smile...My father always told me to smile, whatever happens. He said, that, if you smile, everything would turn good.smile...1 year ago in Philosophical More Like This
So the day he died, I smiled even more, even if I was sad. And everybody told me that I was a bad girl, that I was insolent against my father.
But today I know that it wasn't, that this gesture a sign of love and recognition for my father...
Cognito ergo sumi. I am helpless, a bundle of mint green blankets, toes lined with slivers of crescent nails. Houses are universes and rooms are worlds, a spinning atmosphere of baby-blue walls, an ivory ceiling that hangs out of reach, patterned by dappled reflections and passing clouds. And when I open my forest green eyes, something breaks. A fissure snakes between you two and I watch as the universe shatters, leaving me floating on a shard, on driftwood, praying on the tides for survival.Cognito ergo sum6 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
ii. Somehow, when you went away your genes did too, because I inherited nothing of yours but photos and a bad temper. The point of my nose was sanded down by the time spent waiting, my eyebrows thinning with all the crumpled confused looks I threw at the door, wondering where you were. But you came back looking different too, and we were strangers, and we still are.
iii. I watch my mum crying into a letter, blue ink bleeding from her fingertips, and suitcases are piling up around me until I swear I’m dreami
GratefulDescribe to me what you seeGrateful1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
When Violet kisses a sunsets cheek
Tell me what it's like to be
a White cloud adrift at a mountain peak
Show me what it is you feel
When Orange steals away Blues bliss
Give to me a gift to see
How lovely Yellow deserves a kiss
And when you can't tell me how
Red spills over a wound unhealed
And if you cant show me now
When Green cascades over begging fields
I'll tell you what I hear
When Black sleeps in a shadowy grave
I'll tell you how it feels, my dear
To never know the colors I crave
dichotomy.i.dichotomy.1 year ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
there’s a monster inside of my head.
it moved in four years ago, but they say it’s always been there. my daddy has one. so does his mom.
they say that’s where i got it. dad says grammy’s monster made her beat him until he was seven. dad says his monster made him drink until he blacked out, for twenty years.
they all say, “don’t let it in.” they all say, “it’ll control you, because you are weak.”
(actually, they say “vulnerable.”)
they tell me its name, so i can paint it on my wrists, on my forehead, along the curves of my ears. keep out. no BIPOLAR DISORDER allowed. they say it notices loud things. capital letters, for one. or crying children. or hatred. or fear.
they do not tell me what it’s like to see it. they do not tell me what’s it like, to feel it burrowing under your skin.
when it came to me, i pleaded with it. i said, “please go away,” and it didn’t listen.
Obsessed with Sherlock HolmesYou know you're obsessed with Sherlock Holmes when....Obsessed with Sherlock Holmes4 years ago in Sci-Fi More Like This
1. You find yourself meticulously examining every new person you meet.
2. You secretly wish you had a Watson 'stache.
3. You don't hang out with your friends anymore because you're locked up in your room... solving cases.
4. The funniest joke? Scotland Yard.
5. You always eat toast for breakfast. Always.
6. You sometimes watch your roommate sleep.
7. Moriarty is your sworn enemy.
8. You see the newest unexplainable disappearance or murder on the news, and think, Sherlock Holmes could handle it.
9. You've picked a side: Granada, 2009, or BBC.
10. You've named your bulldog Gladstone.
11. Pipes and magnifying glasses are suddenly amazingly hot.
12. Your old service revolver is your best friend.
13. To you, Irene Adler is always THE woman.
14. You are lost without
Vorwort.Als ich fünfundzwanzig wurde, war mein Leben schon vorüber – das jedenfalls bildete ich mir ein. Wäre ich ein Teenage-Girl in einer Soap-Opera gewesen, hätte man mich vielleicht eine Drama Queen genannt, aber ich war kein Girl und ein Teenager war ich auch nicht mehr. Mein Problem? Eine seltsame Krankheit ohne Namen. Die meisten Ärzte nannten es einfach „chronische Schmerzen“. Ich hatte das schon als Kind in den Beinen, aber jetzt breitete es sich in meine Arme aus.Vorwort.10 months ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Seit ich die Schmerzen in den Beinen hatte, konnte ich nicht mehr gross herumrennen, aber ich konnte noch gehen wie ein normaler Mensch. Ich vermisste das Rennen und den Rausch, den es mit sich bringt, aber ich hatte immerhin noch so etwas wie ein normales Leben. Jetzt, mit den Schmerzen in den Armen, änderte alles, was daran liegt, dass die Hände an den Armen angemacht sind. Meine Hände. Ich konnte meine Hände nicht mehr brauchen. Das stimmt zwar nicht ganz, ic
FragmentsI call them fragments, the parts of me that were too exhausted to stay. He calls them flecks because I am a flake. I wish I was a flake. It sounds prettier than being a fragment. Flakes are like snow. Soothing, falling from the sky on the tip of his tongue that melt and disappear. Fragments are archeological findings of a scarred past we really should not remember.Fragments1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I want to remember my scars. So I am a fragment.
I draw on my legs. When my skin dries out, I use my index finger as a pencil and draw what the clouds are trying to tell me. Sometimes it’s a dog, and sometimes it’s a bear and sometimes it is his face looking at me disapprovingly.
That is when I stop drawing.
At night, when the rain falls, I sit at the bay window and pretend to write stories whilst he pretends to sleep. “What are you writing?” he will ask in his asleep voice. “A funny story.” It is not. It is a pale, scary story, and it looks like my skin. “Were you dreamin
one.you told me that lifeone.3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
was full of
why do my
Espoir and HopeThe rhythm of my pencil tapping on the page isn’t helping; my mind is still blank. Why is it I have so many ideas for a great drawing, yet as soon as I sit down to put my ideas into images they disappear? Just as swiftly as she did, without the smallest hint of a good bye.Espoir and Hope1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
Perhaps that’s why; the only person in my head, the only image I wanted to create, was her. Ever since she appeared at my window, she was all I could think about. She was my escape from the endless torments my school provided, from the endless shouting of my parents downstairs, of the endless darkness that is my life. All I want is to see her again.
She was short. And grinning. And completely normal. That is, if you didn’t count the fact that she had wings. Gorgeous white wings that stretched out gloriously behind her, each feather rustling slightly in the breeze that blew through the smashed window.
The first time we met, I saved her. Well, that’s what I like to think. She was flying out in a
Die Probleme der NSA(Basierend auf einen wahren Artikel)Die Probleme der NSA3 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
»Wir befinden uns heute in der Basis 51 irgendwo in Deutschland. Wo wir mit den deutschen Leiter der hieransässigen NSA reden Mister Ben Smith, dessen Namen wir aus Datenschutzgründen im Interview nicht nennen werden, stattdessen stellen wir ihn einfach als Mister Secret vor.
Herr Secret, vor welchen Herausforderungen wird die NSA gestellt?«
»Nun, als wir hier anfingen, wussten wir noch nicht wie viele Terroristen und Deutsche ihre Nachrichten codieren. Wir brauchen dafür extra ausgebildete Fachkräfte, die der amerikanischen Wirtschaft ein Vermögen kosten.«
»Können sie uns da einige Codierungen zeigen?«
»Natürlich. Hier sieh dir das an: „Bis später, Süße. LG“, wobei „LG“ für Lagerterroristenbombengarage steht.«
»Es könnte jedoch auch „liebe Grüße“ bedeuten.«
»Bist du etwa auch einer dieser H
My own worldIn my own world, I'm safe and sound.My own world2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In my own world, I dance freely around.
I twirl and spin, and sing if I wish,
In my own world... I am free.
In my own world, it's warm and bright,
And, if I want I can stay up at night.
The stars, oh! how they shine!
They doth twinkle and watch over me.
The moon and the sun, vigilant as always,
But never do they stay in one place.
My own world is for only my eyes,
For only I have the key.
Don't Fall In Love With A Writer Just because they will bruise your neck with pearls of metaphors; and splash palettes of colours onto your chest with reckless waves and boundless twilight. They will smear ink onto your lips as you kiss them because that is how they leave hickeys. They are wildest in their 2 a.m. diary, and liveliest in book racks of novels; they have butterflies in every heartbeat and they breathe living poems. They leave trails in libraries and coffee shops like Hansel leaves crumbs in forest and they have undying lovers because every love story is ever living in their abyssal oceans of analogies and similes. They know every cliché like the sunset knows the moon rise, and every wound in their heart like blood in their veins. They are terrifying because they weave you in splinters of fires rolling down their cheeks. They are weird because they don't smile much but sometimes you could catch their smiles in poems or tales. They are psychotic bDon't Fall In Love With A Writer5 months ago in Emotional More Like This
Highly Sensitive PeopleThe first human job sharing might have been into shaman and non-shaman, with other words: HSP and non-HSP. The earliest task of a shaman or High Sensitive were probably the observation, interpretation and influencing of nature. It was HSPs who recognized the relations between man and nature, observed the weather cycles and interpreted the most favourable time for cultivation, harvesting or chasing. They were mediators between mankind and the non-human or godly world and thus some kind of a primeval priest. The conjuration of natural demons by self-created images with the help of rhythms and plastic models and the creation of communication with the higher powers could be considered as beginnings of ceremony and art. Besides the priesthood, HSPs also dominated the domain of art and science. Further traditional responsibilities of High Sensitives were the tradition and archives. In addition, HSPs often were competent in healing and health, the wholeness and life-help. Another resort was tHighly Sensitive People2 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
HopeShe lay in bed like a rag doll, her head lolled to one side and her limbs rid of all energy. Her stomach rumbled loudly but she couldn’t even lift an arm, let alone get food. Her eyes found her clock; she’d been lying here for hours - nine, to be precise - not speaking, not moving. If it wasn’t for the steady rise and fall of her chest, an intruder may have mistaken her for dead.Hope1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
A sigh sailed through her, cleaning out her lungs from the gathering dust she felt was congealing in them. It was funny how lying here for hours could make you appreciate even the smallest thing. Like a sigh.
Her mind wandered as the sun slowly shied away into the night, casting long shadows on her bedroom walls. They danced like demons in a fire, stroking her skin and laughing at her stillness. Yet she did not move.
She had woken up that morning screaming and writhing,her bedsheets twisting around her body. The nightmares were infecting her mind again, as they had done every night for the pa
Die Rolle meines LebensFast alles ist nur Schall und Rauch.Die Rolle meines Lebens5 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Bei mir und bei den andern auch.
Verkleiden uns und spielen Rollen,
selbst wenn wir sie nur ungern wollen.
Doch taug ich nicht zum Regisseur.
Bin nur Statist, ein Amateur.
Denn manche haben mehr Talent,
im Schauspiel, das sich Leben nennt.
fly.this is hard for the world around us to grasp:fly.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
these wildfires raging in our retinas
& the sins we wear like demonic similes
on our tongues- they are not enough.
& i am so fucking sorry of saying i'm sorry.
but, tell me,
what is a young poet(ess) to do
with veins made of kite strings?
Mein verbittertes HerzIch schreibe gerne über dichMein verbittertes Herz1 year ago in Emotional More Like This
über die Art wie du mich fühlen ließt
das Gefühl das du mir gabst
Ich war du
und du warst ich
und doch waren wir so verschieden wie eh und je
Ich habe dich geliebt
und du mich
und dennoch gab es etwas zwischen uns
Ich habe dich verstanden
du hast mich gekannt
und dennoch haben wir aneinander vorbei gesprochen
und ich die deine
die bessere Hälfte
Ich sah dich
du sahst mich
dennoch waren wir blind
Was hat die Liebe aus uns gemacht?
Sollte sie nicht vereinen
doch hat sie entzweit
Und weißt du was? Auch wenn du dich gegen das UNS entschiedst
aber ich schreibe gerne über dich
Graduation DayGraduation Day:Graduation Day2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
They told us we would be alright...
We had fought with honour and won our titles.
We had overcome trials together -
Watching dozens of our siblings fall in the line of duty.
For this they had promised us, a wondrous welcome;
A bountiful world of adventure, with a myriad of paths.
All this, they said, awaited us in the stone cities.
Large metropolises, where the working folk resided...
There were hundreds of us, who made that journey.
Walking miles across the scorching desert,
Clinging to a hope of the fortunes beyond.
Yet what awaited us was not a promised land -
Nor was it a life based on the merit we had earned...
Instead we found ourselves quarantined,
Pitching tents of inexperience-
Huddling together for comfort and warmth;
As the great gates of employment stood eerily silent.
-Chen Yuan Wen, 18 June 2013
RomanoxReader - ManboySullen, moody, temperamental, short-tempered.RomanoxReader - Manboy3 years ago in Romance More Like This
He'd been called them all.
But nothing or no one had affected him as much as [Name].
When he heard that even [Name] thought of him just like everyone else, he felt devastated. Clenching his fists tightly, and squeezing his eyelids shut, he leant forward, his head resting on the wall, desperately trying to keep all his anger in.
But the words continue to replay on and on in his mind, along with the scene.
"Veee~" he heard Feliciano, as he entered through the front door. "It's really nice of you to be helping me, [Name]!"
Hearing her name, Lovino closed the door as silently as possible. This wasn't the best time to be making a loud entrance. Was his younger brother talking to [Name] on the phone? Why?
Her chiming laughter seemed like music to Lovino's ears, and seemed to indicate her presence, which made Lovino stiffen, all the more.
What was [Name] doing here, of all the places?
"It's all right, Feli!" She chirped. "I'm always wil
Stone"You have a stone in your heart,"Stone3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
That rouses me somewhat. I look up from my book and out the window at the gray fog that's settled over everything like wet cotton. I imagine breathing it, letting it fill my lungs with gray. All at once, the room is suffocating and I push the window open and the cool air tumbles in and ruffles the pages of my book so that I lose my place.
The spell of the story unravels and some part of me aches to know that the sort of love that exists in the storybooks is never true.
She loves the lines of him.
"Are you listening?"
" Yes," I say without much conviction.
Rainwater pools on the windowsill.
"You you have a stone in your heart,"
I've waited a long time to show these flowers how pretty you are.
"Yes," I trace circles on the white laminate with a fingertip.
"Most days you can ignore it. And there are even some people who can make it lighter. But it always comes back. In the end it It always comes back,"
I should have
What I amI’m not a real person, just the color you see in the sky at 5AM after a night of drinking and dancing. I'm the cool crisp air that you feel on your sweat covered skin. I'm the breath that you can see floating away from your mouth into the air; exhaling away your last warm breath to just be replaced with something cool, and new. I'm the awkwardness between the cab driver and you after you give him the address to your house, the trust you have with him to get you home safe.What I am1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm the little things that you don't care about anymore. After you grow up and every little thing becomes unnoticed, just passed with out a second glance.
I'm not a real person, but I'm there. I will always be there.
I will keep standing!!Precious rose,I will keep standing!!3 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Sharpest of all thorns
Dancing to the night,
Glittering armour set to light.
It had all come to me,
the future's been fortold.
There's a floating petal,
the wind had began to settle.
I will always stand strong
Always but alone
For the sword of mead,
Still hangs above my head,
I'm still waiting for the chain,
The shiny chain of fate to fall
The swirling wheel of time,
Spirals out of control!
I shall stand, always be strong
Nothing can shatter, the bond I hold,
Just tear my flesh and break my bones
You shall see, that I will stand strong
The flight of a dove,
the touch of its feathers
the truth whispers to me,
while the lies scream out loud!
The rock is engraved
With a future to be found.
Say it now and shout it clear
Wars will be fought
And justice shall prevail.
I will keep standing
A statuette in a flood.
A foundation, supporting the above.
Rain will come and more will follow
Rivers will run, snaking through the land
Caressing the castles of salt and sand.
Ich mag dich, so wie du bist.Du bist einzigartig.Ich mag dich, so wie du bist.4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Du bist besonders.
Warum versuchst du normal zu sein?
Warum versuchst du dich der Masse anzupassen?
Warum stellst du die Meinung anderer über deine eigene?
Du bist nicht normal.
Du bist nicht mainstream.
Warum willst du unbedingt anders sein?
Warum musst du unbedingt dazu gehören?
Warum versuchst du dich selbst auszugrenzen?
Du bist nicht perfekt.
Du bist nicht vollkommen.
Warum trägst du immer eine Verkleidung?
Warum versuchst du deine Makel zu kaschieren?
Warum versuchst du nicht einfach, du selbst zu sein?
Denn ich mag dich, so wie du bist.