WeirdYou cant call me shyWeird7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Cause I have many friends
And you cant call me social
Cause I dont talk to everyone
You cant call me pretty
Cause no one knows what that means anymore
And you cant call me ugly
Cause theres no such thing
You cant call me smart
Cause Im terrible in school
And you cant call me stupid
Cause I know enough to survive
You cant call me religious
Cause I hardly go to church on Sundays
And you cant call me an atheist
Cause I know theres a God
You cant call me normal
Cause no one is,
But you can call me weird
Cause Im nothing like you.
punctualAt night she rested her forehead between his collarbones and refused to put her ear to his chest cavity. She said she was afraid to hear his heartbeat.punctual6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I am broken inside and I do not want to envy other clockwork organs. Dont let me hear the tick-tock of all that I am missing.
He wrapped his arms around her and whispered into her hair that he would fix her; his skin was punctured with metal and his bones had snapped before, but if he could be whole then so could she. She shook her head and tried to dream. She fell asleep to the words,
Ill collect your pieces, sunshine, and put them back together.
When she fell asleep he pulled back the moonlit sheets and covered her in butterfly-kiss gazes. Her hipbones and ribs were all angles and geometric structures protruding from a flat plane. He tried to will them to life with nervous grazes and stuttering words, but they refused to arch to meet his touch; they did not thrum with racing heartbeats. He pulled hi
Ode to Rip van WinkleOde to Rip van Winkle11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"Tick tock, tick tock"
The incessant howling of that little clock.
Samiel is coming.
Your warhead does not distinguish between riff-raff,
But you've been slain by your own sword.
They've set fire to your halo
Can you feel the flames
Searing through your skin?
You fell with tears in your eyes.
Who is your maker?
Who is your saviour?
O broken warrior,
How will you live with the shame?
Do you remember the daisies?
They are twisting, wilting, BURNING
O First Lieutenant,
You did not live up to your name.
"Tick tock, tick tock"
The merry laughter of that little clock.
Samiel is coming.
Would you run?
Would you flee?
Who will grieve for you
In this darkened hour?
What is honour?
What is knowlege?
When you feel
Samiel is coming?
O palid horror,
What will you do?
O guiltless Hunter,
What will you do?
O singing NIGHTMARE,
What will you do?
Samiel is coming.
The Red is coming.
Now who is the wielder of magic b
Loveless- Goodnight ButterflyLoveless- Goodnight Butterfly8 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
The butterfly, so delicate in his hand, was starting to crumble. Slowly, but surely, the tiny legs that were curled up against its body were coming off, and the wings had a rumpled look. The poor, dead, defenseless butterfly, curled and dried, trapped and helpless. Bound not by a Name, but by a frail body so easily destroyed.
Soubi. Seimeis voice caught him by surprise, and he dropped the dead creature onto the bedspread. He quickly scooped it back up and cradled it in his palm. He could feel the bed shift as Seimeis weight moved closer to him, spilling papers and art supplies onto the floor. Soubi could feel a change in the very air as Seimei grew nearer to him, something desperate he had never be able to keep from washing over him. Ever since the two had met, he had felt this way. A completely unchangeable need for Seimei, for every part of him, for every word that he gave him, harsh or not. Seimei stopped close to him, shifting into a comfo
'What if?'"You like him, don't you?"'What if?'7 years ago in Teen More Like This
"Woah, where the heck did you come from?"
"You'd think that you'd be used to that by now."
"You didn't answer my question."
"Yeah, I was planning on distracting you to avoid it, and now I forgot what you said."
"Liar. But I'm repeating it anyways. You like him, don't you?"
"You know who."
"I don't like him, he's more like a brother."
"What if pigs flew?"
"What do pigs have to do with my feelings?"
"I don't know. What if he were the last man on Earth?"
"Are we playing the what if game?"
"What if we were?"
"Ok, that's a yes. If he were the last man on Earth, I wouldn't have much of a choice now, would I? But then again, man normally refers to human, and..."
"What if he loved you?"
"...Well, it wouldn't really matter, would it?"
"What if it did?"
"Are you implying something?"
"No, you're infering something."
"Stop using words, you're hurting my brain."
"Brain? What brain?"
"Don't push it."
"If he did,
Satan MacMurphy, Issue 1Never mind what the brochures tell you, ladies and gentlemen—Las Vegas is about the least glamorous place on the face of the planet. Sure, The Strip is all neon and glitz, but that's only a three-mile stretch of pretty for all the tourists—glamorous make-up to camouflage an old, wasted whore. I never did like the Strip, and any time I saw one of my cases heading that way, I knew to bring aspirin. We're not talking about that today.Satan MacMurphy, Issue 18 years ago in Humor More Like This
North-town was my turf, and all the little back-alleys down Industrial Ave—the dark little corners where the bad boys hid their dirty deeds. Cheap strip clubs with overweight dancers and nasty bars that smelled of old cigarette butts and spilled liquor. Sal's was one of the latter, and my home away from home. It smelled marginally better than the others, and it was only a block away from my office—you do the math.
This is where I met Ms. Betty Banton. I knew she was trouble from the moment she
i'll let you in on a secret: You suffer.i'll let you in on a secret:7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I know you do; you know you do. I've always been here for you. I've seen you cry and I've seen you yell and mostly, I've seen you dream. I am the one pinching your lids closed, I am the one wrenching your lips open, and I am the one squeezing the tears from your drainpipe eyes.
You don't need to tell me, because I know. I have you all figured out. You're sick, you know that, and you're nearly dead, always nearly deadbut you persevere, and you hold out, and you're so beautiful, and I'm just here to hold your hands, because you suffer, so much.
Yes, I know all about you.
I know why you are still alive.
I know about your love troubles. I know about all the people who have fucked you and I remember finding you coating the
Spectre for November.Im missing you, I heard myself say. I was sure she wouldnt hear me. I was invisible to her and I felt myself fade in and out of her reality.Spectre for November.7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
She shivered with the morning cold. Had I physical hands, I would have covered her with fallen and cast aside sheets.
She lazily rose from bed, the pale gloom of Autumn flooding through open blinds and making her skin shine radiantly, beautifully, vividly with a curious opalescence. Her face set in an immediate frown as she took a crystallized moment to look at a bedside photo. Us.
I grew sad, also. Spectres arent supposed to feel such things so genuinely, but I did. Remorse, heavy and breathtaking, has a taste. Its something you cant describe, but you just know it.
She went into the kitchen of her apartment and got out a bowl, a spoon, milk, and cereal. Weighted steps brought her shapely form to the window, where a chair was drawn. Her eyes, unfocused and distant, fixated themselves upon a spot in the hor
dont write under the influenceDr. Asclepius called me;dont write under the influence5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
he told me i'm bipolar
(i still say it's luxuria)
Take two pills:
(as if anyone actually
obeys those, anyway)
Take another pill.
One for each time
you looked at me,
then two more if
i had looked back.
i'll take one more for that time you
branded fake <3's on my forehead
and another because your smile burns.
ten more for every mistake in my gums,
another six because i forgot dental floss,
four more because i still don't love you,
then twenty-six more because i just lied.
(another two just in case;
we can never be too safe)
add them up and our equation becomes:
eight empty bottles of antidepressants
seven dozen empty bottles of Bacardi
nine pints of Blood in my kitchen sink.
one hell of a talk with your neighbors.
Note to Self:
If our hipbones bump,
take a provocative pill.
If our ringtones crash,
take seven more pills.
If you understand this,
take an alluring dosage,
and call yourself in the
Glass KissesEveryone wants something,Glass Kisses6 years ago in Other More Like This
From the perfect job,
To a diamond ring
That shines oh so bright
And sparkles in the morning light.
Selfish desires plaugue one's mind,
Everything they want is expected on a silver platter,
Time after time.
Does it all really matter?
I guess it must,
Just simple lusts.
Then I must be the most selfish of them all,
I want Glass Kisses.
They go on forever,
As beautiful and perfect as the porcelain dolls.
The Kisses should always be sweet
Always filled with the truest of love.
Something you would want to repeat,
Never wanting to move
From the person's arms.
Do I deserve these Glass Kisses that go on for eternity?
I am not worthy of this Kiss,
Of this affectionate love.
Yet I still stare up
BonepulseEveryone's soul has a song, you know.Bonepulse7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Gently, I tap on the drum-taut surface of your breastbone with my just-too-long fingernails, trying to find the tempo of your life. Not the time signature, not the way you fit all your little activities into blocks and bursts and cycles of regularity - that will come later, when I know you better. Maybe when you're dead, and I can lay my head on your still-warm corpse and listen to the echoes of the last throbs of your veins, I will know your time signature. But for now, all I want to know is the pace that you take.
Do you swoop and dip through life so quickly that conductor Fate has a hard time keeping up with your erratic swirls? Do you keep the heavy, ponderous backbeat of the world's orchestra? Are you a sheep in your herd or are you a frontrunner? Are you first chair or six billionth? Are you rude and brassy, shoving your way to the front of the auditory melange? Or do you add elaboration, silver and delicate, to the main theme?
we are all strangers"if i were a stranger, i'd probably kill myself."we are all strangers6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"what the fuck are you on about?"
"if i were a nobody. a ghost. an unknown. like the man who goes to the market everyday to get a brown bag full of his groceries, smiles and says thank you to the cashiers, and wears the same black trenchcoat. i wonder if he's dead..."
"is that where you were?"
"...but everyday, the cashier at that same, damned market rings him up but never sees his face. she never hears him say thank you, she just tells him to have a nice day. and he smiles and says he will, and she should too. but she doesn't fucking know, she doesn't even see him."
"were you at the market, then?"
"his name is william, he's sixty-five years old. he has no wife, and his son is this asshole-broadcaster on channel four, cooing over the news like a fucking mourning dove."
"what does this have to do with being a stranger?"
"william knows nobody. or rather- nobody knows william."
"how do you mean?"
"you know those photographs, the ones with
InsecuritiesWhy would you want to love me? I don't understand;Insecurities7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I have nothing to offer, nothing to give--
There will always be someone else; someone better
Who has all I have but can do so much more
While I sit back, looking through my picture window,
Out at the world.
What makes me so different? I don't think you see,
blowing bubbles.last night weblowing bubbles.6 years ago in Other More Like This
watched the clouds
and you said:
you are beautiful.
and i am afraid
that i might one day
actually believe you
sometimes i feel like
i'm just this big bundle
of problems and i have
been searching and
i can't find the answers.
you told me that the answers
are in blowing bubbles and
tying shoe laces and chasing
dreams, but honestly i just
understand. i have tried
to chase my dreams but
they only run away.
you told me that you can't
stand how i sound when i
give up and the hope
is knocked out of me and
you can't stand me when
i am busy counting
the empty spaces in the
walls and in my heart
and you said you
can't stand me anymore,
love is not a game.
but then, how
did i end up
I Love You MotherI watched them smile happily at each other; I stood wide eyed at the fluidity of their movements: bending with each gust of wind and the sun warming their leaves, making them shift slightly. I kept my distance as I observed them, they tracked the sun with a hidden compass and never straying from their designated path. Each day they would lift their heads to the sky and gaze longingly at the pale golden rays blazing above them.I Love You Mother7 years ago in Children and Teen More Like This
They would twinkle little melodies each time the sun would break from a stray cloud and shine even brighter. Their green hands would fold downward when the rain fell from the above, like tiny, clear pearls dropping delicately to the ground. I'd watch in amazement at the long complicated dances they would perform for their only audience, the Sun.
With their leafy tendrils they would carry loved ones high in the air, illuminated by the sheer joy the sunlight brought them. Raising their voices in unison they sang praise for the shower of golden rays that woke them e
G.C.W. - Chapter One, Pt. 1Chapter One, Pt. 1G.C.W. - Chapter One, Pt. 17 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes. ~ Marcel Proust
It was the headache that woke me up, but when moving caused a sharp pain to shoot from my shoulder to my upper arm, I knew I had really done it to myself this time. I didn't know where I was. Didn't remember for the life of me what happened last night. All I could say with any certainty was that I was alive and returning to the real world after one hell of a strange trip into dream land.
I knew it was daylight by the way the warmth of the sun rained down on me, but wasn't ready to open my eyes just yet. The moment I did, I'd be greeted by a screaming chorus of sunshine blaring right into my face and with how hungover I felt, only misery would follow from here. Instead, I paused to take stock of myself, as though assuring myself I still had all of my mental faculties.
My name was Charlotte Mary Walker, I remembered that much. I was born
Icarus' Last StandDo you remember your first dream?Icarus' Last Stand8 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Do you remember your first flight?
The one that broke your spirits
The one that told you exactly who you are?
I remember you.
I remember the days by the lake, holding hands
I remember the days spent lying in the sun
I remember the days watching the sunsets fade every night
They were the ones that lifted our spirits
They were the ones that made us feel invincible.
But they all seem so empty now that you're gone.
And how can I find myself able to move on?
Without you, I feel helpless to change the things that I am
I search for you in my heart, hoping to find whatever I can
I'll never forget the first time you held my hand
I'll never forget the time you broke your arm on the playground swings
You tried to fly too high
Soaring too free in the summer sky
Do you remember how I used to call you "Icarus"?
Do you remember how we'd joke and laugh all day?
I tried to protect you from yourself
I tried to protect you from the things you'd do
But it all seems so emp
A Little RevolutionIt smells of candy dust in here. Gum wrappers shine bright blue and pink in a line of light that sneaks through the cardboard on the windows. Ira Stein puts a finger to his lips:A Little Revolution6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
shh. . . he says, tell no one.
There are alien wars frozen on the shelves under magazine titles made of laser-beams. But we ignore the comic-books, because Ira tells better stories.
shhhh. . . he says, because no-one will understand. Our little secret, yeah?
In the classroom there is Plexiglas in the windows instead of real glass. It gets scratched. We scratch our names in it. The yellow desks are bunched up next to each other in groups, their surfaces soft with pencil-lead scribbles that come off on our forearms and spread black to our faces from our hands. Sarah draws a heart on her desk and inside it says I+A. Nicky says that is gross and not the way to think abo
Kindness's Reward Chapter 5Chapter 5Kindness's Reward Chapter 54 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Trixie found the days passed by quickly and peacefully from there. She began to develop a routine. By the time she awoke Fluttershy was making breakfast, typically oatmeal, a warm and filing meal that started the day right. Trixie would take her mornings easy, still recuperating. She had gotten her books back from Twilight, and would review them, often in the garden if the weather held. She would then usually accompany Fluttershy into town in the afternoon, having lunch with her or just taking the chance to stretch her legs. She began to fill out little by little, her coat gleamed once more, and she regained her former energy. Only one thing stood between her and true health. That was why, nearly a week since her first visit, Trixie found herself in the Ponyville library again, Twilight Sparkle staring at her.
"Absolutely no magic?"
"None at all." Trixie shook her head. Twilight frowned.
"What happens if you try?"
Trixie shuddered. "Nausea. Trixie would rather leave it at tha
Strawberry reaction An Alaskan storm introduced itself to the weather three nights ago. It shook me straight from dreaming about (really, remembering) a dance with an elderly man, my feet placed off the ground onto the tops of his shoes. A balancing act. I awoke to four-fifty five, followed by a fleeting FLASH before truly registering the dark and the storm itself. I sat up in bed to peer out the window when a FLASH FLASHED again. For a split second, the room shone brighter than day. Somewhere close by, lightning had entered conversation. The sky grumbled in response as thunder fought for last word.Strawberry reaction7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Lightning never spoke again though. Within minutes I found myself sitting bolt upright in total darkness.
It hadn't rained so unforgivingly the e
i'm choking.i am sitting with smoking nerves andi'm choking.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
frayed circuit wires, everything i don't
know knotting together for me to choke
if there is a door, i can't find it.
if there is an answer, i'm unaware.
instead i am falling to my knees and
crawling under the smoke, eyes watering
and knuckles bleeding. no closer to the end
than when i had begun.
if i had the courage, i'd crack open your ribs
and get the answer for myself. if i was brave,
i'd simply reach over and pinch the truth from
or i'd just tie my heart to the railroad tracks
and wait for you to save it. wait for you
to cradle it and whisper that the time for
pinched nerves and scraped knees is over.
but i am confused and cowardly, clutching
my chest, palms feebly protecting the only
thing i have left to defend. the only thing i
have left worth guarding.
and the thing that scares me most is not that
you might hurt me. it's not that i might end
up with a scar or a burn or a weeping laceration.
the thing that has me trembling wit
You bound our spines.It was summer.You bound our spines.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He braided daisy chains and called them flowers; she tangled words and
called them speech. I was the only one who knew
the truth; that the thin lines of cellulose that run beneath the tender skin of a leaf
are not so different from the veins of blood and sentiment
that pulse through syllables as they
smack against your teeth.
I was the weaver. To the art of his flower arranging,
I added in her words,
until it was no longer clear whose work was whose.
I taught her poetry,
and he taught me composition.
nothing in particular
--except how to laugh
at the arching of a word
or the stress of a phrase,
and we would stare at the ceiling and whistle
and cluck and hiss words up into the air,
giving them up as offerings to a deity
long since departed.
Things changed; he
turned to painting, the artist's true calling,
as if flowers were below him,
and she turned to that literary snobbery
that defied my wordspinning.
I had no words of my own.