the nature of words
What if I told you I was Jesus?
Look Him up on Google Images. Right now. I'll wait.
Let me just tell you you'll find pictures of Him, fisted beard and soft eyes, holding lambs, small children, His hands strung up on crosses like a marionette doll, dipping His feet into broken waters, along with the odd picture of an African-American Jesus or a manipulated photo to show Him smoking, drinking, having gay intercourse. And you'll smile, and bite your lip a little, maybe play with some knick-knack, some tinsel and bouncy toy on your desk.
Now look at me. Don't be shy. I'm not offended.
Get in so close to my face that you can only catch snips of me, fragments of hair and weaves of skin, until you have to step back and wait for your eyes to focus back on me. Stare at me until you can feel your eyes dull with the sensitivity of watching, stare at me until you
the reason we have pet namesI.the reason we have pet names8 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
In Angola, out of every one-thousand babies born, one-hundred and eighty-four (point four) will die.
And that's not even counting the ones who are born with disabilities, with disorders, with infections and diseases, who need transfusions and transplants, who need more blood cells and bones, who will be blind and who will be deaf, who will clutch a doll to their chest and nibble on the head, because if they close their eyes the world can be cheese, if they like.
The life expectancy for those Angolan children who make it out of the womb with five-fingered hands, with healthy eyes and giant smiles, those kids will live until thirty-seven years old, at best, which means they'll be having their midlife crises at about eighteen, still a baby to the world. What do you picture for an eighteen-year-old? Drunk driving to sober beach shores where they proceed to stone themselves into a stupor, car crashes wi
someday i will build a walli am still jealous of watersomeday i will build a wall7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the rivulets and crescents of your palm
while your skin mimics an ocean;
but as soon as you start to take it
it slips, slides, trickles
it will be held,
bending to fit the poetry
of your hands,
we gathered around your hospital
bed and if i closed my eyes i could pretend
it was thanksgiving,
when the house is gold
and our hands are
pinked like bent and pale knees;
and we clasped our hands across
our nipples and you look up
and wave to god like he is
coming for you, and we touch
our nails to our chins and
make new freckles on
our skin. it withers,
lost to a sea of blood too quick
for your veins, and
as if your heart is already
i liked you better
when i could take your head in my hands
and hold it like a coin,
and your curls would fall around and
mash against me, and my palms would
be made of silvery thread and
thick skin for the rest of the day;
and when i opened m
don't tell me if the sun diesi.don't tell me if the sun dies7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
there is a drumbeat of silence
mirrored between your hands. you
massage the pit of suffering and
grace and sinew and dust and cells
and tears with echoed fingers. there is
too much for you to squeeze
between shaven palms.
(i only ask that
when my hair has fallen loose and my
skin has worn itself into jewelry,
you take me home.)
you listen to the
crickets. they sing a eulogy for the number
they have lost today.
the day i die, i will come
tapping at your window, my fingernails
drumming to find the skin
chirrp; chirrp; chirrp.
don't wait up.
for every criminal: a flower.
(pluck it in the morning,
when the dew is still on
the backs of dragons and
butterflies and monsters
and ocean salt carried inside
the wings of pigeons built to be
doves inside a cradle of space
and time and air; and don't forget
i hope i find you flying kites Someday I hope to find you nursing kittens pooled up in your pulled-out shirt and when they die I hope to find you laying their small paws in the grass for the sun to rub liquid and gel waves over their pronged-fork toes and to let it take care of them until you no longer understand sight, and I hope to see you when you fall asleep in the big rocking chair on the porch and dream of a Heaven with cattails and triangle ears.i hope i find you flying kites7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Someday I hope to find you on broken avenues keeping your heart close to your thump-born chest and someday I hope to find you spooning bits of your stomach out to a gullet of eraser-mark poor people in a perished, lidded countryside. Someday I hope to find you attempting to grow wings by huffing your arms behind your purple-spotted back and when they do not appear I hope you cry tears stolen from the palms of salt lakes and water gods because lord knows you really could ha
getting it backwards"I'm leaving," you say, a suitcase falling off the latches of your fingers, your digits strained red. Your eyes are fuzzy and rimmed.getting it backwards8 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I stop cutting carrots and stare down at the knife in my hand, chewing into the frozen orange skin. "What?"
"I'm leaving." You stare at the floor until your eyes meet my white t-shirted back.
I let out some air in a concentrated, throaty exhale. "What?"
"I said I'm"
"You a skipping record or something?" I clench my jaw and stare hard at my fingernails, willing myself not to bite my tongue.
"Well, I am," I can hear your suitcase fall and topple over, leaning against a dining room chair. I can feel, out of the corner of my eye, your arm raise and scratch the folds of your hair. "For good."
"Really," I try to make my tone conversational and resume cutting carrots. I let the knife slam hard against the counter, a sound that reverberates through the kitchen. "For good."
"Yeah," there's a break in your voice. "I have my stuff packed. Tooth
DefinitionLet's pretend, just for a moment, that you have no name. You have no name, have never had a name, and never will have a name as long as I have anything to say about it. You don't need one.Definition7 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
From this moment on you will be defined as your eye color, the way the tears stain your bottom lashes black when you cry, and how you always bat your eyelashes at pretty strangers.
You will be the way your hair sticks up at 7 in the morning and how it gets slicked back and darkened in the pool. You will be combed and unruly an frizzy at times.
You can simply be called by the way your laugh starts in your tummy and wriggles it's way out, ending with a chiming, hicup-y noise. You will be the way you snirk at my lame jokes.
Let's title you how you pick at your scabs and gnaw your nails until they're gory and uneven and maybe even bloody. It's a nervous habit, but it makes you worthwhile.
We can scrawl your speech patterns on the hard-cover backing. I know how you stutter and latch onto a word you think
speaking to the horizonshe will not leave.speaking to the horizon7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a woman with a lactose touch
closes her eyelashes like
needles and brings her
fingers up to her nose,
covering it with skin like a ribbon.
she bends her head back
and begins to sing
about Jesus and his lambs,
folded into his palms like
she does not understand.
gold falls from her hair like light
falling down a window,
striking though the glass,
and the microphone wobbles with
she sings about angels to the
ceilings and their halos watch, disdainfully.
she does not understand.
i can't get the burden of her
voice out of my head,
the strained way she looks downwards,
as if it pains her.
when God sees the angels, he says,
and his Adams' apple
blooms from the trunk
of his neck.
ear to your chestyour inner child is speaking and wantsear to your chest7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
ice cream by the gallon. it is playing
made-up, off-key drumbeats on its stomach,
playing until its fingers are sore with
skin and dust, belly-button lint and
dreams. it does not want to be an astronaut,
a fireman, or a police officer: it wants to
be a food taster, a librarian, a
smoke-maker and a diamond-cutter. it
wants to bleed, beautifully, and it wants
to never feel pain for the rest
of its life.
(please. please, never let
it hurt, ache, wince. keep it safe,
toying with your h
Two Lovers and the Sea-- remixthough they are green, I would carry the ocean in my eyesTwo Lovers and the Sea-- remix7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I can see the wistful longing in your face. Your eyes wander to far-off shores, your lips go soft and relaxed beneath mine as you try and taste the salt air. You miss her.
If I could carry the wind in my teeth, the ocean in my hair, and the sand in my toes, I would drag it home to you.
I would leave it rustling, shivering at the foot of your bed. And we would poke our fingers in the sand, fishing for crabs; sit in the waves and wash up and down, grit rubbing our skin raw, ocean stinging unforgivingly against any cut, buffeted under a sky too far away to be real.
and the sun shines. and the waves break, harshly, beautifully, angrily, lovingly,
against the shore. against our bodies.
Toes outstretched, and at our back reality curves and bends into something false, something that is never as good as what is aheadan ocean at our feet, with the world dropping off b
tonight's gift(There is glass in his arm, maybe shattered.)tonight's gift7 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
I've seen him, and he doesn't look like you. Someone is playing the guitar like they are weeping and all they know how to do anymore is fiddle with strings, bring music forth from their fingers. She is turning around in the car, looking past the window, and your name is suddenly on top of her lips, dominant. You are sitting next to me and pulling pink hair from the slivers of your neck and laying them before me: here, a gift you have made, a gift you have been given.
(There is glass in his arm, maybe shattered. You reach out, your hands a sinewed layer of white glare, and you reach for the latticework of bloody glass. He recoils.)
Someone is yelling your name in the background, coming up to desperately hug your back, cracking open. Her feet are curled up in my chair and she is peering next to you, as if she is afraid of what she will find in your eyes, something sitting in your pupils and waiting down the street. I've seen him, and h
it's time to d a n c e.REDit's time to d a n c e.7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
his eyes are cold, and on me they linger
drinking in my features like rain and
clinging to my skin as the sun shines high;
he approached me with shaking hands and
fingers laced of whine: h-h-hey y-you're
pretty c-cute: he stutters like an angel with
fear in his eyes and anxiety swimming in
his veins like there's no tomorrow for any
one any more and i laugh like we have all
the days we could dream: so are you: not
a problem with any of my syllables could
you ever find but my heart races like the
dogs up in alaska; mush mush mush mush;
and i take his hand wh
Astronomy De-constructi-fiedwe are astronomers (from day to night)Astronomy De-constructi-fied7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
believing (we are fully right)
[in saying] that the world begins
(as if the planet's bound by selfish whims)
[like earth] precisely [spins
on axes only] when we say it does (and even then
for only moments we have deemed significant)
and time itself [can't help but laugh]
[as though eternity] is subject to
[an airborne piece of chaff] existing (if you call it that)
[for only moments on a never ending graph]
like we say [here today and not around tomorrow]
it was [such a sorrow-filled display]
regardless of the change (that turned the day
from night and dawn from dusk)
[history was made] in [front of] us
[it seems deserving of]
a new chorus
[with each of us]
[in lyricality] (the angel's specialty)
[thus] notes are [lifted up as praise and feet are] dancing
[till the end of da
New York MinuteNew York has been nothing but terrible tasting cheap vodka nights and drunken messes that I dont know how to clean up on my own so I sit and let myself waste at parties or at home, as long as Im drunk so I cant feel it when someone says his name. I used to say his name a lot on my breath in the nighttime but that was before, when we were still speaking; before I started going to parties and drinking liquor from other peoples cabinets in order to feel okay. New York is just a lie that is told by women who want to feel for a little while, women who do not wear warm clothes in the winter because they dont want to cover up all of the things they think make them pretty, their chest or their necks or their legs that go on and on because they need someone to tell them theyre worth it. I dont think that Im worth it, so that must be why he doesnt talk to me anymore, that must be why I cry sometimes when I go to bed or when INew York Minute7 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
First Senshi: Sailor MercuryPeople on Mercury and all over the Solar System had heard of what had happened on the Moon. The legendary Silver Crystal of the Moon was not just a myth and the wielder of the crystal had been a young girl only fourteen rotations old. The crystal had accepted her and transformed her into the warrior Sailor Moon. Selene, now known as Queen Serenity, had sent delegations to each of the nine planets.First Senshi: Sailor Mercury7 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Queen Serenity I also personally journeyed to the planets to talk to the rulers about a possible planetary alliance. Mercury was the first planet that Queen Serenity I visited. Queen Serenity I told the people of Mercury that she believed every planet contained one person who would be the chosen warrior of that planet. Each warrior had a crystal such as she did. This caused the scientists of Mercury to began to examine every rock and gem on the planet and every girl on Mercury that was anywhere from fourteen to eighteen rotations old.
Before Crystal Tokyo: HotaruHimie do you want us to come with you, asked Haruka pulling up to the mansion which used to be Hotarus home.Before Crystal Tokyo: Hotaru7 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
No Haruka-papa. I need to talk to Tomoe-papa on my own to explain everything properly, said Hotaru as she got out of the car. Getting out of the car she straightened her skirt and waited for Haruka to drive off. Gathering her courage she walked towards the house she once called home. After she rang the doorbell she felt it was an eternity before he answered the door.
Hello. May I help you? asked Professor Tomoe.
Professor Tomoe, Hotaru asked knowing it was him.
Yes, he replied.
May I please come in? I have come to talk with you about your daughter, Hotaru said quietly.
I am sorry but my daughter died many years ago along with my wife, Tomoe replied solemnly.
Please I need to talk to you. Your daughter is not dead, Hotaru stated carefully. After a moment Tomoe agreed a
Twilight ObessionYou know youre obsessed with Twilight whenTwilight Obession7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
· Every time someone mentions the name of a character in the book you squeal (this includes all side characters as well, not just Edward).
· You find yourself angry or not speaking to a friend who dislikes your favorite character.
· You know the exact days, hours, and possibly even minutes until Breaking Dawn comes out (or the movie, both work).
· You find it impossible not to mention it to every person in every conversation you have.
· You are insulted if someone says they dont like the books and take great personal offense.
· You find yourself debating what might happen in the next book constantly Even while you dream.
· Whenever you see a car style or color mentioned in Twilight you feel the need to point it out.
· If you see a picture of a wolf your first thought is Jacob or werewolves.
· Whenever you read or hear the phrases Twilight, New Mo
Be Thankful for everythingPretend you could take everything you dont like about yourself, every experience that pains you and peel it away like dried paint. Now place it in a box, an old shoe box from a pair of shoes you wore once and will probably never wear again. Seal the box, with duct tape, super glue anything to keep it shut, anything that will lock it away. Wander into the woods, a field, a place no one goes and dig; dig till you disturb the worms and the bugs, dig till you see the water break through the mud. Now throw the box in, cover it up and walk away. Don't look back.Be Thankful for everything7 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Five years later you return, youre older, wiser and yet you still have come back here. You dig, dig back into the earth you cast yourself away in so long ago. The box is there, its worn and wet, almost not a box but something living. Open it.
You find yourself back at the beginning with the things you hated most. Yet, now you wonder why you did such a thing. Inside that box are not traits and memories that disgu
The Way We Were +PGSM+Endymion realized something as he looked around him at this gathering of his dearest friends and companions: The shitennou were hopeless in matters of romance and there would be no next generation to carry on the protection of the Earth Kingdom. He shook his head ruefully, a wry smile perking his lips upwards.The Way We Were +PGSM+7 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
There should have been dancing, and there was. Couples comprising the vast majority of his court moved in the graceful turns and steps of a tune composed specifically for the occasion of this ball. They were all arrayed in the usual, predictable assortment of honors and jewels, all blending in with each other. Four men stood out.
Blonde, young, and somewhat shy, Jadeite was talking to one of the palace girls, the prince noticed. He could never remember her name, that one with the red hair. The shitennou was having a hard time of it, seemingly unable to decide precisely where to place his eyes: whether on
Avenue Q- Ever Since- Chpt.1Avenue Q- Ever SinceAvenue Q- Ever Since- Chpt.18 years ago in Scraps More Like This
Rating: R, for language and suggestive content.
Category: Avenue Q fanfiction.
Chapter One- Taking Your Time
Rod and Ricky stumbled in at around 1:00AM. Nicky was still up in the living room, playing SNES. Nicky had obsessed over getting a Nintendo 64 when he was 16, but his parents couldnt afford it. For his 18th birthday, Rod had bought him a Super NES, not understanding the difference between the two. None-the-less, Rod had saved up money working at his summer job to buy it for Nicky, and Nicky was not one to complain at anything received for free.
The deep blush on Rods face revealed to Nicky the pair had gotten tipsy at the bar. Or at least Rod had. Ricky seemed to be able to hold his alcohol a lot better. Rod was leaning against Ricky, who had his leather-clad arm on Rods shoulder. He smoothly guided him down the hallway to the bedroom. Nicky winced, seeing the look on Rickys face. His playful smile
A Pure Heart?"Mercury Star Power - Make up!" the girl cried out as she ran. Somewhere between stepping from her left foot to her right foot, her clothing changed.A Pure Heart?7 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
"Everyone, it's another diamon," she called into her communicator as she ran.
From the other end, there were various confirmations - the others were coming. Mercury felt a soft pulse from the necklace that rested next to her heart. The necklace had been a gift, a clear blue stone. Tanzanite, it was called. Blue because it suited her. The senshi weren't the only ones that were coming to help her.
She nearly collided with Sailor Uranus, who held out a hand to block her path. Just beyond the older senshi, she could see the diamon, which resembled a large dog, closing in on a young man.
"We have to stop them!" Mercury exclaimed, "Let me past!"
"And what are you going to do alone?" Uranus said.
"I have to do something!" Mercury replied, "Let me past!"
"No," Uranus said.
The ice senshi let out a frustrated sigh. "Alright, so maybe I can't do an
Two Paths: PrologueI am no poet. I can only write about what I see and hear. Marae tries to teach me so that words come easy when I write in my book. At the end of the day is when I write, long after night falls. I dont know what day it is.Two Paths: Prologue8 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Marae is asleep now. I should sleep, but I can not. I can hear them, outside the walls. I can hear the laughing. It does not sound like laughing, but that is what it is. It sounds like dogs. Like hell. Animals outside our walls, walking like men. I can not say what it sounds like. Marae maybe could, but I have no words. They are not men. God would not make men such as this.
We are dead. I must say it to myself. I will not say it to those here with me. Women, children. Old ones. The ones who are sick, or have no arms or legs. The ones who can not fight. Now, we are all that is left to fight the ones outside. But they depend on me. I send them to make spears and load cannons. I send them to fix walls and bar gates. I try to keep them doing. Always doing. But wh
Story Untold Ch.2Story UntoldStory Untold Ch.27 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Late Night Arrival
Princess Serenity awoke to princess Mars dragging her out of bed. "Lets go, lets go." She looked over to the clock with sleepy eyes and flipped out.
"What are you doing its five in the morning!" She tried yanking loose of Mars and ducking back under the covers but Mars pulled the sheets off of her bed.
"Exactly, you're already late for your lessons!" Serenity perked her head up.
"What lessons, its Saturday!" She detested.
"Because of your little antics the other day Queen Serenity has scheduled yesterdays lessons to be held today! Now get your butt out of bed and get in the shower so we can go!"
The princess just sat there with her mouth open."That's just evil!"
"Its your own fault, you skipped out." Princess Jupiter walked around the corner and into her room. "Get in the shower and I'll pick out some clothes and lay them on your bed." She said. Serenity raised an eyebrow at her.
"I'm not two anymore I can pick out my own clothes."
"Yeah but it
The Parable of the WriterThree writers came to the table, manuscripts in hand.The Parable of the Writer8 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
One writer said,
"I wrote this piece to be edited. There is plenty to be cut and moved around."
Another writer said,
"I wrote this piece to be published. Between these pages you'll find everything people want to see."
The last writer said,
"I wrote this to be read."
Then he set his manuscript down, and walked away.
my, what big shoes you haveyou said, "how readymy, what big shoes you have7 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
we were to make love
My childhood: I never could get my eyes to bulge like SpongeBob's.
Conceited, I said I'm not finished yet and pulled on your ponytails like shafts of rain, and I hoped you would overlook my skin. I rode a purple Scooter and sometimes I would get onto my bicycle and pray that I wouldn't forget. You wore red hair once and sometimes it was black, and sometimes you were teaching me how not to eat and sometimes you were teaching me how to have tea parties in a backyard. At some point you were Irish and at some point you were Indian. Once I caught you Chinese and we sat and laughed in my backyard on a swing that couldn't contain us, and we giggled until you confessed that you had peed yourself, and for a second I had felt so close to you that I reached down and pricked my skin with fingernails like steel and glue.
Once I had hoped for a romance that could transcend words and flesh, until you were Kevin and you made fun of my elbows,