namelessShe was perfect. The Ideal human being. The perfect set of balanced traits enough to fulfil anybodies so called 'dream girl.' Strawberry blonde hair that formed into ringlets as it leaked over the side of her head. Bangs. Slanted to perfection as it just covered her eyes. Her hair was cut short-- like a boys.nameless2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Piercings. Lots of them too-- on her ears and below her lip, up over her eyebrows that were lifted ever so slightly that it made her face soften up. Her nose was always red and rosy and her cheeks were rounded perfectly, cutely matching her jawline and one crooked tooth folding over another. A different bow on her head everyday-- always big and over the top but she always made sure her lipstick matched.
Her eyes were blue- bright baby blue that always sparkled when she talked as if she was always amazed in one way or another. Her laugh-- bubbly and fun and stupidly cute that you couldn't resist. Band t shirts. A lot of band t shirts- different ones every day and the same red check
a lifetime of storms just to make things matterIt never rains like this where I’m from. It’s all or nothing there. Where the sky will split open for days, swallowing the continents, putting oceans where they used to rest. There, we were always just barely afloat, and I never learned how to swim.a lifetime of storms just to make things matter3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Here, I feel like I can still breathe between the raindrops and I sit out on our back patio and let the water soak into my skin and wash away all my sins. I know I’m not who I thought I’d be five years ago, but it’s not enough just to wish you could change, sometimes you just have to accept the way things are. Except who you’ve become. Where you’ve come from.
It was the day after my twentieth birthday when I learned that my heart would skip beats when I saw his face. My pulse would start and stop and disappear. I was fading and sometimes, he would make my outlines clear again, bring back the contours and all my shades and shadows. Small smiles would be awarded, unfamiliar to my face. He was my angel
.:Icarus:..:Icarus:.2 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
If I could fly
If I had wings I n
would i To
plummet a feel
to go withoutsometimes i wonder what it would be like to live without thinking about if the homeless man i see on my way to school has children. he has the sort of eyes that glow with a thousand stories, the kind my parents friends used to tell me when i was little, about how cruel the world can be. i would sit around a fire watching them sip their beer or whiskey or wine, and they'd just stare at the ground with glassy faces as if reciting the lines to a play they knew too well.to go without4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
the man stares as i walk past, every day without fail. sometimes i wonder if he remembers me or not, or if he just likes to study people the way i do. he's spent so long just watching, waiting as the growing world evolves around him, left behind like the boy in primary school who could never run as fast as the rest of us.
often, i lay in bed and imagine him against his weathered brick wall in the dark and hope that he is okay. one day i'd like to talk with him, about his life and his childhood and how he ended up against t
wish upon a starthe air is always cold this time of year, you once told me as we lay in bed, warm, watching the last few seconds of christmas eve fall away. you whispered merry christmas in my ear, ran your hand along the the valley of my waist and told me that you had the best christmas present ever. i didn't need to ask what it was, because i already knew.wish upon a star4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
'this time of year, miracles come true,' i could tell you were murmuring through a smile into my shoulder 'if you just close your eyes and wish upon a star hard enough.'
giggling, i closed my eyes and wished that i would wake up next to you. when you asked me what i wished for, i turned to face you, and through a succession of small kisses i whispered that i couldn't tell you, or it wouldn't come true.
god, we always thought we were so young.
you know, i have closed my eyes every year since then, and wished for the same thing. this year though, i lay in my double bed alone, sheets littered with cigarette burns and little pieces of wrapping paper.
alivei want to be buried inalive4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a grave made of water
because i write poetry
but don't understand it
because i know how to feel
but not how to cope
or how to tell you what
it feels like to die
my mother will cry and
her garden will still grow
but she will not take down
photos on the windowsill
she will age dutifully and
retire, travel the world and
i will only regret not being
able to see her finally happy
my brother grow up without
knowing how much i cared
but he will still think
of me on his wedding day
his eyes will be a window
not to his soul, but a world
of pain and loss and he will
wish that i could say sorry
and the boy who knows that
he was the only one i loved;
he will lose himself in the
thought that he had the chance
to save a life, but didn't;
he will read my poetry and
not understand why but know
that i loved him more than life
i will fade to dirt, and from
me will grow a peach tree, with
the type of leaves that children
will make boats out of, sail
across their puddle oceans
RoseMy lifeRose2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Is but a tragedy.
I am forced to grow,
Living through pure misery.
Forever tainted the colour of the
Liquid of life:
They like the red ones best.
We are raised
To be executed in the prime
Of our lives.
Ripped from our beds to
Be displayed in the square,
Or beheaded and hung
As a brooch.
The life of a Rose
Is no life at all.
For our tears and blood
Stain our skin.
That would be me.I prefer the rain to the sounds of the roadThat would be me.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Water on water is an ancient noise
And could put me in any time
Rushing car engines are not my thing.
There's music in my ears right now, it's old but new again
Can't avoid the technology, no-one's going to put on a concert for a lonely little girl
Listen with the earphones to Victorian sounds
Played in the modern world--I wonder,
What Would Mendelssohn Do?
My life is a rushing swirl of ideas
Thoughts and words and old inky pens
The yellowing paper is greatest of all
Rare like a flower, like the paint on my hands.
There's a lily on my table, it stands maybe two feet high
The pot is plastic but the blossom is old.
I don't know the lifespan of an average bulb
I like to think it's from 1801.
My father found a telescope, we think it's very old
It's made of brass, discoloured, but I saw very far away
And the grandfather I should have met could play the violin--
I trust, much better than I ever could.
If only the sounds were the trains going by
A Philosophy of Hell...."The following is an actual question given on a University of Washington chemistry mid-term. The answer by one student was so "profound" that the professor shared it with colleagues, via the Internet, which is, of course, why we now have the pleasure of enjoying it as well.A Philosophy of Hell....11 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Bonus Question: Is Hell exothermic (gives off heat) or endothermic (absorbs heat)? Most of the students wrote proofs of their beliefs using Boyle's Law (gas cools when it expands and heats when it is compressed) or some variant. One student, however, wrote the following:
First, we need to know how the mass of Hell is changing in time. So we need to know the rate at which souls are moving into Hell and the rate at which they are leaving. I think that we can safely assume that once a soul gets to Hell, it will not leave. Therefore, no souls are leaving. As for how many souls are entering Hell, let's look at the different religions that exist in the world today. Most of these religions state that if you are not a me
La Bella Durmiente 1"CAPÍTULO 1~Reparto para el festival"La Bella Durmiente 14 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Era un día cálido, soplaba un viento fresco, las aves cantaban y la noticia del festival escolar hacia correr a todos por todos lados como locos
-¡¿QUÉ VAMOS A HACER PO´!? gritaba el chileno.
-Tranquilo, Manu. Mi grossa persona tiene una idea, hacemos un show de strippers y cuando termines vienes conmigo a un mot - El rubio no terminó sus palabras cuando un golpe de karate por parte del chileno le llegó justo en la cabeza y se desplomó.
-Idea descartada, weón ¬¬
-¿Qué tal un lindo café? Podemos tener un menú pequeño con té, café, jugos, refrescos y muchos postres ricos.-Sugirió Eli
-No sería mala idea, si cierto mulo no se traga todo.
-¡OYE ALE! ¿Qué te hace pensar que me comeré todo?, además apoyo la idea del café.- Replicaba Pancho.
-No apoyas nada si no es con algo que te beneficie, &
Regalo para Manu: Capitulo 1Bien, Él siempre había querido al chileno. Siempre se lo decía y el no lo tomaba en cuenta. Desde el fondo de su corazón lo amaba, desde la primera vez que lo vio y lo confundió por una niña, por eso el peleó por la libertad de el.Regalo para Manu: Capitulo 14 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
-¿Qué queri' ahora?-preguntó una chica de pelo negro molesta
-Javiera-dijo mirándola a los ojos-Boluda, necesito que me ayudes
-¡Dios!-exclamó sorprendida-Creí que ibas a morir o algo parecido, me asústate
-No importa-dijo recibiendo el vaso de agua
-¿Por qué llorabas?-preguntó curiosa-Digo, siempre que te da la wea tu recurres a Manu o a Lu, rara vez veni' a
-Ayúdame a conquistar a Manu- soltó
-Con que sigues con eso-dijo sorprendida-Ya veo
-Che, es enserio-dijo molesto el Argentino
-¡Bien!-dijo ruda como siempre, pe
Latin APH: Vos sos mio Cap 1Latin APH: Vos sos mioLatin APH: Vos sos mio Cap 16 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Capítulo 1: Descontrol
Estaba bien...después de todo el problema era mío y lo sabía, Arthur hace mucho tiempo que quería arrebatarme a mis hermanas Malvinas, pero yo me negué rotundamente y aún lo hago...
El día que te conté lo que sucedía, yo en el fondo sabía lo bien que te llevabas con él, pero aún así te lo conté y no sabés la alegría que me dio el saber que me apoyabas, aún si Arthur era tan amigo tuyo como yo.
Una alegría cruzó por todo mi ser al oírte decir "¡Yo te apoyo a vos po' weón si eso ni se pregunta!" a tu manera claro está, esa extraña manera que tenés de hablar y que tanto me ha costado comprender. Si, tu apoyo fue todo lo que necesitaba, porque ahora me siento más seguro de lo que hago y defenderé a mis hermanas como pueda, y con todo lo que tenga.
El problema era, que al decirte, vos te involucraste n
Salta (ArgxChile)A Manuel siempre le gustó la oscuridad, siempre, él siempre odió la luz y las cosas brillantes a pesar que su sola sonrisa ya lucía como una de ellas; Martín se repite eso con calma.Salta (ArgxChile)4 years ago in Drama More Like This
A Manuel siempre le agradaron los animales, le decía con esos ojos que todo el tiempo eran melancólicos que deseaba tener muchos perros o gatos, también canarios. Martín sonreía y decía que su casa parecería un zoológico cuando estuviesen casados.
A Manuel nunca le atemorizó ir a la cama con él, a pesar de que eran sólo adolescentes la primera vez que lo intentaron. Martín tenía tanto miedo de herirlo, que sus solas piernas temblaban al estar entre las del jovencito, pero los orbes oscuros siempre le tranquilizaron con un por favor, ámame.
Manuel nunca pidió algo de vuelta, ni exigió recompensas al mundo por vivir en condiciones paupérrimas. Nunca se quejó en la escuela porque su padre
mi bebe parte 2...UN DÍA AGOTADOR...mi bebe parte 25 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
-d..d d..d..d..diego?!, no!!! ¿Esto es una broma?¿qu qu..que te paso wn?-
Manuel pov .
Cuando destape a Diego, simplemente no lo podía creer, me quede anonadado al ver su tan pequeño cuerpo, sus pequeñas manos, y sus ojos llenos de inocencia, (difícil de creer), toda su ropa le quedaba grande y el pobrecito no podía salir de ella.
¿Como sucedió?, no tengo la mas minima idea, pero Diego se transformo en un pequeño bebe, !!un bebe!!!
¿Qué se supone que haga ahora con el? ¿debería llevármelo para la casa? ¿Cómo paso esto por la chucha? ¿habrá perdido la memoria o aun recordara todo lo que ah vivido?
Tenia tantas preguntas en mi cabeza, no sabia como responderlas, me estaba estresando
NightmareThe nightsNightmare2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Become a sort
A nightly journey through
When I woke today,
Though, the world
Was still dark.
It crumbled under
The wrath of darkness.
From this, my depression
And it grows darker
The world is becoming
More like my worst
And I know
One day, my body
Will choose not to wake me,
For the nightmare inside my head
Will be less
Frightening than the one
My body will save me
From eternal darkness.
Just hope yours
Does the same.
born to dieit has been a yearborn to die4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
since you have made me cry
always being second
eats at your bones
and low standards
lead me nowhere
ActingI walk around whilst forcing a somewhat happy faceActing5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I do this because the worries of others I want to erase
This is not to say that I am not any closer to being fixed
Just a confession that my deepest emotions are still mixed
When I feel these thoughts rising my jaw becomes locked
A cure for my insanity is something I am trying to concoct
Who knows whether or not I will ever truly be better
My concerns about this I am going to send to you in a letter
I am doing this because writing is what helps me to wear a smile
It stops me from caving in and becoming understandably hostile
I have to admit that my writing is something I find distracting
It helps me to forget that my happy front is a result of acting
ArtistAt 2 years old, I was an artist because I had a wild imagination that needed expressing.Artist2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
At 4 years old, I was an artist because in my art, everyone was happy and under rainbows, and I thought that was how life should be.
At 7 years old, I was an artist because my overly colorful artworks brought smiles to people who were hiding their problems silently.
At 12 years old, I was an artist because I was certain that my art was me.
At 16 years old, I wasn't an artist because people were always judging my art, and I couldn't stand it.
At 17 years old, I was an artist again because no matter what they said, in my heart I had died every day not being an artist.
At 20 years old, I was an artist because it was official that I chose art to create the path to my future.
At 26 years old, I was an artist because my art began making other artists.
At 29 years old, I was an artist because I felt almost like I lived in the worlds I could and had created at my fingertips.
At 32 years old, I was an artis
then i changed.Home used to be a place.then i changed.4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It used to mean quiet mornings with loud sibling voices, sunlight streaming through the dust speckled windows to paint the room with summer. I remember being seven and waking up to my parent's laughter, stumbling into the kitchen of oak to watch them leaning into one another over the coffee table. The tile on the floor was cold, but I remember thinking that the house was warm.
Home was a place of safety during the storms, where rain could batter but could never get in. It was the cream colored carpet and the fire blazing during the winter months. It was where I chased the small lop-eared puppy up the stairs and where exhaustion trailed after me on the way down every morning. It was comforting and familiar. It was where the smells were always sweet no matter whether it was half-baked cookies or lemon wood cleaner. It was mine.
Then things changed. I changed.
The walls dissolved and the people dispersed. Home became a word I didn't have a definition for. I
GloryI see your scarsGlory2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The rips on your seams
You're falling apart,
But you still hold your ground.
It astounds me,
You seem to be tarnished,
But I see through the layer of
What lies beneath is gold.
I'll take you from the shelf,
And fix you up, minding
Every stitch and thread.
Varnishing your skin
And I shall
Bring you back to your
LaunchA beginning, a new start.Launch6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Time for words to come
from the heart.
Nervous as a little bird
edging closer to flight.
I launch myself with a word.
Words have meaning and power,
so many forget
what has been said in an hour.
And yet there are those
who remember every word,
and use them later against foes.
Propelling myself into a sea
of written words,
I look around for all I can see.
Each story, a thrill,
each poem, a delight.
Words married with skill,
and so I have reached my beginning,
launched into worlds magical.
All from a writer's mind spinning.
DeathAfter a long time I find myself writing about deathDeath5 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
The thought sends a shiver through me, I take a breath
When our time comes some believe we cease to exist
Others tend to think of death as a man with a list
Can anyone guess what happens when our heart ceases to beat?
Some believe death is something that we will one day be able to cheat
When we mention death people always think of a man with a scythe
Who has no other purpose than to travel the world and take life
No one seems to think that death can be a suit wearing old man
It would make sense as death has been around since before time began
I do not mean to sound like its presence is any less saddening or eerie
Though after so much time in its line of work I think it must be weary
It goes without saying that wherever it travels it brings sadness
After taking what it needs it leaves survivors falling into madness
Death is a force of nature that never has or will have a rival
It is something that beats every man in their race for surv
TightropeHigh above it all,Tightrope6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Under my feet,
stretched so tight,
so little give.
Holding my breath,
closing my eyes.
It's not the height,
it's the fall I fear.
The rope is security,
no matter how tenuous.
The way things always are,
the way they've always been.
To fall, is to give in...
to something new,
something that shakes
the very core of me,
leaving me more breathless
than the height of the rope.
If I fall, it's a long way back...
if things fail,
if you hurt me.
And so I cling
to the tightrope,
to my life of solitude.
All the while,
staring at you below.