AffectionIf I could spreadAffection4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
across the world
with the blow of
I would so love
to watch the white
puffs float to meet
I want to see more eyes,
lighting up like fireflies;
finding their way home.
L-O-V-ELove is just a word.L-O-V-E4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
A 4 lettered word.
All words mean something, but saying 'I love you' just doesn't cut it.
You need to prove your love, without going all the way.
If you can prove it, it's real.
EmotionsI am awake but I am sleeping,Emotions4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am happy but I am weeping.
I am tired but I am keeping,
you as close as I can.
I am warm but I am shaking,
I am well but I am aching,
I am through but I am making,
the most of my time with you.
I am hyper but I am moping,
I am stressed but I am coping
I am sad but I am hoping,
you'll come running to me.
I am whole but I am bleeding,
I am alone but I am needing,
I am shy but I am pleading,
for you to love me.
ChelseaOnce upon a time, in a time like the present, there was a girl called Chelsea.Chelsea5 years ago in General More Like This
She is very pleased to meet you,
Though she'll never meet you
Eye to eye.
I remember Chelsea
As the girl who painted everything.
From the age of four she carried a large pad of bristol board (comically large in her neat little hands) and a palette of watercolours. Painting while wallking requires a mastery of the juggler's trade, but she learned fast simply by refusing to stop.
When a painting was finished she would pull out the sheet and drop it.
And that moment had passed.
I met her at age sixteen, ejected from the cinema that was kind enough to employ me. In this age of movie piracy, a girl who painted the movie as she watched was a matter of some debate among the senior staff.
Eventually she was removed - with some relief on my manager's part - when a customer complained of the little torch she held in her teeth, the better to see the pad.
I was smoking outside watch
an autumn poem.now, i am writing about your handsan autumn poem.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and how they are warm, like melted chocolate
i am writing about how it is silent
and i get butterflies when you look at me,
i feel nervous
i feel almostbeautiful
and almost wanted
and i want you
i want you
i am writing about how i can't stop thinking about you
and i see your face in the clouds and the cracks
in the pavements spell out your name and there is dirt
between my nails and it makes no sense but i wish it was you,
i wish all of it was you
and i am writing about your hands
but i'm still not writing about you
i'm writing about how i wish it was autumn
with red and gold leaves tumbling down and the scent of spice
lingering in the air or maybe winter so the snow can coat everything
and erase the world in white, all white
and i'll have a reason to feel this romantic
and i want you told me
and i'm writing about your hands
but i'm still not writing about you.
in the land of dead things.When the topic of death visited a conversation, she would pause and look at her slim hands. I would pretend not to notice as a far away look reached her harsh blue eyes and for a long time I thought she was thinking of her father, dead of some cancerous disease that hacked apart his insides. It was something she had no trouble talking about, but she would get swept away in the details and forget I was sitting in the cold car next to her. And often, I would feel embarrassed for her. She wasn't the type of girl to dwell on the morbid or repulsive, but there she would be, spilling her guts like it was a natural topic for discussion.in the land of dead things.4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
She was nineteen when she moved in with me. We found a house in the country that wasn't far from where I worked and she assured me she could get a job as a minimum paid waitress at Petey's. She didn't mind when the men bought her drinks and called her a cheap whore. She would turn her back and reapply her lipstick with every hoot and whistle she received. With
bright eyes - collabtheres a girl whose lips taste like a half moon and her fingers like the sun, just two minutes and thirty three seconds before dawn. you know the way you feel, when youre standing outside in the near-dark with a cold chest and cold toes, waiting for the sun to appear from behind the horizon. when theres a whisper in the leaves and murmurs from the grass, and the mud; its filling the gaps between your toes and youre crying. it is just like her, you think. just like her fingers with cracked nails and calloused fingertips.bright eyes - collab4 years ago in Teen More Like This
theres a girl whose got bright eyes and makes you think about eating tea and biscuits in houses with whitewashed walls. she makes you think that maybe the clouds are dreams but then it rains and you want to disappear; sink into nothingness. shes oh so beautiful with her vicious thoughts and destructive tendencies, but the worst thing though, is the way she always smells of paint. of aerosol cans and pretty colours, and the way
the aristocracy called in sick"Hello, honey. I see you've come home early tonight. I have something to tell you."the aristocracy called in sick4 years ago in General More Like This
Yes, I've missed you dear, and I have something to tell you to -- something to give you. Something in my pocket is feeling rather regicidal today; rather daring, rather curious, rather . . . committed, I'd say.
Oh, hun, what are you on about now? Do you think you're some chivalrous casanova? This morning, the starlit skies twinkled and it reminded me of your eyes, but I know I was just being fanciful."
Sit down, my darling mermaid. Let's engage in some blue-blooded talk. My eloquence has lost me again, and I'm more pretentious than nervous. Do you love me?
Of course, I do dear, but I need to tell you something! And why are you down on one knee?
Because they're weak from your presence; they need your calcium. Because my heart is on the floor, and I love you. Because, o
of fish and fairytales.i was five years old when i first started dreaming of fish.of fish and fairytales.4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
i made wishes on them, sometimes. and 'don't ever leave me,' i told them. 'please don't.'
i know it sounds insane but i could swear - and still do - that they promised me they'd never leave. that they'd carry my dreams into eternity and hold me. keep me from falling. drowning.
'be my gills when i can't swim anymore,' i told them. 'be my gills.'
and they were.
i was nine when my parents got a divorce.
that night, i didn't understand. that night, i cried until the sky was painted in crimson lights and it was morning and the sun found me on my bed, passed out and tear-stained. that night, the world stopped spinning for five whole seconds and i could swear the heavens were looking down on me and me alone. a spotlight was on me and all i could do was lay there and cry and wonder what i had done wrong.
but the fish were still painted on the insides of my mind and i wasn't alone i swore i wasn't alone.
'hold me,' i told them. 'hold
The Ability to FlyShe made "guilty pleasures" a tautology. Throwing her ice-cream to the ground after the first lick, she ruffled the feathers of her wings and stuck out her tongue.The Ability to Fly5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Her eyes were sky blue.
She hated the colour.
She refused to see them in mirrors,
So her hair was a charming tangle.
She wore bright colours, long skirts and loud bracelets, and whenever she moved, there was a swish or a click. Her smile was sunny and she danced while she walked. Every appearance of happiness.
When their parents weren't looking,
She made mean faces
At small children.
She couldn't stand the way they enjoyed
Her wings were large, and they made it hard to buy tops, but the feathers were beautiful, and she could wrap herself in them while she slept.
Daily she was taken for an angel,
But she stepped on sand castles
And pushed over snowmen.
She hated joy,
And I'll never know why.
All I can do is wonder,
Why was she given
The ability to fly.
Between dreamsI'm listening to ice melt. It's funny sometimes, the things you notice when you're alone. The things you hear in the silence. The things we see in the dark. So I listen to the sound of the ice. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. Cracking, dripping, wasting away. Am I fighting my sanity? Am a living in a dream? Nothing seems real anymore. In this silence. The ice is still ice but I don't feel like myself. I'm flying maybe, maybe hovering. I see myself in the puddle below. Soft touched and looking back at myself. A looking glass of water. Am I Alice? I run my fingers over the puddle and suddenly I'm a Picasso, a masterpiece. A work of art only to be seen in the dark. I am giving way like the hardened water. Drops of me gone, a little more every day. Drink of me what you will and in the Winter I will be myself again. Sane and wide awake.Between dreams7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
graveyard music.i believegraveyard music.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is a poem
the clouds: the page
the stars: the words
is a sheet,
Removing ChainsWith these words I hereby say,Removing Chains4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I send this darkness far away,
And all I feel I will reveal,
So every place can now be healed.
And while I breathe this calming air,
No fear, no guilt, and no despair,
Shall touch upon my wounded heart,
The python's chains have grown apart.
Leaving me with naught but swells,
As feelings deep within me well,
Consume my being then depart,
Freed no darkness they impart.
A year almost of constant lies,
An enemy, whose words denied,
Cast a curse so slowly placed,
As jealousy that mars her face.
Belittled by this coward's acts,
Who defied most sacred pact,
I love her as her shadows live,
And everything she's done forgive.
Henceforth I move past every pain,
And work to gather and regain,
The love, compassion I once held,
That which iron chains; withheld.
Love and peace and joy be found,
Watch them shine, hear them resound!
For darkness will not conquer all,
While light is present it shall fall.
write your reality in his eyeshe said his name was oliver.write your reality in his eyes5 years ago in Teen More Like This
he was painted with the colour of lies and had puppet string fingers. He smelt of burnt wood and methylated spirits. his eyes were uninhabited; there was nothing there. under the moon light you couldn't tell that his teeth were just slightly yellow, but under the sunlight you could tell that he was breaking. he was falling apart. he was vacant. he was, everything but beautiful.
he held her hand.
she said her name was madeline.
she had golden hair that curled in little ringlets around her waist. she had skinny legs and slender hips and a smile that could stop traffic. she couldn't bear to watch people suffer and she liked to re-write reality, the way she wished it was. she knew though, on the inside, that she couldn't re-write her lost forever and always
she pressed her lips to his collar-bone
he lived by night.
the walls of his room were painted beige and he had messy hair. he had always been attracted to lip-piercings and black hair. his fat
Fun with a Rorschach Test card oneFun with a Rorschach Test4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"Look at this card,
Tell me what you see."
I said, "Gosh,
I guess I see myself,
An inkblot's like a mirror,
The way it's shaped by
And a fold of the paper.
How like life,
She told me not to be
I thought that was
A bit cheeky, coming as it did,
From my own
She said "Come on, now,
Play the game.
How about this one?"
I guess I see a million ways
To make the world
A bit more beautiful.
Like writing poetry about rape
In a Mickey Mouse notebook
That always makes you smile.
Or like greeting each change of
Like a delightful stranger,
With glee and mild surprise,
Or like loving daffodils
A bit too much."
She smiled. "You're talking about Meg?"
I said "More about the way
She popped out my eyeballs
And rubbed them clean on her sleeve.
When she put them back
The world looked better."
Beware Candy HeartsHer heart has a red candy shellBeware Candy Hearts4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It's pretty and sweet,
But it's brittle as hell.
If you do break it, though,
I think you'll find
That candy was just the first line
One of many.
And few, if any, will be quite as sweet,
Unless you think getting mauled is a treat.
Another Starbucks RomanceShe wore a grey sock on her left hand.Another Starbucks Romance4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It had a blue button for an eye, and she wore him to do her talking for her when salt water and tremors paralysed her tongue. It turned out that when she could not talk, neither could her cotton ambassador, but she still wore him every day. She liked not being the only one who couldn't find the courage to scream her tormentor's name.
I met her in starbucks. Her hair was lion-wild with twigs caught in the tangles from spending her night in the branches of her favourite tree. One long sock had fallen to her ankle where the other clung on above her knee, stretching the whole rainbow up her calves, but not hiding scars just above.
She passed a note to the barrista with her order written in a heart. Her cry for help was on the back, where she was hopeful the chirpy coffee goddess would not look.
When she sat down, I put a three panel comic on her table. I had drawn her sock-interpreter f
Alice-Wonderland ReimaginingAlice-Wonderland Reimagining4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Alice in Wonderland Reimagining
Based on Tim Burton's film
Also on Alice's Adventures Underground and Through the Looking Glass
A young girl named Alice Kingsley in late Victorian era England suffers from nightmares of falling down forever through the darkness. To counteract these her father presents her a popular children's story: Alice's Adventure's Underground. As Alice Kingsley shares the name of the main character, she identifies with the heroine and her nightmares are replaced with visions of Wonderland.
As she grows older Alice treats the story and its world as a refuge in times of distress. In school she drifts away to a mad tea party. During a dull social engagements she's whisked off to a croquet game with flamingos and hedgehogs. During a bombastic opera she imagines away the grim trappings of the theater and replaces them with dancing lobsters and a grinning cat to tell her riddles. The unintentional side effect of this is that she becomes reliant on her dreams, dissolute w
GodlinessDr. Finch likes to label my phases. Today is a Fear Day, meaning I am too afraid to get out of bed. Fear Days scare my mother more than my Fire Days, Germ Days, and Intruder Days combined. She wakes me this morning to have me get ready to go to her church. Her hand is warm as it shook my shoulder, but I scream.Godliness4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Shhh, honey, it's just me. It's time to get ready for church."
My head is still buried beneath my blanket. "I can't go. Please leave me alone."
"What day is it?" she asks, although she knows it is Sunday.
"Sunday. Sundays are Fear Days, you know that. Please leave me alone."
"Henry." She says my name in a disillusioned sigh. "Sometimes-" she pauses, "I think I just hope that that might change."
My head hits my pillow again. I will not sleep, because I am ten years old and the average amount of sleep needed for my age is eleven hours. My
Proprioception and Kinesthesia"lately I've been losing my hands,Proprioception and Kinesthesia4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
feeling like they're on your hips
when they are in my pockets.
i can feel my fingers wander,
but i'm watching them
flat on the table."
"i never know what you mean
when you talk like this.
you know that."
that kind of valentine.i'm the kind of sick wherethat kind of valentine.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
every second is slowed
into the kind of time lapse where
every noise is magnified
into the kind of sound where
every sense is amplified
into the kind of awareness where
every hope is fluttering
into the kind of longing where
every cell is screaming to fall
into the kind of person that
A Modest ProposalThe scientist saidA Modest Proposal4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Are a drop of iodine
On the slide labelled
Aside from staining it purple
You peel the gauze from my pupils
And show me
Structural Features and
I could never see before."
He said "You are like
Cataract surgery and,
With my new vision,
You are all I want to see."
Looking up from his one knee,
Across his hand holding hers,
"I have relabelled the slide
With your name.
I don't know what cells
Will grow there,
But I know I want to see them clearly,
And I know I want them
I'm Not Gonna Cry...I'm Not Gonna Cry...4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
I looked down at his beaten form, horrified.
He was merely a child, barely half my age at most. There he was, in a decrepit alley, sitting along a wall that was splattered with what I hoped to God was not his own blood.
It saddened me that when I moved my hand towards him, holding out some food, he looked as if he wanted to scurry away. Even sadder was that he couldn't move, or do anything else for that matter, in his state. He took to merely staring at me with fear etched in his eyes.
I looked around at the main street that the small little alley was connected to. It was large and bustling with people on a bright sunny day.
I didn't get why the people stopped, looked at the little boy, and then walked away as if they never even saw him.
I looked back at him and saw the tears in his eyes, but they didn't fall. Somehow, I knew he was trying to hold them back.
"I won't hurt you."
"Everybody hurts me."
A labored, coarse voice, way too old for his age, occasionally racked by a gurgling sou