wasting time.already,wasting time.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i have spent too many nights with metal kissing flesh,
too many nights just one step above empty air.
there are too many unwritten suicide notes in my head,
too many hours spent praying to a toilet that will never answer back 'thin enough'.
i have wasted my 18th year curled around too much sadness,
spending it in texts sent like stones i never should have thrown.
words i never should have let fall out of the unhinged socket of my mouth.
i am all helium and no balloon.
i have spent my problems lavishly,
i was a whore with my secrets.
i forgot how to fall apart quietly.
i fell asleep in depression loud as the thoughts in your head.
i let it settle in my bones but tried to dig it out by cutting deeper.
i learned healing is a meal i haven't learned to swallow yet,
and i am grieving something i haven't found.
my innocence is a book i never got to read,
a book he burned before i was old enough to say no.
i can feel my scars raised like white flags,
each valley a war won.
you won't find her in photographs.you won't find her in photographs packed in dusty tattered boxes.you won't find her in photographs.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
don't look for her in the black and white negatives you hold to the light.
she was the finger on the trigger, the eye behind the camera.
she was sand in my fingers, always passing through.
she was a dust moat, only seen through the looking glass of light falling in patterned beams.
she was a cloud,
and photographs could never pin her down.
if you see her,
it won't be in an album.
no, you will find her weaving daisy chains in downtown traffic. you will find her dropping pennies like bread crumbs so she will always find her way back,
and wishing on the moon when you can't see the stars. or holding shards of blue glass to the sky when the clouds don't break. you will find her wandering the forest barefoot, trees tugging at her hair or writing poetry in brail and in sharpie in neglected crannies on the subway,
because she always said art is for everyone, right?
she was an ocean,
don't try to hold her in a mason jar.
skin.skin taught hipbone to hipbone like the skin of a drum as my fingers play the keyboard of my ribs,skin.3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
digging deep to pluck them like boomerangs from the corset of my chest. stomach like a cave whispering lies that echo in my bones.
there's a vortex in my middle
that i refuse to feed,
a blackhole that only grows.
(but it doesn't seem to know that i've forgotten how to be hungry).
the empty echos the ice in my heart and the empty in my head.
the countdown has begun.
(caged rabbit heart is dying slowly).
and i know you'll come again soon. you always do.
there is a dead songbird in my chest,
and its wings are clipped and laid to rest.
i know my place.
i know the way my body fits next to his like a corrupted equation. 2+2=8. but you and me will never equal a whole number.
this selfhate was hardwired into me at the age of 11 along with the memories of your searching hands presspresspressing into me like a prayer.
but there is nothing holy about your hands,
nothing sacred about my
the little things.The night caves in.the little things.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
there are no more pretty words on my lips.
the stars fall like planes in a tailspin.
and there is no more beauty in my pen,
only the self-loathing that shadows my mind and the blade on my skin.
and he's seafoam in the drain,
as out of place here as the seashells inhabiting the dresser in my room.
its not poetry anymore,
and the pain in my chest is so real i can taste it like cold steel.
his toes at the edge of the precipice as he burns the night down. your lungs are filled with flour and your eyes with ashes.
its the little things that break you.
so i'll swallow the emptiness inside like a bitter medicine. bite my cheeks until they bleed out my insecurities. i'm rotting from the inside out, but i can't let them know it.
too afraid if i set the rot free it will destroy me completely.
but maybe its already destroyed me.
the acid in my veins has laid me bare and defenseless. the bile and unborn words in my che
This is not about you .These words are not about you.This is not about you .3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
The curves of these letters are here to imitate the shape of your spine when I have you pressed against the wall. They mock the shape of my breasts against your burning palms, the sharp prickle of your jaw resting at the base of my neck as you moan the name you could have sworn you've forgotten but it always just wiggles its way free from between your teeth.
Don't misunderstand, these words are not about you.
This is purely and solely about me and my battle between giving up and giving in. Either way, the winner turns out to be you.
I was counting crooked stars and telling you that snow feels hot to my touch when I'm high on apathy, when you caught me off-guard and set fire to my fingertips. I trusted you when you promised to leave me completely undesirous, and accidentally misheard that you can only promise to break every promise leaving your lips. For one second I believed that I have learned to keep my heart in a pocket, and then suddenly you stripped
Wild Things and Make Beliefs.Pucker your lips andWild Things and Make Beliefs.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my teeth will fill your mouth with
the metallic taste of
your own blood.
Take hold of my hand and
I'll point out all the perfect ways
don't fit together.
Plant kisses down my neck and
I'll tell you it feels just like
Keep me in your chest box
and I'll claw my way out
from between your fractured ribs.
Because to call you darling, I'd have to linger
but wild things are meant to run free.
volcanoes in your voicebox.the chairs whisper a collective amen as we stand.volcanoes in your voicebox.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the setting sun winks at us through half drawn curtains
as we shake off the lethargy in sitting in our bones.
your silence stretches, snaps, and breaks another bone. your eyes are erupting like mt. saint helen, but the ash is coming from your mouth.
i can smell my skin burning.
the words stack like tetris, burying forests and houses under layers of scorn. i pull words from the ocean caged in my chest with a fishing hook drawn up my throat. the sandpaper sentences have shredded my voicebox raw, but you can't hear me through your anger.
the list of things we are going to do to fix me stretches deeper than the obsidian sea.
but maybe i don't want to tape me back together, to push me back into a skin i shed like the plastic wrap of a gift.
maybe i want to gather the shards of my brokenness like flowers in my arms and learn to make something beautiful of them.
learn to say this is me.
i can be something more than you've made me.
i know you h
wait and write to me then.don't tell me about the best way to capture the ocean in your mouth. don't whisper to me late at night about the salt crescent moons behind the bend of your elbows or the way that the breeze is tangling my hair around your ears until you're deaf from the wind. don't, for you see it's easy to whisper poetry when the starlit sky is a cliche over the slumbering world; it's easy to be a poet when the ground is rising up to cradle your shoulder blades and the earth is whispering love notes to you in your sleep. this is when it's easy.wait and write to me then.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
so don't write to me then.
instead, wait until the world is rejecting you from her breast and leaving you breathless and boneless on the carpeted floor. wait until your ribs are falling one by one like sand through your fingers and you're struggling to catch them and struggling to keep your feet and struggling to remember why you started this fight at all. wait until the ocean has woken up angry and is throwing a tantrum across your jaw, knocking your teeth ou
The Legend Of These KingsTwisting and churningThe Legend Of These Kings3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My thoughts intertwine
I can't really remember
This past of mine
The days felt like weeks
And the minutes like hours
Running through the woods
Under organic towers
Looming above us
The blanket of green
Covered our kingdom
A fantastic scene
The worlds we imagined
The ones we saved
The fires we had
The foods we craved
We lived like kings
My brother and I
Though we fought sometimes
He was my best ally
But those days are mixed
All hazy and unclear
I can't remember well
How my mind got here
Our kingdom only lasted
For about two years
And then he was torn away
My eyes full of tears
Because my life was at risk
Of ultimate destruction
And my only escape
Left me without instruction
A year on my own
And I became two
Another me got started
And in my mind it grew
A split personality
Trying to fill the hole
When my brother got torn
Right out of my soul
And I try to remember
The days we shared
How we lived life
And never cared
I try to recall
The fun we had
The battles we fough
baby drilledif the sun stillbaby drilled5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
shines then the
we've been repeating
what the rain said
spray the earth's
into the bay
let them make
in the riverbed
with one hand
what the other
the night in
La ultima blagaThéorie de la galéjade suprême par le professeur ZekovskiLa ultima blaga4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
(ou de la blague ultime, mais ça claque moins)
Récemment plongé dans de maintes réflexions et études sociologiques (oui, ce sont des sciences. Non pas parce qu'on les pratique avec une démarche objéctive et attentive mais parce que les cobayes disponibles sont pléthore.), je me suis penché sur le cas des blagues. Je parle ici des blagues de parole, qui à une lettre et un accent près donne "padrôle". Ce qui était justement le cas de celle-ci, mais au moins vous avez compris l'idée.
Dans mes maintes recherches, disais-je donc, je me suis très vite rendu compte évidemment que l'amplitude d'une blague (qu'on mesure sur l'échelle du fou qui repeint son plafond si vous n'avez pas lu le Chat de Gelluck) dépend fortement du contexte.
« La différence entre 30 et 27, c'est qu'il y en a un
Pygmalion In some distant land there lived a king and his mind. In a time of steam and balloons and the defiance of Gods and Nature alike by Man, his people thrived in unbroken peace, and the king and his mind lived alone in his hall. No sentries guarded its doors, for the king felt safe in his home; no queen sat by him as he ate. Instead, the emptiness was filled with the treasures of the modern day: precious metals and glass moulded into technical tools and toys for his pleasure, and forces driven by sheer physics for that of his mind; a mechanical menagerie of metal lapdogs that barked when called, frogs that croaked squeakily as they hopped meaninglessly about, cats that purred when their well-greased ears were stroked.Pygmalion4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Yet neither the king nor his mind were satisfied: the mind grew bored with the knowledge it found in weights and steam, and the man himself, the fallible king of a refined land, grew fonder of the obje
good thing we're fools.I think I might love you.good thing we're fools.6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I think thats a stupid thing to say, why would you say something like that?
Because when you look at me my toes curl and my stomach flutters.
Is that a quote from a book?
No. I dont think so. I dont know. It all gets a little mixed up sometimes.
So you love me like they love in books.
Question or statement?
Question, then. And, yes. I love you like Scarlett loves Rhett, like Elizabeth loves Mr. Darcy, like-
Stop, just stop. Dont love me like that. What happens after the last page?
We continue on loving like happily-ever-forever.
No, wed drop off, we'd end. Love isnt static, it doesnt continue in a flat line. Who can carry the same tune for years? We rise, we fall, we bump arms and step on each others toes. Ill annoy you because I cant stand going to Chr
Lord, you know I love you"Simon, son of Jonah -Lord, you know I love you5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
do you love me?"
I can't look at you.
It breaks my heart.
You know I love you.
(I hope you do.)
But oh - I'm such a sinner!
"Feed my lambs."
"Simon, son of Jonah -
do you love me?"
Do you doubt me
as much as I doubt myself?
I said I didn't -
you know I never meant it.
I love you - but I'm a sinner.
"Tend my sheep."
"Simon, son of Jonah -
do you love me?"
Why must you hurt me so?
Have I not torn myself apart
asking the exact same thing?
Lord, you know all things -
you know that I love you,
that, even as I said
I knew you not,
I never stopped loving you.
Save me, Lord!
"Feed my sheep -
And follow me."
alienatecan we fight with wordsalienate5 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
or are we simply going to
kill ourselves trying
The Artist and Her PassionShe has a passion.The Artist and Her Passion5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"I've haven't seen a student with such potential in a long, long time."
"Challenge yourself, you're not challenging yourself!" No really, really she was. "Harder," came the retort.
She threw the paint, exhausted herself and kept going. Splatters, no clothing she owned was without paint.
She silenced people. Made them still. She loved it.
"I'm so proud of you."
Exhausted herself and kept going. The line between sleeping and wake sometimes blurred.
"Where is the rent?! This is the fourth time you've been late!"
Better paint, more classes.
"You look horrible, if I do say. But my. You are improving... aren't you... yes."
"Why don't you call me anymore?"
Sold a painting for a thousand dollars, a single painting!
"Where were you yesterday? The boss is pissed."
New job, that's fine. Now there's money to float on!
I'm really driven, taking three art classes... Yes I have another job... art gallery... displayed there, maybe even own the place!
HungryI arrive hungry -Hungry3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
like last night's wine,
my mouth full of you.
Dinner is a dying art you say,
tucking a napkin
over my lap.
First course -
something you feed me
with your hands
poised in flight.
Main course -
I wear a blindfold;
you have a spoon
between your lips,
daring me to bite.
collected in a cup.
I can taste
the morsel of your skin
just a tease
upon my tongue
Secret of the heart. Love like you breatheSecret of the heart.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Swallow your anger, condense your pain,
Give someone your heart
Now, don't you feel relieved?
Twin Thoughts, Words Unsaid Zero YuukiTwin Thoughts, Words Unsaid5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Your clear eyes stare at me Your clear eyes stare at me
they waver from within bottomless depths
My heart lying asleep
i can take itbitter: the taste of your silencei can take it5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i was hallucinating-dry of mouth-dry of spirit
fooled by oasis green and blue
so let's work it this way:
i'll be astringent and strong
you be silent exceptinpolicyofcourse
-by god don't
let anyone see beyond your
let's see what can be accomplished by
until all bonds are brokensmashedgone-
i can take it(silence).
The God of so muchWhat is God the God of?The God of so much4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
He is the God of many things
He is the God of Eternity
The God of Time
The God of the Dimensions
He is the God of Heaven
The God of the Seraphim
The God of the Cherubim
The God of the Archangels
The God of the Angels
He's the God of the universe
The God of the Super-clusters
The God of the Milky Way Galaxy
The God of the Solar System
The God of the sun
The God of the planets orbiting the sun
The God of the Earth
The God of the moon
He is the God of the sky
The God of day
The God of night
The God of light
The God of the atmosphere
The God of the clouds
The God of the four winds
The God of rain
The God of thunder and lightning
The God of mist and dew
The God of snow and ice
The God of the northern lights
The God of rainbows
He is the God of the four seasons
The God of spring
The God of summer
The God of autumn
The God of winter
He is the God of water
The God of the ocean
The God of the seas
The God of lakes
The God of rivers
The God of streams
The God of pools
Mary Most Holy (Literature)Mary Most Holy (Literature)3 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
When I debate with others about the Genesis narratives of creation (Gen 1 and 2) one comment that emerges is how similar both of those narratives are to other creation narratives, most notably the Enuma Elish in Babylonian mythology. This similarity for some is proof enough that the Biblical account is merely 'one among many' or that the author(s) simply stole from their captors but made minor changes (n.b., the Enuma Elish predates the written Biblical account).
Many Christian and non-Christian scholars now believe that the similarity in construction is intentional and that the Genesis account is structured close to the Babylonian myth in order to act as a theological polemic. When one puts both accounts side by side it seems as if the syntax is nearly identical—for the undiscerning mind. The slight changes of both tone and process reveals a delicate construction on the part of both authors, Babylonian and Hebrew. Contained in simple mythological language are commen