RopeWith just another inch of it,Rope in Free Verse More Like This
let loose, unwound
slack from secret stashes:
There might have been enough
sisal rope or
to tie to you
to keep you close
to form into a noose
(so you might hang around this time.)
Don't Do Flowers"I bought you a rose" he saidDon't Do Flowers in Free Verse More Like This
and it was finished before it began.
I don't do flowers.
I don't do flowers, like I don't pay for sky,
as if to buy some dirt.
To what extent
can't we be bothered?
To use what we have -
To say what we mean -
But we can't.
So we let something dying
and I can't stand
so I don't do flowers;
I'll do it myself.
Textual TangoThe conversation, like making love;Textual Tango in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
begins, slow -
intentional with gesturing hands,
metered and planned
(still under control.)
Somewhere we'd believe (at first)
was halfway through,
our voices rise, touching something fierce.
We're panting -
catching breath with butterfly nets.
Baiting and debating
like spouses on the outs:
hashing marks and keeping score,
scratches in your back like
chalk on board.
The session roars -
It swirls though all our mental collections,
now scattered on the floor.
Easy, winds recede, and I'm left naked,
some metaphysical whore:
The unreliable reach of linguistics,
stretched like political truths,
surrounded by erect senators -
taking bribes to cover their eyes
(but staring through cracked fingers,)
so they finally feel alive
As we bat about the birdie,
and make it look so easy.
On and on
a thousand sticky, restless nights -
the neighbors calling in the fights,
banging on the wall and flicki
RetreatI have abandoned battle, savored peaceRetreat in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
and lost my weapons deep in sacred ground.
I have sought sweet mercy - God's own release
and prayed for his swift justice to abound.
I have walked past the soldiers in the street
and heard their cries run shameless without sound -
the tired, shuffling resonance of feet.
And in the morning's chilled and angry blast,
I recognize the music of retreat
as if I saw the ghosts that knew my past
gathering at the tables for a feast.
Then God allow these thoughts to be my last
for I have hopes my blessings will increase
and the dark symphony of war will cease.
AbsintheLeave me then to dream in wormwood -Absinthe in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
those malignant little demons
spilled in the mind-drift of my nights -
and steal me from my fitful rest.
Those malignant little demons
slip nightshade through the windowsills
and steal me from my fitful rest -
the cruelest jest, a poet's fears.
Slip nightshade through the windowsills
and leave the emerald juice to rest.
The cruelest jest a poet fears
is madness come home to roost.
Leave the emerald juice to rest.
Spilled in the mind-drift of my nights
is madness come home to roost.
Leave me then to dream in wormwood.
No KerouacYou're no KerouacNo Kerouac in Free Verse More Like This
she said -
no open road of verse,
your life's work painted
in a gaudy yellow line,
slapping the asphalt
like a greedy river.
You don't own a Nikon
or black loafers,
or hop a boxcar
to sleep under stars
they make God himself
inhale too much clean.
You have no cool
lurking in the corners,
giving skin and ink
to strange women;
no green rush of neon
or cheap whiskey
pissing in the wind,
to rape the sunrise.
You just have a mouth
angels could fall into,
your tongue and lips
a lean and tangled beast,
words breaking up
in a torrent
like a cacophony
of electric blue...
Night Never EndsNight never ends here -Night Never Ends in Free Verse More Like This
the thin blue line
a stranger packs in his bags
before losing his mind;
the scratch behind our eyes
that keeps us moving
down the highway.
It is a jail cell at three a.m.,
the warden playing cards,
whiskey wetting his dreams
where a spark lays waste
to a family left behind;
the backlight of a slum,
a thousand rooms of winter
and water leaking in a lightbulb
over your head.
It is midnight in a foxhole,
the strafe of friendly fire
like a flashlight to beat
into watching for a sign;
the last drink festering on formica
six inches of crushed tafetta
wearing out its welcome
on a barstool called home.
It is dawn in the mortuary
last night's pickings
carved up for christmas
special delivery to no one
who will care;
and the silent mourning bedlam
left thinking on the drainboard
carted out for the trashmen
to haul away
PretendThis is the part where youPretend in Free Verse More Like This
pretend to hang on my every word
and I try not to notice your hand on my thigh.
I will pretend to care about Flemish art and jazz
and you will pretend to
You will say God is a fragment
and I will say Nietzsche had it all wrong.
You will swear blue is the new red
and I will swear your face is not the loud
animal you want it to be
and that charities are honest men.
You will promise to read my poetry
and I will promise to love your mind
more than your father ever did
and in the morning
we will pretend to be strangers
TreesTrees in Free Verse More Like This
The secret life
of elm and oak
and thin white poplars -
on a winter night,
grazing the moon
like tapers in December.
I smell earth -
peat and cedar
and the indulgent bulge
crafting the air
like a smith
lost in his work.
Chestnuts bear an offering
and the yearning pall
of pine scents the sky
till it's thick with resin.
And they gather
with boughs and limbs
bent like priests at play,
roots tight as ancient drums
to ruminate on stories,
sinewed in fragrant bark
making merry where
the green bends back
In PiecesThey sent him home in pieces -In Pieces in Free Verse More Like This
heart in a box;
bladder and spleen disinfected,
wrapped up like a birthday.
His legs followed suit,
each one mended
and folded like an accordion -
toes tightly shut,
and knees zipped.
Next came his arms,
two delinquent acrobats -
first the right one
tightly sleeved and fitted,
waving like the last night
of the circus;
then the left -
its listless shrug
shriveled under the tissue paper.
His torso followed discreetly
as if wondering
where everybody went
and who would still be up
at this hour.
His head came last -
crated like apples at Christmas;
his eyebrows permanently surprised
upon his forehead
and his tongue
a final, flat declaration
Letter to a PoetDear Sir/Madam,Letter to a Poet in Free Verse More Like This
It has come to our attention
this is the twenty-third rejection
of work you have submitted to our site.
We don't wish to be alarming
and we hope this sounds disarming,
but your use of metaphor is somewhat trite.
We somewhat like the concept
(the execution is inept)
besides, your work just does not meet our theme.
You need to have more adjectives
and words like gloam and mucilage,
and phrases that go along in kind.
Please keep the imagery obscure -
the reader never should be sure
just what it is the author has in mind.
Pick a structure we all can stand -
we find your rhythm rather bland
and no deep meaning can the reader find.
So in short, we will be leaving -
please consider basket weaving
or perhaps take up bowling as a sport.
Or perhaps try stamp collecting
for your work we are rejecting.
Poetry should be your last resort...
JealousyI forgot how jealousyJealousy in Free Verse More Like This
looked on you -
a brooch of many colors
pinned to her dress
just above the breasts,
or a thin bright ribbon
trailing off a straw hat.
and how it smelled -
too much perfume in a
tiny space or
lemons bursting off the branches
to bloom at her feet.
and how it sounded
like too much music
for one room to hold,
so it had to be shared
with a stranger
who wore candlelight
how it sat on your tongue -
a sharp insect
shedding its wings,
and leaving me
to dream of her.
StitchesStitches in Free Verse More Like This
The truth is,
you like the way he used you
and did not find you delicate and kept you awake
with the spare change of his mouth.
He called you goddess
and you believed him,
his hands pressing your knees
back to the wall,
crippling your expensive words
into stick figures.
You liked feeling his need for you
in the tight knot
where his belt
bullied your skirt
and the way the sky went empty
when he touched you
became your religion;
but the stitches in his heart
tripped up your feet
and broke you like a vagrant
who crept low
under the dimming stars.
hold your breathjust shut your eyes and turn overhold your breath in Free Verse More Like This
just shut your mouth and pose right
just clench your fists and don't think
the thoughts are like acid tonight
bite your lip little girl, you're alright
bite your lip little girl, you'll survive
things i have lovedmy fingers are bleeding from holding so tightlythings i have loved in Free Verse More Like This
to these thorny roses,
but you are in every prick,
so i will never let go
to-not-do-list1. i will not fall in love in summer ever again.to-not-do-list in Free Verse More Like This
2. i will not flirt with some one i don't actually like just because i am lonely.
3. i will not wallow in self-pity.
4. i will not scare my friends away.
5. i will not be afraid to trust the world.
6. i will not let important things slide.
7. i will not do things for attention.
8. i will not lose myself.
9. i will not make rules i can't follow.
feel the burnand as she licked the scalding metal, hearing the hiss of her tongue turning black,feel the burn in Free Verse More Like This
she thought of all the times she'd been burned,
and none of them had been as sweet as this.
this body is a cagemythis body is a cage in Free Verse More Like This
you have no idea how many times i've tried to break my spine, but it's so hard to reach around and pull it out. it never stops aching; the pulsing pain is omnipresent and it makes every single nerve in my body feel as if it's been tied in knots.
my nails have bits of your heart under them. in between my teeth is the lining of your mouth. i absorb you through osmosis, and you become that itch i can never scratch.
i am just another girl among millions, thrown out into rusty garbage cans and carried away to a landfill to commiserate with dust. our hands become so dirty no amount of soap can clean them. our souls become so tainted that not even god can save them.
another dead endeventually you'll stop callinganother dead end in Free Verse More Like This
you'll run out of things to say
and i'll run out of reasons
i'm your favorite
because you hate
patheticlook:pathetic in Free Verse More Like This
the reason i want to talk to you is because you are the only person that has ever understood what i meant when i said "i feel alone."
idolizetaking pictures of yourself in your underwear does not mean you are proud of your body.idolize in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
you have desensitized me to the word "collarbone", because you use it so fucking much. i look at what you create and i see half-assed scraps of art that used to mean something. you are so afraid of having it stolen that you hide anything precious underneath your bed until you have the rights to it.
well i have news for you: we are all afraid.
but does that stop us?
there is risk in everything. and if you're too stupid to understand that, then why do so many people strive to be like you?
i would risk everything i have given this world to touch, and i mean really touch, some one's heart and soul and mind. to make them understand something they didn't understand before. is that not the reason all of us are here?
everything does </i>not</i> look perfect from far away, and this is not a cry for help.
daughter of doubtthere is a feeling in this air, this midnight air -daughter of doubt in Free Verse More Like This
it caresses my face and opens my eyelids.
my knuckles ache from lack of attention
but my chest sparkles with pride,
for your face is a sight like the moon.
there is a halo of light
and you are a being. a human being.
our fingertips touch and our flesh gives way;
how is it you are so fascinating
when you are just a glimmer made from
the secrets i shout from the rooftops?
my mouth opens and my tongue is an unfinished song.
the emptiness inside me flows out past my teeth;
it tastes like choking on salt water.
i would not be surprised if it infected you.
it is a virus and i am its breeding ground -
my soft-spoken words making their way into souls
you are so very hard to believe in
you are so very hard to believe
because every word you utter
NxTouko Stealing a Dragon.NxTouko Stealing a Dragon. in Short Stories More Like This
You just can't steal someone's dragon.
"N, what are you doing?"
N froze as he heard Touko's confused voice radiating from the room down the hall. His heart stopped as he realized he was caught, and was in no way getting away with this one. He turned around slowly and straightened up from his crouch. There she was, standing just outside of the room, he hand placed against the door frame. N gave her a fake smile.
"Nothing, dear, I was just going outside." He called. It sounded like a question.
"Why would you be sneaking outside?" She asked, her face scrunched in confusion. N flexed his jaw. She continued to stare at him until she saw his hands, which were behind his back. Comprehension suddenly dawned on her face. In a second, she shot back into the room. N took this moment to run down the stairs and towards the door.
"N! Give me back Reshiram!" Touko screamed. N scrambled to hurry up the door while he heard Touko's footsteps thundering down the hall. He swung the
624 Days and Counting- Ch. 8624 Days and Counting- Ch. 8 in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
The more I studied N's behavior, the more I realized that he acted like a Pokémon as opposed to a human. His little stunt in the kitchen a few days ago reminded me how the male Pokémon acted in the spring: forceful and possessive. If I hadn't been attracted to him from the beginning, I would have been extremely freaked out. But now that my frustrated hormones were in full swing, it only made me want him more.
Considering that the lust filled moment was only a show to drive a competitor away, it gave me little hope that I would be getting any anytime soon.
I sat in the kitchen with Zoroark's head on my lap. He grumbled with pleasure as I scratched his head and played with his unique hair.
N was ecstatic when my mom let him have his friend in the house. Zoroark was probably out of his poke ball and walking around the house 24/7, which N insisted was a normal thing for him. I didn't mind, because N's Zoroark wasn't really the trickster type.
624 Days and Counting- Ch. 13624 Days and Counting- Ch. 13 in Romance More Like This
Even though the fire went out, the image stuck in my mind. I tried to remain still as the chills racked my body back and forth, throwing me even deeper into panic.
I couldn't get it out of my mind. I kept seeing him opening his mouth, his eyes wide in fear as if he was in danger. He titled his head down a little, and that's when I saw it. What was left of his tongue it was hacked off. Whoever did it tried to cut out most of it as possible- and it was obvious by the sick, mangled mess that it wasn't by someone who cared about his well-being.
It was just endlessly looping.
I began to cry hysterically. I felt so horrible for him. He couldn't even talk; he was stuck with making hand signals. And even then it was difficult. I would've thrown my arms around him if the sight wasn't so terrifying.
I couldn't keep standing anymore. I kneeled down on the ground and bent over, shoving my face into my hands. I didn't even know where I was. I just wanted
624 Days and Counting- Ch. 15624 Days and Counting- Ch. 15 in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
I got a window seat.
Even though I have flown on Reshiram too many times to count, I always get excited about flying. I figured taking off on a plane wouldn't be too different than on a Pokémon, but it took so much longer, making me impatient. It would start to back up slowly, turn, go straight and pick up speed, stop, and then go again. It took about fifteen minutes for us to actually get into the air, and I was shaking in my seat. N sat beside me looking bored as hell, and I resisted the urge to hit him and make him as excited as I was. It was beautiful.
I didn't have my Pokeballs on me. No one could on the plane; they were all stowed away beneath. I would have loved to have Serperior to enjoy it with me, but according to security, it was a safety hazard.
I spent the four hours chatting with N and watching people. We whispered to each other and pointed out the obvious foreigners. To N and I's surprise, there were people from Germany on the plane. It was
624 Days and Counting- Ch. 10Chapter 10624 Days and Counting- Ch. 10 in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
I stared at myself in the mirror.
"I'm beautiful." I said, testing it. I immediately made a face. It just didn't sound right rolling off my tongue.
"There you go," N said cheerfully from where he was laying on my bed.
"But it doesn't sound right," I complained.
"Keep saying it until it does." He suggested.
"I don't think it ever will," I sighed. "Besides, it makes me look like an idiot."
His eyes narrowed. "Being confident with yourself makes you look like an idiot?" He said with annoyance.
I shook my head. "N, you really don't know girls at all." I declared. I pulled my hair into a ponytail and just gave up.
N was completely horrified when he realized the extent of my self-loathing. The next morning, he had made sure to say, "Hey Touko, you look pretty today."
Even though my heart fluttered at his words, I tried not to think too much of them. He was saying them just to make me feel better. Yet, something inside of me felt like he meant it.
624 Days and Counting- Ch. 2624 Days and Counting- Ch. 2 in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Name : Touko
Nature: indisputably lonely
"So, you're actually out training today?" Bianca asked with a horribly fake shocked expression. I noticed Cheren kick her from under the table.
I pursed my lips and looked down at my fries. I remained silent, feeling a slight bit awkward and ashamed. It's no secret I haven't trained as often since he left, certainly not as much as I should be. Cheren and Bianca's Pokémon look amazingly fit, while my team isn't in top condition, although I can be the only one of my friends to say that I defeated Alder, the Champion (which Cheren held in high regard. Bianca not so much.)
"Leave her alone. You know she hasn't been feeling well." Cheren said, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with his shirt. He deliberately avoided meeting my eyes, which made me feel even worse. I sighed and slumped against the booth.
"For two years?" Bianca hissed at him. I flinched. I k
624 Days and Counting- Ch. 14NOT FINISHED.624 Days and Counting- Ch. 14 in Romance More Like This
READ DESCRIPTION AFTER.
I decided not to get out of bed just yet. I stared at the alarm clock that read 9:54 AM and played a little game with it. For the past ten minutes I was predicting when each minute would pass, and it was getting boring fairly quickly.
I rolled over onto my right side and faced the wall. I didn't know if N was awake yet. I hadn't heard him get up, but then again, he was always up and about before me. I never heard him in the morning- he was so quiet. The only thing that would ever alert me to him was the smell of coffee that he'd always make (which was an efficient tool in getting my lazy butt out of bed).
My mom would already be gone. Her shift at the hospital started at 7 AM and she'd always be home around 4 PM, giving N and I plenty of time to ourselves.
It's not like we ever did anything worth being private about, though.
I sighed and snuggled deeper into my pillow. I really didn't want to get up. It wasn't because I w
624 Days and Counting- Ch. 3624 Days and Counting- Ch. 3 in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
I threw the last of the darks into the washer and pushed the button. Feeling spontaneous, I pulled myself onto the machine and sat there, something I always used to do when I was little. As I sat there, I started to think about some stuff I've been avoiding lately.
What if my friends were right in wanting me to get over him? I'd certainly hate any person that would put my friends through this kind of torture. That being said, why can't I hate him?
Then there's the other thing, the thing that makes me feel sick and nervous. If N does comes back, what then? During my journey we weren't really anything more than acquaintances. I blame our emotional goodbye on some kind of pity or hormones, panic at the fact he was leaving. I'd never admit it, but I have longed to be more than a friend to him for a while. Would he even feel the same way about me? If he didn't, was all this depression and anxiety for nothing?
Of course he does. Didn't he kiss me when I was crying b
NxTouko I'm not broken anymoreI'm Not Broken Anymore.NxTouko I'm not broken anymore in Short Stories More Like This
N squeezed the remainder of the dish soap onto the sponge. With a look of intensity and concentration on his face, he scrubbed at a seemingly clean plate.
N was beginning to regret his decision to volunteer doing the house. He thought it'd be a good idea to push Touko out of the house so she could go visit her friends back in Nuvema Town. He'd assured her that everything would be okay as she climbed onto Reshiram, and that the house would be sparkling clean when she came back. That was hours ago.
It was starting to not look that way.
He turned on the faucet and ran water onto the dish, effectively getting rid of all the suds he managed to spawn over his two minute battle with the plate. He reached to place it on the rack, but he accidentally bumped it against the counter. It crashed to the floor with a large clank, effectively breaking the plate into three pieces.
"Dam." He muttered, bending down to pick it up. The sound reverberated in his mind for a few
624 Days and Counting- Ch. 1624 Days and Counting- Ch. 1 in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
*Want to be even more depressed while reading this? Listen to Pokemon Black and White OST- Emotion*
I had the sudden urge to cry -.-
N stared at me in utter shock. His mouth was gaping and his eyes were incredulously wide. His mouth moved as if he was murmuring something, but it was so quiet that I don't even think he could hear it. I bit back the uneasiness and recalled my Zebstrika, whispering a thank you to him as he went back into the ball to rest.
Ghetsis started to yell angrily, screaming profanities at me. I just stood there and stared at him, my chin held up defiantly. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't sum up an ounce of happiness or victory. Not like this. Not with N standing a ways behind his father, his face perfectly expressionless. But that's not what killed me inside, it was his eyes. They were dead.
"He's nothing more than a freak without a human heart! Do you think you're going to get through to a warped person like that?" Ghetsis roared while he s
Andy Is...Andy is....Andy Is... in Free Verse More Like This
We army members would die for him.
A Fallen Angel
He will always be there for us even when we die.
His voice is a melody and will always be perfect.
Everything he says and does is perfect, he does everything to keep us happy.
The things he's been through will never stop him from walking his path, he will push on through and never stop.
Andy is the thing we army members need to survive.
If he disappears then we will never be complete again.
He save us, entertains us, sings to us....and loves us.
Andy is a God and without him the world will fall and will never be perfect.
habits.i could learn to love you, i swear.habits. in Free Verse More Like This
i could hold your smile to my lips and your fumbled thoughts in my arms
where i can hug them to sleep at night. i could brush my fingers
against the dusted freckles on your cheeks, whisper for every one
a haiku for the night we sat laughing underneath the deep sky.
i could learn to hold every part of your soul tenderly
in my careless hands
so i never forget strength, kindness, generosity --
all the things you are made of.
you are the strength of the summer sun
and the peace of the full moon
and you are beautiful.
so don't turn away when i cry in the middle of the night
and can't tell you why.
hold me close to you, hold me close
with your jaw resting on my hair
and your arms around my shoulders
and please don't ask me why i cry.
when i find the strength to tell you i w
but your tears don't shiverso she died. and there were flowers on the grave but he couldn't seebut your tears don't shiver in Free Verse More Like This
anything through the fog, and there were people standing and crying
and shuffling their feet to get out of the rain,
but he couldn't see
so she died.
in the end it wasn't worth it at all, shivering on her own bed
haunted by the breath of her nightmares.
in the end it wasn't worth it because nothing changed
and there was no realisation, and there was no white light,
and there was no heaven, and life just went on and on and on
and in her dreams he cried, he came back,
and he was kneeling by her bedside,
wearing her favourite shirt with the blue and red stripes
and pleading, pleading, tears shivering
down his cheeks like beads of sweat.
but she woke up and he wasn't there.
so she died.
[he wasn't there.
he didn't come until it was too late
and she was already six feet in the ground,
underneath thick soil but still palpable,
still unbearably powerfully there.
he only came back during the funeral
because he on
this.you have shaded eyes quiet smile dark hair love ─this. in Other More Like This
and I could do anything
if it wasn't for you.
collapse the borders on the edge of my vision;
everything's faded out to black shards.
It's cliché and stupid and it won't mean a thing to you, but I know
I won't be able to breathe when you leave tomorrow.
the shield whispering around my skin
was untouchable, I thought, perfect;
no one would be able to get in.
But you passed right through without even trying.
around is what you always are, around here,
around the block, running circles around my head.
You get around so much your friends tease you
about all the girls you've held and dropped,
and I can't say I love you without lying anymore.
you're a beautiful arsonistI like you.you're a beautiful arsonist in Free Verse More Like This
I like your spaces
I like your spaces and the way you laugh
I like your spaces and the way you laugh is beautiful
Your spaces are never empty
because they're filled
so if I look at you for too long,
might explode and fill my eyes.
you're bigger than the clouds and bigger than songs
and bigger than the universe.
If I'm not careful, I'll
burn away to a crisp;
if I'm not careful,
an afterimage glowing
dizzy-bright in the midnight.
shatterglass.Last summer we watched the moon swallow the sun and you told me violence was romantic. It was 12 in the afternoon but the sky was midnight blue, and as you spoke your hand clenched into claws around my waist. I reached down to hold your wrist but you dropped your hand to your side before I could touch you.shatterglass. in Short Stories More Like This
I used to think it was impossible to love someone and never really know them, but you took all those illusions when you took my hand. Sometimes we sat opposite each other in starbucks and you faded away, just staring into the sky, your soul stolen to some distant place. Even when you were next to me I could feel the space between us like a snaking ravine.
In winter you showed me your scars. I think I expected them. I think I already knew that you weren't the boy everyone said you were. I watched you on solemn Saturdays scribbling words you wouldn't let me see. I saw your scrawling become jagged broken lines on the page.
I watched you and I didn't know how to ask you what was wron
it's only the truth.it's only the truth in Letters More Like This
You never left home without your face on. He came to think that the mascara and the smoky liner were all a natural part of you, as inseparable as your bleach hair and your dripping smile. The artificial colours and the thick black lines, they were all a part of your charm.
And maybe you had a personality, but he couldn't see it beneath all your foundation. You pouted and you laughed and you tongued just like the glittery glamour girls on TV, and no one really cared what was underneath. When the wrapping is gorgeous enough, who cares what the gift is?
You fucked him at his house on a Friday night and the both of you fell asleep on his couch. When you woke up the next morning and picked your clothes off the floor, the sky was grey and his walls were grey and the crunch of cereal in your mouth was drowned out by his snoring.
He woke up and asked for coffee and maybe called you by another girl's name. You put your six inch fuck-me heels on and left, in the hope that the promise of mo
chem.mystery.i'm lost on the way home from a memory,chem.mystery. in Free Verse More Like This
flipping through blank pages and trying to come up with a plan
for tomorrow, when everything all falls apart and i fall with it,
down into an abyss.
for now my head is filled with tossing words.
death dying world wars pain plagues shakespeare you you you.
there's nothing a little water can't clear,
but maybe my tears will stain
the sea black with bitterness.
for now i'm flipping through valency tables,
solubility charts (how fast will the salt in my rain dissolve?)
and wondering why i didn't memorise this twofrickingyearsago,
how oxygen changes everything and
the bonds that tie a metalboy and a nonmetalgirl together are rigid
and shatter far too easily.
a word equation for us: you+me=>anger+water vapour
(as hot air and steam)
for now i'm running from history books,
telling me about world war one and women's rights
and ethnic peace and disunity. just as we learnt it, threeyearsago.
but now it's a new test and a new thing
and we're st
ecaping heartbreakwhen she cries her tears are edged with mascara and knowledge.ecaping heartbreak in Short Stories More Like This
she's hiding under the layers and layers of makeup he slathered onto her. for the sake of making her beautiful. she's so used to the same product, but she knows she needs a new makeup remover. one that will work, wipe and clear her mind. because she doesn't need this -- but she wants it.
she's digging through the chaos of her mind, struggling to find a piece of clarity. but all she can find is despair and nights on the couch with ice cream in her lap and a phone to her ear. i thought he was the one for me, but i was wrong. again. it hurts, and sometimes when the clarity strikes her across the cheeks she realises she can't do it anymore. she can't take this anymore.
she murmurs to herself like she's suffering from a mental illness. 'he was this to me. he was that to me. but she's never asked herself what she really wanted. all she's been taught to do, time after time, was to keep his smiles
tuesday afternoonsand the wind chills my bones and every time i look at my watch i remember all the times when we sat on the grass laughing, watching the afternoon sun arcing across the sky like a shooting star.tuesday afternoons in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Comme siComme si in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
On aurait fait comme si
On s'rait restés assis
En plein milieu d'la cour
On parlerait d'amour
On s'prendrait par la main
On oublierait demain
On s'f'rait voir nos collecs
On mang'rait des bonbecs
On aurait peur du noir
Pas'qu'on pourrait plus s'voir
On se dirait tout bas
Des mots qu'on oublie pas
On voudrait plus dormir
Pour êt' sur de sentir
Même en fermant les yeux
Qu'on s'rait là tous les deux
J'te r'garderais sourire
En poussant des soupirs
Comme si qu'on s'rait heureux
Des larmes plein les yeux
On s'dirait pas qu'on s'aime
Mais on s'aim'rait quand même
On f'rait semblant d'pas l'voir
Parc'qu'on oserait pas le croire
On dirait qu'c'est qu'un jeu
Qu'on jouerait tous les deux
Que ça s'rait pour de faux
Qu'on risqu'rait pas not' peau
On jouerait d'mieux en mieux
Jusqu'à tant qu'on s'rait vieux
On s'rait d'plus en plus forts
Jusqu'à tant qu'on s'rait morts
Hein, dis, Qu'ça s'rait super
Hein, qu'on f'rait une belle paire
Hein, dis, qu'tu s'ra
LE DEUXIEME MATINLE DEUXIEME MATIN in Free Verse More Like This
Le deuxième matin, au petit déjeûner
Alors que j'ajoutai deux sucres à mon café
Elle est venue s'assoir, et puis m'a regardé
M'a dit bon appétit, et puis on a parlé
Elle avait l'air sympa, drôlement fagottée
Une salopette en jean's, bretelles bariolées
Des sandalettes aux pieds, et déjà bien bronzée
On s'est encore souris, et puis elle s'est levée
Au resto du village elle allait travailler
Elle faisait la vaisselle, un boulôt saisonnier
Et moi l'après-midi je me suis balladé
A travers la campagne, sans plus trop y penser
A la terrasse d'un bar, le soir on s'est trouvés
On s'est toujours souris, on a encore parlé
Comme deux amis perdus depuis pas mal d'années
Et puis qui se retrouvent sans s'être un jour quittés
Un jour où on était partis se promener
Je lui ai pris la main, et elle m'a embrassé
On est allés s'assoir au beau milieu d'un pré
On a enco
LE CHATEAU DE SOCOALE CHATEAU DE SOCOA in Free Verse More Like This
Enfermés dans le château
A l'abri de tous les sôts
Nous resterons tous les deux
Calmes les yeux dans les yeux
Les tempêtes s'en iront
Enlacés nous resterons
Nous chuchotant du bonheur
En n'ayant jamais plus peur
© Laurent Roy, 2010
EmotionEmotion in Short Stories More Like This
Nom féminin. Petit animal vivant au fond de chaque être humain. L'émotion passe une partie de son existence, dont la durée est égale à celle de l'être humain auquel elle est rattachée, à hiberner pendant des périodes dont la longueur et la fréquence sont étroitement liées au tempérament de chaque individu.
Dotée de réflexes variant énormément d'un individu à l'autre, elle se réveille néanmoins chaque fois qu'une nourriture convenant à sa gourmandise se présente à elle. Raffolant notamment d'échanges de regards et de caresses (même furtives), elle est aussi friande de mots doux et de toutes les petites attentions en règle générale; ne dédaignant pas pour autant certaines musiques, certains parfums, ou même certaines discussions, pour peu que la mémoire lui vienne en aide.
Une émotion alternant harmonieusement les périod
VideVide in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Vide comme un verre à moitié plein, je me sens sans substance.
© Laurent Roy, 2010
RencontreRencontre in Free Verse More Like This
Quand deux âmes blessées, par hasard se rencontrent,
L'une relève l'autre, puis monte la pente;
D'autant plus élevé, le sommet qu'elles montrent,
Que ces belles âmes, nous semblaient différentes.
© Laurent Roy, 2010
On a tousOn a tous in Free Verse More Like This
On a tous un jour cru
Que c'était le début
Que battrait dans nos coeurs
Cet infini bonheur
On a cru que l'amour
Grandissant chaque jour
Jusqu'à la fin des temps
Comblés par la tendresse
Inventant des caresses
On a cru que la vie
Nous avait tout appris
Et puis sans qu'on y pense
Des choses sans importance
Ont doucement usé
La passion des baisers
Où sommes nous donc allés
Nous qui disions aimer
Qui jurions pour la vie
Mais sommes au loin partis
© Laurent Roy, 1988
EvadeeEvadee in Free Verse More Like This
Evadée du monde, et n'y laissant que ton image,
Tu rentres, enfin en toi, pour y retrouver la sage,
Que d'aucuns, mal intentionnés, voulaient te faire oublier;
Mais ta nature, bien faite, put t'éviter de ployer.
© Laurent Roy, 2010
EveilEveil in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Je suis là. Dans la cuisine, assis à table, sur ma chaise. Penché au dessus de mon coupon de carte orange, le stylo à la main, suspendu au dessus du numéro à moitié écrit. A coté du coupon, sur une enveloppe retournée, des traces laissées par un stylo qui ne veut plus écrire, qui n'en peut plus, et qu'on a forcé, une dernière fois, à déposer le peu d'encre qui lui reste encore. Puis la carte orange, avec ma photo, enfermée dans son étui en plastique transparent, rayé, usé, déformé par les heures passées dans mes poches. Je me regarde dans cette photo, et me souviens d'avoir été appliqué à me ressembler dans le Photomaton. Puis d'avoir attendu que le temps passe, que la photo soit développée. D'avoir vérifié dans la glace un peu sale, un peu déformante, que la photo ressemblait bien à mon image. Le passage dans le photomaton, c'est toujours un peu spécial. Ce n'est jamais anodin, de donner son image. Pas vraiment un événement, mais toujours un peu d'émotion. Peut être parce que, souvent
jeremy lives in the present.jeremy is the type of man who is scared that if he falls between the lines of sanity and dreams, he might never find his feet. he is the type of man who runs all the way home in his suit because he thinks hes chased by demons. he swears the only time they fell asleep was when she ran her fingers up and down his piano-ribs.jeremy lives in the present. in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
jeremy is the type of man who has always been ten pounds below slender, who has always had hair two inches longer than chic and spiderweb-fingers strong enough to make a woman wonder. he is the type of man who wears clothes that are always this side of wrinkled with his grandfathers watch in one of his pockets. he thinks digital clocks sapped the magic out of time and its no wonder everyone is running late.
jeremy is the type of man who falls asleep listening to the radio with a vodka in his hand. he is the type of man who hears his past in-between the chorus and the verse and would sing along if he could carry a tune. instead he hums along unde
i think i might need you.stop.i think i might need you. in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
i need you to put down the pencil and listen to me for a second. i need you to pause your breath and tune to my frequency. because im throwing my heart on the airwaves and i need you to be alive to hear it. i need you to follow my words even when theyre stumbling, tripping, falling on their face.
this is just going to take a second. i promise.
i think you should know that when i woke up today i was tangled in morning breath and your whispers. i think you should know that im dreaming with swollen lips and bleeding cheeks because i keep biting down to stop myself from saying whats on my mind. i think you should know my mouth is betraying me and when i brush it off, what i mean is, please, for the love of everything, know that i am terrified.
and, i think you should know, despite the fact that i am trembling with needs, i dont want it. i dont want to count down the seconds and drag out my day. i dont want to have to constantly dislodge my he
second-chance renewal.i can't guarantee i'll be what you want.second-chance renewal. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
you see, i can only offer you the remaining fractures of a weathered, storm-bruised heart in trembling palms; can only pour the relics into the crevices of your chest. i can only offer you the ruins: tangled and mismatched and soggy from salt-rain. can only give you the junk drawer, the elbows and broken bits no one wanted: the jealousy and anxiety and selfishness and impatience and insecurity. i can only give you these, wrapped in newspaper-covered cardboard boxes, no satin ribbon dressing them up as something they're not.
oh, and you deserve so much more! what i have left rotting isn't enough and it never will be, but, oh, i would give it to you if you asked. i would reach lacerated hands towards my marrow-locks and tear them apart. i'd give you the right combination of numbers and twists and turns so you might undo the not-so-treasure-chest. i'd let you take the choking corpse of my trust and let you try to reanimate it. i'd sell m
paint with love.close your eyes, darling, crosspaint with love. in Free Verse More Like This
your heart with my lips and listen
to me. play your favorite hymn
on the tapered flutes of my bones
until i'm an instrument fitted
to your devoted artist's hands.
draw maps of the constellations
on the raised edge of my scars,
translate directions to faded love,
before putting an 'x' on my left breast,
sealing the treasure with a prayer.
mold my hips like wet clay, sculpt
my pulse so i'm breathless with tension,
serene with knowing i'll wake again
tomorrow with cello-curves pulled
into the tide of your ocean-chest. sing
faith into my hungry arms, chisel hope
into my cynical skeleton, paint trust
over my blank flesh until i'm your
breathing canvas, your living poem.
[until i'm nothing but yours; until i believe]
lend me your heart.turn off the lights in your silver-threaded heart and open your eyes. feel your way through the darkness and ease around the sharp corners of my insecurity. be careful, step lightly, don't bruise yourself on my doubts. if you fall to your knees, just keep crawling forward. don't stop, be brave, i need you close enough to hear my whisper.lend me your heart. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i need another soul in the dark to hear these confessions.
i'm sitting in the middle of the ocean, choking on the reflection of the stars, but i think i'm starting to hear the echo of your pulse. i think i can hear the shallow crashing of your breath on the edge of your lips. so, shh, don't interrupt, because i'm starting now. don't shy from this tsunami of emotion or the callous edge of my well-used, wrung-dry heart. i promise, this won't take long.
i just need someone to hear the fears sending shockwaves down my vertebrae, the lonely terror throbbing in my palms every time they kiss in prayer. i need someone to know that i'm floating in flames, crash
third degree lie burn.i told myself i wouldn't write this.third degree lie burn. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i sat in the chair that smells nothing like you and stared at the wall with the pictures you were never in, and told myself in a hundred [that's a lie; it was only ten] different ways that this piece would never come to be. the bruised words would die in the back of my mind next to the cobwebbed dreams and whimsical wishes of years past. quarantined [such poison should never permeate the cracked veneer of faded dreams], but left to decay all the same.
alas! my disobedient fingers are rebellious and they dragged them out. they threw their cursing, blinking, protesting forms in the sunlight and left them to cower and shrivel. left them to sweat out the toxins until they were safe enough to at least gingerly hold, study until i understood, comprehend what it is that makes me this way.
shh, listen, can you hear them?
they're uncurling from defensive positions to yawn and stretch. they're beginning to slide around my slick palm, howling in protest for be
who said love was beautiful.this is not what you're expecting.who said love was beautiful. in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
i'm not going to write about the first time we kissed or the first time you whispered something beautiful into my clavicle or the first time we held hands and i swore that the earth shifted under my shoes. i'm not going to write about the first hello or the first goodbye or the first moonrise i watched reflected in your irises.
i'm not going to write about how your eyelashes are spidersilk and your mouth is a song and how when i was weaving the colors of your eyes into a sunset i got lost in the middle. i'm not going to write about how your fingers pluck symphonies above steaming mugs of tea and how looking you in the face is like holding my breath underwater.
i'm not going to write about that.
instead, i am going to write about the first time you dragged your hands through your hair and i noticed that your knuckles were scarred from too many fights and how i wasn't surprised in the slightest. i'm going to write about the time we stood in the kitchen
life lessons in death.i didn't know what pain was.life lessons in death. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
pain isn't sitting in your room with the music blasting and the world going in slow motion, because your heart's been metaphorically ripped to shreds and society doesn't understand you and your clothes don't fit [in] and your tongue has unraveled and you're too tired to try and pick it up again.
pain isn't watching your friend walk away and your dog lie under the sheets of autumn leaves and throwing your moth-eaten book into the cardboard box next to him, because if you're going to lose one friend then you might as well lose them all and your arms are sore and your chest hurts, but night is coming and somehow you're sure you'll remember how to breathe by then.
pain isn't sitting in the kitchen with your sister sobbing in the corner and the lights being too bright and remembering the way there was a full bottle of vodka on the shelf yesterday morning, and wondering what it's doing broken and empty on the bottom of the kitchen sink when she's screaming so lou
death by apathy.of all the weaponsdeath by apathy. in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
in your arsenal, silence
is your sharpest sword
less than a dream.i can't be the sun if i'm only a candle.less than a dream. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i can't be the myths of greece and the legends of troy if i'm only beginning to write my story. i'm not diamonds spread across the skyscape or dreams saturated with salty rain, i'm just a girl. i'm trembling fingertips and insecurities buckling down on my intercostal muscles until breathing becomes a labor of love instead of a hum of habit. i'm tearing apart diary paper because i can't stop moving and regretting; i'm curling my toes to withdraw when the stakes seem too high.
i'm not everything you're hoping for and i'm not worthy of poems getting scrawled in wet midnight sand; i don't deserve sunshine serenades pouring from your lips. i'm not made of piano-chord veins and i'm not spitting up beauty i've [never] kept hidden behind my molars. i'm just me.
i'm just a girl with wide eyes and a habit for losing chapstick, pens, shoes and the people i care most about. i'm not special or extraordinary or anything you wouldn't expect to find