seai am not a brave moon girlsea10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
who dares to show her all to you in the dead of
night, to lure your crashing heartbeat towards her
with the gravitational pull of her glimmering
your winds whisper a gentle invitation,
and although i am tempted to run into your
sweeping tsunami embrace,
i step out cautiously onto your shore,
dipping my toes into the darkness to find you.
just when you think you've finally reached me
i flee from your current.
you wait to sweep me off my bare feet,
knowing that you're a tide i can only drown in.
i am not a brave moon girl,
so what can I do but push you away?
Why I dislike The Fault in Our StarsSo, I’ve been getting a lot of asks over the last few months asking why I strongly dislike TFIOS by John Green as much as I do. And for the most part, all the recent askers have been surprisingly polite, considering the more aggressive ones I’ve received in the past on the subject. Anyway, I’ve answered a bunch of them separately, but I’ve decided to condense all of my theories, opinions and arguments into one succinct post.Why I dislike The Fault in Our Stars2 years ago in Personal More Like This
Now, I'll be blunt about my feelings on the book by copying and pasting my response to a recent ask upon the nature of my dislike.
“The story is incredibly formulaic and unrealistic, the dialogue is pretentious and stilted, cancer is romanticized and I fucking hate that arrogant ass Augustus waters with a burning passion. I liked Hazel and Isaac all right, and I guess his writing is good, but the cardboard cut-out nature of all the other characters and the complete lack of realism heap
something as little"Do you sometimes think about humans and hurt," she says. She's rummaging in a crate on the cold floor of her garage, and her face is hidden. You shift to let the afternoon light shine on the golden wave of her hair.something as little3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Because I do," she goes on, before you can admit that you have no answer. Small objects fall from the crate and cascade to the floor with a clatter. "I do."
Her words hang heavy between you, alone and uncomfortable in the summer air, and your tongue stumbles in the strangeness of the moment and spits out, "Why?"
She bundles the long strands of her hair into a fist and straightens, her hands otherwise empty. "Humans are so frail," she says, leaving your question unanswered, drifting with her I do. "They're made of all this muscle and bone and stubbornness, and still you can cut them to the heart with something as little as words." Her eyes fix on yours.
"What do you mean," you say, struggling to keep up with her. "Why words."
She smiles and the force of it is
The Reassurance of GreenIt was Ella's idea to hire a gardener for my mother's tulips.The Reassurance of Green3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"I've been doing fine with them," I had said, a little surprised at the sudden suggestion. My sister had looked pointedly at the small patch of tulips that had previously encompassed the whole side yard. They were already dying, and the bulbs would have to be planted again soon. I had been planning an intense Internet search for that.
"I'd like to see you do better," I had muttered, but agreed nonetheless. I left the actual hiring to my sister, though.
Which led me to this moment, staring at a stranger on my doorstep and hoping rather desperately that there had been a mistake and he was not, in fact, the gardener my sister had hired.
"Can you… wait here, for a moment?" I asked the man. He nodded, clasping his dirt-encrusted gloves in one hand, and tugging at his ponytail with the other. I scurried inside.
Ella was supremely unconcerned.
"Who cares if he's dirty?" she asked, looking torn between amusement and exasperation. "G
A Song, A Car, A HighwayAn eyelash falls down his cheek,A Song, A Car, A Highway3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
and I wonder-laugh at the unexpected fall.
It’s black against his skin, as pale as my own,
and nearly so as the dust of snow outside the window.
I expect him to hold it out and bid me make a wish,
but he brushes it off his cheek,
and his eyes don’t follow its path to the hand-brake, as mine do.
I want to lean down and grab it for myself because damn,
if he isn’t going to make a wish I could sure use one.
But when I ask him, he grins at me and asks what I would wish for,
when we have such a future in front of us.
For now I’ll keep it a secret, but I do lean close to him and whisper
that we can put that future to the test, and if it’s a good one,
I’ll pay him back in eyelashes.