path and I kept walking.
It was February. I was alone.
There was a waterfall frozen
rigid and when I hurled all of
my emotions through a stone it
shattered into a million tiny
grains of sparkling crystal sand
Tell me something green. A boy
with a coin stood in the market
when he spotted the smile of the
beautiful girl and he didn't even
hear the clink and the splash as
it slipped quicksilver fast between
the jail cell bars of the storm drain.
I tell you this story because I really
don't want to have to explain the
ring I found on the internet with
your birthstone in it, or the numbered
papers collecting in my back pocket
Tell me something reckless. One day
you tucked your fingertips beneath mine
and spun me ice skating across the
grease of the cafeteria dance floor.
WritingAs a writer, it's sort of funnyWriting4 years ago in Scraps More Like This
how the thing we avoid most is writing
and instead of writing a novel, we stand in the elements of it
Violence, addiction, self-loathing
Yet our artistic wound was created when we stopped creating ourselves
and we can't break the cycle unless we start again
Like a goldfish out if its bowl, still swimming in endless circles
of violence, addiction, self-loathing
All that's required is desire and you can learn it
So put on your boots and feel the swag
because you will make an impact on the room you're about to address
Take your vulnerability and make it liberation, empowerment
Expose yourself, and take the community by the hand
for your moment was on the stage
and it was left there, impressions made
Now listen to your next word
and if it fucks with you, write about it
because fear is a door that screams "Enter Here"
fragmentsi smell of sleeplessness and lubricant.fragments4 years ago in Scraps More Like This
it is three thirty-six in the morning
and i am still choking on your semen.
i created an ocean twice over
and birthed a volley of hot breaths,
i built stone walls and broke them down
when you cross your ankles
around my hips
i know you want me close
and my heart swells.
i am writing beautiful one liners lately
hoping enough fragments
can form from the body i am missing
and create a (w)hole
you can love,
so can i just say,
i love you.
i want to say it until i break,
until i bring the seas
crashing to your feet,
drowning me in you.
i feel unsafe with these words
tangling themselves on my tongue,
promising never to be spoken
but losing themselves in the evergreen forest
growing in my mind.
i let go.
i am in your arms and sharing your breath;
your chin is not smooth as it rubs against my neck.
i am every heartbeat discordant in our chests,
every trail left behind by fingertips.
i am several pieces of a person,
shrapnel from an explosion,