Shatterglass by eight 0f heartsShatterglass by eight 0f hearts in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
It had survived things that no mug should have had to endure.
It had been dropped off cliffs, plunged into radioactive water, used to hold questionable substances and once travelled several hundred kilometres after Pilot tied a helium balloon to it. It had been thrown at Snippy countless times. It had suffered the indignity of being sat on by Engie after the Captain left it lying on a chair.
It had never been washed in its life.
But in the end, all it took was one little nudge, and the mug the great, glorious mug was reduced to a few shards of broken ceramic and a spatter of sad-looking tea.
It happened like this:
They were seated around the kitchen table in their current place of residence. "Kitchen", of course, is taken very broadly here there was no ceiling, nor were there any kitchen appliances; it was, in fact, merely a ramshackle table in the middle of an empty room.
Today's lunch consisted of cold baked beans which was quite the delicacy considering t
what humans do0:00what humans do in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
she met him when she was fifteen, stupid, and willing to do anything to get out of her own head. it was winter, new snow sticking to the ground in snowbanks - like a naked blanket, cold on cold with ice. houses were lined up on the streets, chimneys blaring smoke, colors sticking out against the sky's dull grays. cars rolled by, marking the streets all with the same, parallel tracks, like fingerprints with chains attached. thick exhaust fills her senses.
he seemed weird to her. not because of his cocky, laid-back appearance, but because of the complete fresh and virgin ardor he gave her. it wasn't that kind of sense you get when you're born - the average, cliche smell, taste, touch, sight - but when you pass the age of twelve or thirteen.
he was the untouchable, the near-unforgivable. the sweet fruit to adolescence. the thing you taste when you want something new - lips on lips, tongues tying, tugging on piercings - the umph to the skinny jeans, the belt loops
hollowfalling in lovehollow in Free Verse More Like This
is like plucking ribs, and
each time you've fallen
you're another bone closer
to cardiac arrest
printblue windows, he saysprint in Free Verse More Like This
why can't i have all the blinds,
choosy birds and clouded eyes
too wide open, he knows
but the winged fingers, beaked lips
and beaming eyes
are all too tempting-
why can't he have it all,
the rivered skies and blurred
whites, the flaking palms and
kaleidoscope eyes, branched feet
and lipped suns,
but the newsprint says no,
too far from glass it says, and he knows,
but blue windows lie.
cancer handshoney, you should have knowncancer hands in Free Verse More Like This
i'm one of those tasteful girls
with all those tongues hidden
in her bones
and not one of those watered down ones
wasting their time with fake, ersatz tastes,
but the pilled, the ones that can be
and can't kill
with cancer hands
tell me love is worth nothingbelieve metell me love is worth nothing in Free Verse More Like This
i'm a doctor,
and i'm telling you
and all you have to do
is just believe me,
just run under my skin,
dream of me when you're
awake, when you manage
it won't hurt much
because it's my promise.
just let me eat
at the back of your mind,
be that drum to the beat
of your heart, the whisk
to the rising blood under
your skin, the whine of
your breath, the cry
that pulls your heart down,
that makes your insides turn,
because sleeping is overrated
anyway, and the clefts
in our hands and harsh
grasps are what we've
always needed to survive,
and being in love is the time
when you realize
that's what you've always needed
i'm an author,
and i know words
like i know breathing,
i'll know every word
that'll come out of
all you have to do
is just trust me,
know it's okay to breathe into me,
it's okay to not say
a word, to say everything
it's okay for me
to see your hands wrapped
in mine, you under my skin,
ephemeralthere's something about theephemeral in Free Verse More Like This
the way we keep
to a sleepless night
with the tap of a train
under our feet.
the way we end
with the close of day,
the oranges and reds lingering
while the sleep
tickles our eyelids.
the way we hold each other
in our hands, knuckles tingling
and skin pounding
with each new touch and breath.
the kind of thing that lives
with everything in the way we speak, the careful whispers
in the crooks of our shoulders,
quick in patters of rain, but crawling in droplets,
a haunting reminder of what we are-
honey, we're a couple wars spenti met a girl oncehoney, we're a couple wars spent in Free Verse More Like This
who told me she had a boy
with a war set in the crooks of his lungs
and vocal cords, the perfect mix between
a hippie and a marxist,
with fire in his eyes the size of hammers
and coal, a manifesto of cold stares and
the distant histories of hiroshimas, nagasakis
words stuck on the thickest
parts of his lips, sealed in the cracks
with democracy and deity, hitlers
and stalins and mussolinis,
the pawn of the highest pedigree.
but he had his own soviets, americans
and europeans, she said:
the calluses, muscles, of his own skin-
the finest of cells of the working class,
the bone and the brittle of worth and vice,
entitlements accompanied by the ache of
the bitten, copper tongues of liberty.
spilled milki am a girl with without feelingsspilled milk in Free Verse More Like This
the type with ccrossed legs and closed eyelids
the type with i don't knows written across
her lips and spines and collars crooked with
the weight of love across her back
i don't know
i am a repetitivve being who can't speak
without stutters or write withhout petty kkinks.
but i have shudders in my pupils and cringing
in the back of my throat when i close my eyes
to you, you-
the ugliest thing who can't let me write a word
without acid. without tickling in the back of my stomach
without the cramps in my chest, the slaps to my heart
people tend to call butterflies
though i beg to differ because butterflies aren't
supposed to fucking hurt.
so i'll just call them hammers and nails.
not the types of hammers with a metal crook,
but the type with flesh covering it, skin-
not the types of nails with rusted silver-
but the type with dirty, disgusting contorts
that don't penetrate but scrape my own skin.
i'd say i want mr. perfect
but not even god dates that wel
the girl with love in her bonesHer lips are a smoky colorthe type of chapped things with paled, cracked edges and words hanging off, clothed by the least incessant whines and the most liberating cries. They're somewhat extended and exemplified through the cigarette in her moutha thin figure held between the sticks of her fingers with filtered lips of its own, ashing edge, a paled body, and a slow burning with every breath. The grayed portions fall off in a dirty, snow rubble on the sidewalk, burning into it, leaving small holes by her feet.the girl with love in her bones in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"I don't understand," I say.
She sighs, breath coming out white, warm in the icy air. "It's a human thing." Her eyes are red, raw around the skin, and her corneas glint blue above the thick smoke, like a cat'sexcept it wasn't darkness, but the exhaust of flameclouds before morning rain, the lights of a city blaring through the smog of night.
"I still don't understand."
"It's liberating," she says, and I can see her eyes on mine. Her nose is flushed red lik
encephalitis.she asks, "is it weird to have one day where you really intensely, for no good reason, think of a dead person?"encephalitis. in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
the intercom was the one to announce that his body had finally given up. i don't remember what i was wearing that day, or how my hair looked, or what noises fell out of my mouth. death has dulled the sharp edges within me. this is what i do know: some people burst into tears and some people sat frozen and pale and some people simply got up and left the room.
"are you okay?" someone asked me, and i found that i was lying on the floor, though i couldn't understand how i'd gotten there. the overhead lights were buzzing and humming, or maybe it was just my heart. confused, i sat up quickly and let the blood rush to my head in one glorious fell swoop.
"are you okay?" they asked again, and i said yes, yes, i am okay. i am alive. i have to be okay. the linoleum is still cold against my cheek and i can still see i am alive i am okay i am okay i am okay.
but sometimes i wish i had t
paper cranes and picket fencesi am folding you one thousand paper cranes because it is all we have left.paper cranes and picket fences in Free Verse More Like This
legend says that if i fold one thousand paper cranes, i will get a wish. i could wish for a pair of iridescent wings or an ocean in a teacup or just to finally be happy again, but i don't want any of that--with every crane i fold i am imagining you. one crane for the circles under your eyes, one crane for your jutting ribs, one crane for every seizure.
i love you and you're dying and i will run out of paper trying to fold your broken pieces into birds.
you drew me a picture of us in the future.
our houses were next door to each other and a white picket fence separated our property and oh god, it made me curl into a ball and ache for hours. see, in a perfect world, the clouds would always be fluffy and our mailboxes would always be full of hand-drawn pictures and our smiles would be lopsided but permanent.
i hung it on my refrigerator as a reminder that there is still hope, but paper is so fragile and i am afra
borderline nostalgic.i used to stand in the middle of the railroad track on sundays, one foot on either side of the county border line, just so i could tell you that i was in two places at once.borderline nostalgic. in Free Verse More Like This
you would shake your head in that disapproving, familiar way, and tell me that no one could be in two places at once, and besides, standing on railroad tracks was illegal, and i had better watch it or else i was liable to get ticketed.
i informed you that wanting to live a little was not illegal.
the day you died i rode full speed down the nearby hill with my bare legs on the handlebars of my mother's bike, the sun shining full in my eyes. i swear to god my hands lifted off the handlebars and flew away, and to this day i still can't find them, but you, you know where they are.
i got a ticket for walking on those railroad tracks and two weeks ago i rode down that hill remembering you, and when i crashed at the bottom i thought i felt you hold my hand.
but no one can be in two places at once.
a poem for terrible people.i want to write a poem about primrosesa poem for terrible people. in Free Verse More Like This
and how i am not a terrible person.
i am disordered but not disorderly. i am broken up.
i think nice thoughts like "streetlight" and "linens,"
and is there an instruction guide on happiness?
i could write one for you.
step one, paint your eyes cobalt blue.
step two, hang fireworks from coat hangers.
step three, turn into a dandelion. blow away.
my heart tries to escape from my throat.
okay, i am guilty in ways that you cannot tell anyone,
ever, not even imaginary best friends.
or real ones.
freud says i am an iceberg, but i don't know
if he means i am full of repressed thought
or just a frigid bitch who will cut you open.
step four, there is no step four.
if i am an iceberg, i desperately need someone
to warm me in the palms of their hands.
no one ever will though, because i sink ships
and tear people apart.
once there was a girl who told people
that she was not terrible, but the primroses
in her garden would never bloom
as if th
throwing rocks.so i want to grow up and get a job and make happy, make money, make forget. i can't though, i'm too concerned with windchimes. i mean, fuck windchimes, right? i lie awake at night and listen to rigs on the rumble strip and the windchimes, (mostly the trucks), but damn, the tinkling is enough to keep me awake all night. but sometimes not, and then i dream i drown or maybe i marry a serial killer who props up corpses in rocking chairs or sometimes i dream about my ex-boyfriend's little sister because why not. then i wake up and it's taxes and credit cards and grades and people dying and shit.throwing rocks. in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
i don't know what is wrong with me.
i mean i do, though, it's called obsessive compulsive disorder and major depressive disorder and severe anxiety and a bunch of other shit that takes too long to detail, but i'm talking about the pieces insurance won't cover.
also fuck claire danes.
it's just like, when i close the door behind me i push on the doorknob six times plus seven plus seve
Fourth of September.1.Fourth of September. in Free Verse More Like This
I am writing a poem about my birthday and candles and alcohol and dead people.
And how I have a really good imagination and every time I walk by that stop sign I see the car slamming into her and spreading her across the asphalt and every time the lights flicker I imagine his brain swelling against the confines of his skull and every time I walk in the front door I am reminded that my baby brother is dead.
I am writing a poem about balloons and dead people.
It is the fourth of September and I am full of longing. I want bare knees and raw elbows, untied shoes, green grass that bites into the tender palms of my hands. I want summer to roll into autumn without numbers. I want to pick wild strawberries. I want birdsong sunsets, lowercase letters.
I want Cooper's pond at night, where there are no atomic bombs or doctor's charts and you can slip beneath its cold surface and live forever.
Tonight I am supposed to celebrate growing old by getting drunk and pretending tha
trilobite.look:trilobite. in Free Verse More Like This
don't ask me to prove to you that evolution is real,
because i lost the notebook with the proof written
out in pen. i could try to sum it up for you anyway,
about how i didn't used to love you and then one day
i did and how whales used to have legs.
also i was once a flower or a seven year old
and my hands didn't know how to hold yours
or how to draw sunsets and make sandcastles.
evolution was you one year ago saying i was perfect,
that i should never change myself for anyone.
now you say that you are trying to fix me,
which means that perfect things could always
be trying harder. and that's evolution.
i'm tired of my hair that keeps growing longer
and my veins that keep shifting beneath the surface
of my skin, writing love letters to you in cursive.
they say my writing never evolves,
so i write a poem for you about love
and learning to walk on two legs
and title it "trilobite."
they say with my heavy bones my body will never
get off the ground, but that doesn't mean
telling a sad story backwards-17.telling a sad story backwards- in Short Stories More Like This
it smells like grief and sterilized metal.
i climb into andrews bed, though the nurses have strictly forbidden it. he closes his eyes and holds me tightly, because he says when he cant see me, it is easier to pretend i never happened to him.
he pushes the cart aggressively down the aisle, pretending to mow over old ladies doing their sunday shopping.
"stop," i say giggling, lobbing a can of ravioli at him.
for a moment i think he simply didn't see me throw the can; it glances off his chest and falls to the floor, exploding in a pattern of red arrows. i don't notice his eyes rolling back in his head or the graceful way his body collapses to the floor.
the only thing i notice is the distinct thudding sound as his head hits the metal shelf and the screaming that may or may not be mine.
later in the hospital he calls for me and says he wants to apologize for keeping secrets, and the doctors launch into a medical explanation of his cancer.
their eyes are sad.
i'm never careful enoughThe roads here wind in ways that I don't expect.i'm never careful enough in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Sometimes, I think that dashed yellow line is the only thing that keeps me moving the right way. That keeps me going. Because one wrong move could send me barreling off the highway and the freefall feeling that would come next is not something I'm unfamiliar with. It's the same thing that happens every time I think of you. I can't get over how much this place reminds me of you. I can't get over how little room there is between full-fledged fear and being in love.
Sometimes, I think maybe they're the same thing.
I don't know what keeps bringing me back here. But I find myself coming here more and more when I can't sleep. When I can't stop thinking about you. I drive the same familiar routes. Thinking the same familiar thoughts. Going to the same familiar places. I keep retracing the paths we used to take, thinking that if I follow them back far enough, I'll figure out where we went wrong. The absence of you is familiar. Almost comforting.
maybe we'll cycle like seasonsSummer never came this year.maybe we'll cycle like seasons in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It got hot, uncomfortably so, and you would call me every Thursday like clockwork. Like always. But the taste in the air was different, so were the things you would say to me.
I spent the long nights, curled in my front window, watching the fireflies flicker in the yard. Letting them blaze and die before my eyes until I couldn't pretend to be okay doing this anymore so I would pull the curtains shut and hang up on you. Hang up on the only semblance of normalcy to split up these warm days.
The sky was pinpricked with stars--always brighter in the warm evening air and the lawn was sprinkled with violets again. Everything was as it should have been. Even the sting of sunburned skin against sheets as I crawled into bed each and every evening. The only thing that had changed was this year, you weren't here, and so for me, everyday would be as cold and empty as winter.
I never thought of the last time I saw you as a goodbye. I should have been better prep
if you're an ocean, then i'm drowning.You are a calculated mistake if you're an ocean, then i'm drowning. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
something that I've known is wrong from the very start. And I wake up next to you every morning lately, praying that your split lips don't sink me even though I know it's too late.
You're already taking me under, because, baby
you're heavy like hurricane. Like a thousand drops of rain pounding down on my shoulder blades. You're seeping into my skin and into my bloodstream. It's only a matter of time until you spread to my heart.
It's too late. I'm already drowning in you.
It's too late, but god, I cannot love you.
You're like the last boy I kissed
which means I should already be working on forgetting the exact way your fingertips press into my hipbones or how my name sounds curled up in your mouth and the way you like to speak it so careful like a secret like if you said it too loud, I could get away from you. Like you want to keep me. But mostly I should forget you.
And sometimes, I try, but right now, I'm calculating the
please let me get what i want.For two hundred and eighty four days, I woke up. I woke up with this bone-deep ache that never went away. I woke up to an incessant question playing in my mind that would never be answered. I woke up alone.please let me get what i want. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
For two hundred and eighty four days, I woke up without you when I woke up at all. The thing about time is that it never does make anything better. It just means more space to think. It means sleepless nights trying to figure it all out. When it went wrong. How to make it better. It means slowly losing my mind. But it never once meant getting over you.
It's funny how the things you think you've forgotten always come rushing back when you're standing face to face and in one swift breath, you remember it all.
You remember everything.
The sky is always biggest right before it rains. That's how I learned to always couple disappointment with expectations since no matter how beautiful something seems, a disaster is always right on the horizon.
The waves are crashing quickly on the shoreli
the easiest thingSometimes, it seems like the easiest thing to do would be to get over you, but things that sound simple are rarely so when put in the proper context. It's okay though, since I still feel my heart beating every night before I go to sleep so I know that I'll make it. That you haven't quite won. At least not in the sense that I'm through fighting.the easiest thing in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Sometimes, it seems like the easiest thing to do would be to give up. I'm more of a lover than a fighter and more of a coward than a hero. But the thing is I'm through just lying down and taking whatever the world throws at me. You told me to try harder and I swear I am. So if I thought I could fix anything, I'd drive halfway across the country just for another chance. I'd give my last breath if you wanted it, but you don't so I'm rerouting a new course that doesn't keep diverting me into these endless turns of unrequited love. I'm finding a different way even if it means giving up this map and forgetting all my plans. This is what forgiveness s
i sleep in seas next to you.if this feeling isi sleep in seas next to you. in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
drowning then i just hope i
never breathe again.
Even the stars let me down.I won't ever be the girl.Even the stars let me down. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
No matter how many times I wake up on the faded old couch in your second floor apartment, I won't be the kind of girl you actually want to take home. No matter how much you think you do as you migrate across the room to get closer to meas if we're magnetic. As if there is some invisible force pulling you to me like gravity.
Except I swear to God, there's none of that and I'm less inclined to believe that love works like this. Like it's some tangible thing that we can prove, define or rationalize. Like there really are some invisible strings holding us together. Like people can actually feel something forever. I still don't see it since I don't ever feel anything that lastsbesides emptiness. I can't imagine how anyone can.
Still I stay here, until I find myself tossing and turning at four am with your breath hot against my shoulder blades, and I'm finally figuring out that I have no idea what I'm doing anymore, because I think I might be doin
our sleeping patterns collide.I wake up tired.our sleeping patterns collide. in General Fiction More Like This
I wake up tired and it's afternoon again.
I wake up tired and I am alone.
It's like every night i fall asleep with you on my mind, and I quickly sort through my thoughts leaving the prettiest ones on top so I can try them on in the morning. So everyday, I wake up and try on being in love with you. Except every morning, it's three inches too big or a centimeter and a half too small or it's brushing my kneecaps like it's too long. But I wear it anyways, since I'm used to being a shade left of ordinary or two steps past crazy. I'm used to wearing love and I'm used to you.
I'm used to falling asleep next to you and waking up alone.
You call me.
You call me adorable and I like it.
You call me your own and it feels like a fairytale.
We spend the weekends curled up on iced lakes like mirrors, scratching our stories into their frozen surfaces, and you write about adventures you'll never have and places you'll never go with a girl I wish I could always be. And I write about
End.EndEnd. in Free Verse More Like This
Back to the room where it's just me.
Back to the dark where it's just me.
Back to the hate where it's just me.
Back by myself, and I can't stand me.
So I sit and I sob in my loathing.
So I sit and I hate in my loathing.
So I sit and I think in my loathing.
So I plot my own death in my loathing.
With pink yarn I weave a long rope.
With pink yearn I braid a long rope.
With pink yearn I tie a long rope.
With pink yearn, a noose, and a long rope.
From the ceiling a fan dangles.
From the ceiling a thread dangles.
From the ceiling a neck dangles.
From the ceiling my corps dangles.
Perfection.PERFECTIONPerfection. in Concrete Poetry More Like This
The things heard, turn out to be true.
Worthless. Nobody really needs you.
Lack of a purpose, once empty inside.
Now filled by loathing, believing lies.
To stare still blind, only brings worse.
Crawling tears. Today I must reverse.
So changing, ending the broken frame.
Anything to be, but can't stay the same.
To be good, to be better, to not be me.
Distorted mental images. A Shape to be.
Internal rocks interrupt to go straight.
Then the lied to lies. Lies gain weight.
The skeletal groans hit a hard heart.
Soaking on musts. Never left start.
I can't go back. So it slowly implodes.
Falling in on itself. On a cracking road.
The hate sent poring from veins.
No other option. Bound by chains.
What wanted well became so ill,
Because of a sick desire to fulfill.
Wide glossy eyes eternally closed.
Defeated. Nothing left. Exposed.
The wrinkles grow longer each day.
Blades duller. As all withers away.
Each cell even di
BlindBlindBlind in Free Verse More Like This
Its as if I'm blind.
No windows, no color,
So darkness on my mind.
Not a soul for miles,
Who would care.
No one ever smiles.
Cold are the beds,
The room, and the people.
I'm sure that's the meds.
If nothing more I mind so much,
The alone time.
No feeling, no touch.
So I sit and unwind,
Sensing nothing at all.
Its as if I'm blind.
Pricked.Cringe in pain as a single spool hits the floor.Pricked. in Free Verse More Like This
It unravels only a small vestige of thread behind,
For my eye to trace.
A button and a few shreds of clothe.
Some pins and bits of stuffing.
Yet nothing successfully seized the spool.
It reluctantly rolls regardless of its path.
And as I skeptically fallow the fine thread,
It comes closer and closer to intertwining,
With my own path.
Until it rests at my step to reveal the thread holds,
The eye of a guilty, bloody needle.
Unfinished.UNFINISHEDUnfinished. in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
Deep down inside of me,
There's this pain called reality.
Behind these walls of flesh,
No breathing, I'm out of breath.
My heart has the master plans.
My mind's no longer in command.
A wound that will never mend,
A flame growing into the end.
Where all else melts, these will rise.
Chaos, torment, fear and cries.
It's like dyeing from the inside out,
Wanting to scream and dousing a shout.
Where hate strives and over powers,
Where love weakens and cowers.
The clock suddenly ceases to tick,
My heart stops pumping, I become sick.
Alive Not.She doesn't have thick locks,Alive Not. in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
Nor does she have tan flesh.
She's not one to fidget much,
And isn't big on talking.
In fact, She doesn't do much of anything.
Might not even think.
But I don't find it odd,
Because she is not breathing.
Lonely Rain Drops.LONELY RAIN DROPSLonely Rain Drops. in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
as i sit of all my beauty,
i wait to be cherished and held,
like the most tender of all the singing birds in the sky.
my red petals chime in the wind,
as they slowly trickle to the cold dead ground.
it seems like there journey is never threw,
and like every petal is a shimmering drop of lush blood.
the day finally comes,
when ones warm finger tips become my heavenly wings.
and as i part from my once safe and humble hell,
a sound of regret whispers in the winds around me.
its says "turn back",
turn back from the path made of my own tear trench thorns.
but i only hear theses words,
far after its to late.
i no longer sit in all my beauty,
beside my tear drawing petals and blood drawing thorns.
i now sit alone, abandon, betrayed,
by the very same warmth that first did i live from.
every last one of my "he loves me"s and "he loves me not"s,
have turned to ash under the dead heart of a loved one.
my now wilted exterior, of once blond pollen,
sits under only the lone
Flaming SurrenderFLAMING SURRENDERFlaming Surrender in Free Verse More Like This
Another seconds gone.
She grows a minute older.
The tension builds.
Beads of sweat brake out.
She looks closer.
Every single lush trickle
Takes a dive to its end.
In through the nose
Out through the mouth
All stress lets loose
The tension brakes
Dabs of sweat come cold.
A long moment passes
The clock ceases to tick
All rage in her brakes loose.
A shiver runs down her spine.
As she watches
The candle burn
The waxes melt
Blood shot eyes centered,
Wick trapped in wax
Engulfed by the flashing
She grows wary
As all suspense rises
For the next
Right then her h
Why Not to get out of Bed.Depression.Why Not to get out of Bed. in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Withering me down.
Down to even less than I think I am.
So why try?
Why not just give up before hand?
No one needs me.
So I'll stay here.
I'll stay here and hate more.
More than I first did,
For lying in bed.
Which shall keep me longer.
So I surrender all of my day,
To the only solution to my sadness.
Sleep the guilt, the hate away.
Sleep the worthlessness down.
I'd rather just pray and sleep.
Pray that I can sleep,
And hope that tomorrow,
Will be a better day.
But if I'm only going to fall,
Why get up?
GuillotineYou wonder how long it will take,Guillotine in Free Verse More Like This
Before you give in to the fear.
How much more before you brake,
Fall and beg them to spare you here.
Seems unfair to face it alone.
To be the only one burden by this fate
Forced to sit anxiously and moan.
Forced to expect it and just wait.
Submissively expecting your punishment.
Dignity allows you not a tear to shed.
They say your intentions were hell bent,
And for that they must have your head.
The blade falls, you're without hope.
Too late now, he cut the rope.
Secret Boxbetrayed once, betrayed twiceSecret Box in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
betrayed so many many times
old tattoo on my shoulder
old promises mixed with old dreams
they're lying in the box right next to the door
with all stuffs of old me
old guitar and written on it old song
everything what went wrong
is lying in that box
mirror without reflection
something is still reminding me
we lost connection
how i didn't see?
roses on the snow
to winner who won the show
but not to me
i lost my battles, i lost the war
those old memories are here to kill
old tears from past are here to heal
all those things that disappeared
they're back, they've returned to me
so i'll just put them in the box
where it used to be
back to my soul...
I'm a MaskToday is a celebrationI'm a Mask in Free Verse More Like This
But I don't know what they celebrate
Well anyway, I'm gonna smile
Yes I will wear one of those beautiful masks
So let's celebrate I'm ready to pretend I'm fine
I'm ready to make everyone smile
Make everyone feel happy and delight
Music playing, people dancing but no, not me
I can pretend I'm happy
But dancing is too much,
I'm not a dancer as you can see
Party goes well and everybody's laughing
And life seem to be so great
People joking and they look so very happy
But we all know it's just a fake
Cause everyone is hiding something inside
Something what causes pain and makes them cry
Yes, I know what it's like to wear a mask
And I know that it's easier to live like that
One day I will take this mask off my face
And maybe I'll be blessed to feel the grace
But till the time when that day will come
I'm gonna still wear my saving mask
Not a writerToday I took my pencilNot a writer in Free Verse More Like This
And started to think
Now what should I write about?
I'm sick of it
Too boring to read
I'm done with it
I lie on the floor and start to sing
Something so sad and something so sweet
No need to write it down
But nothing about
Melody is quite simple
As it comes from the heart
You might think I'm tearful
But no, I am not
Too many reasons why I'm here
Too many questions unrelieved
So many people should just leave
Away, get vanished, disappear
I'm still holding pencil in my hand
Not writing, not trying to understand
But I'm singing to feel something new
Something weird, something so good
I'm not a writer and I don't know how to write
though all my life is one big poem, one big fight
But I'm still singing
This melody in me
And it sounds so perfectly
Forgive me please
Forgive me for this
But I'm not a writer
Just one big dreamer...
To die for ...Before I close my eyes I'll whisper your nameTo die for ... in Free Verse More Like This
So I can be sure I'm not yet insane
I pull the trigger, I slice the knife
To make sure I feel alright
My love brings me to the end
And I'm not ready, not ready yet
Without screaming I will cut the pain inside me
For my last trip I will try to fight it
Burning candle burns like burning soul
I didn't make it, I couldn't make it on my own
I'm doomed to fail, losing my own faith
I can't take it, I can't go through this again
Without hesitation I'll die for you
But I don't want you to die for me too
I want you to live, want you to breathe
Don't want your life to be close to the cease
Through redemption I will go again
And I'll be melted by the pouring rain
But when the death finally will knock into my door
I won't be scared I already know what I'll die for
No light, no lightNo light, no lightNo light, no light in Free Verse More Like This
No life without fight
No love without pain
No sun without rain
No light, no light
No day without night
No road without aim
No man without name
No light, no light
No black without white
No words without mind
No fail without try
No light, no light
No dark without light
No truth without lie
No tears without smile
No light, no light
No left without right
No eyes without soul
No high without fall
No light, no light
No joy without cry
No stars without moon
No me without you
EnigmaShe was the starEnigma in Free Verse More Like This
She had no heart
She had no blood
She was so cold
Her touch was deadly
Cause she was a devil
A demon with no soul
An angel with no love
She was a mystery to me
But I could feel her from within
She was my perfect saving pain
And my pouring endless rain
She was enigma
She was a myth
She was a legend
She was a dream
it's not the endBeautiful heart when it's beatingit's not the end in Free Verse More Like This
But more beauty in it when it's dying
I remember you said that to me
And I knew you weren't lying
I saw your life running to the end
But you were smiling, feeling free
You said "Don't be afraid my friend"
This side of me you will never see
You promised to me that you will stay
But I knew it was just a beautiful lie
You already have chosen your way
Not giving me answer on my only why
Perfectly described soul painted on your walls
Not you not me, can't find way out
We only humans, manipulated just like dolls
And we are the same, just one big crowd
Time is endless but not for human being
I can see the end of you so very close
There you go, I can feel no more heart beating
And no, I can't feel your pulse
Closing of the eyes, last words, last smile
You're taking a last breath, my friend
But words you're saying is not good bye
You're saying to me "Death it's not the end"
SadnessYou said you don't like any of my poemsSadness in Free Verse More Like This
You don't like it cause they're sad
at least you said the truth
But what can I do about that?
If you think I can change myself you're wrong
People don't change
Believe it or not, they don't
I tried to write something good from all my heart
I've tried so hard
but nothing can help me
sadness is all i can feel
don't know if it's bad
certainly not good
but what i can do?
it's easy to say...
probably not that easy to do
everyday people passing me by
hiding inside what they want to hide
i feel like I'm not moving
just watch them all walk
what are they doing?
trying to stop world clock
you're saying I was born to be sad
i guess you're right
but I'll tell you what
we all were born to be dead
and nothing is simple
or just too simple to understand
why we can't just live it?
holding each other hands
cause we have to fake it
that's what make us friends
still don't like my stuff?
well i don't care
it's all I've got
Inamorata you don't chose who you loveInamorata in Free Verse More Like This
You don't know you just feel
Everything is so perfectly wrong
Strangely but you're already falling in
Don't say a word just come closer to me
Let those feelings take over it's about to win
Forget about people forget that they're here
But please don't you ever forget about this
Tell me what matters, tell me how do you feel
Say that you're ready, ready to be here with me
Cause I'm just about to set fire to everything I see
Nothing can hold me from you as long as I believe
Believing in you, believing in us, believing in endless love
Not afraid to say it out loud, I'm not afraid to show
How much I care about you, how much I'm in love
For this happiness, for you I've been waiting so long
No need for words, no need of night become a day
I don't want you to go, I just want you to stay
Honey you saved me, you took my breath away
And there is nothing more I could possibly say
Here I am lying in your embrace kissing your lips
Looking into green eyes, play
LunaLunaLuna in Free Verse More Like This
The reason no one loves you
Is because you're so cold
But they don't know
Nothing about your love
But no, don't tell them
Keep your secret with you
No one has to know
Don't care if it's not true
Who makes you shine so bright?
Who gives you best of this life?
Who loves you just because you are?
And takes you away so far
Keep answers unknown
No one has to know
Nothing about your love
I call you Luna
Cause that's what you are
For real you're not
You something more
Than just simple cosmic star
You're the one who I love
And no one has to know
Luna, I'm gonna whisper
And maybe one day I'll confess
But now something is missing
Probably those things I never had
when you're not as much human as you are monsterevery human died. i'm still here.when you're not as much human as you are monster in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
incendiaryit was the city -- you know, a self-contained organism, a microcosm of reality in which we all take part. it's like a play, with our very orchestrated roles rehearsed perfectly until we can pull them off as smooth as ice.incendiary in Short Stories More Like This
it doesn't matter which city, because really, they're all the same -- paris, milan, barcelona...lawrence, pittsburgh, atlanta.
what matters is only that we were in the city. i was myself, playing the role of a love-struck jeweler, praying i could find just the right gem to put on my lover's finger someday, and she was herself, playing the role of sara.
sara, my love; sara, my heart; sara, the snow beneath my feet, the ice begging for me to slip
but still, we were here. glimpses of this city swallow my hunger -- i might never eat again if this were my home, the way it filled me up. but the moment i broke eye contact with this entity, this city with its glittering skyline, i felt the hollows in me ache again.
it felt rig
i'm too sick to lovedon't let me goi'm too sick to love in Free Verse More Like This
if you don't know
what to do without me;
if you can't
sleep at night
because you wonder
whose arms i'm in,
and break bones every time
they're not yours:
it means you should
hold on to me.
it seems like
i might just jump
but i always come back to you.
i'm sorry that i'm so stuck.
love is when you answer my call,
to hear your voice
a thousand miles away.
i'm sorry we aren't
i'm sorry i'm
for you to
thesisi feel awful in a way.thesis in Free Verse More Like This
here, let me tell you about this-
i have a boy who is like
a needle on thread,
strung on me
like a clothesline;
he is tireless
hidden within his
a different body
whistling from down
shedding my skin
as he mends
a paper bird
like shards of glass
and a soul
like a tree,
warm roots growing
into the streets.
i have my own heart
buried halfway between
the mountains and georgia,
the only state
where even atheists
is not enough,
i can see that
neither are you.
i can't be sure
but i don't think
i will stretch my leaves
to the sun
with my roots so entangled
in sand a thousand miles
away from my petals.
all i make certain
is i can
make a love
out of titles
of every poem
i've written for you,
but i cannot
and that love
never pities the weak.
cut me open
i bleed affection,
and, oh my god,
unending hymnsi know you've met a new girl.unending hymns in Free Verse More Like This
i hope she's nicer than me.
i hope she's prettier than me.
i hope she loves you a little
like i do, but not
insects glued to my teeth,
i cannot speak
without knowing your breath;
i cannot beat
my heart against its cage
without the love that
broke it free;
i would probably
if i were that close to you,
to be your she,
to be your her,
to crawl inside of you
and ring the bell
that makes you tick;
love, know the power strung
between your claws.
maybe i am just lonely
but the wind is calling your name.
the crickets serenade me
on their knee-sitars and i hear your voice
joining their ceaseless hymns.
i am not myself.
i am the me i became
the second you became my life,
le raison d'etre,
reason to be.
i love you. i will always love you.
i am trying to love you the right way but i don't know how.
i know you care about me and that means enough for the world to turn.
it means more than what i'm worth.
i don't know how you make me feel this
lovesick girl's hearti'm starting to feellovesick girl's heart in Free Verse More Like This
the intensity of the silence
linger on my back again,
your fingers, my spine.
it scares me,
how heavy a hand
can be on a body.
i pretend we are both windows,
open to the world,
yet still a layer of glass
to keep ourselves safe,
or really, each other.
it would be wrong
for me to say
i don't worry every night,
before i fight for
a few hours' sleep-
the only thing
i can never believe in-
that no matter how much
better will never mean best
i am malleable like clay,
the dirt and water
i find in my hands
after i extract them,
like hands full of golden teeth,
from my mouth.
i hope to say
that it has been months
since i have felt this earth,
these warm motes like bodies
clinging to the backs
of my fingers,
how heavy hands
can be on a body;
the art of letting goit's only been a weekthe art of letting go in Free Verse More Like This
i forget what it's like
to have someone
instead of being
it feels like a premature death.
we are a bird, stuttering
through the air as our wings
i'm so tired of bleeding.
i can't continue to need you
more than you need me.
i can't continue resting my head
on my pillow at two in the morning,
after hours of furiously beating it
against my bed
to try to
i can't continue to love you
for the way you held my heart like a heart,
but held my body like a treasure.
i can't wait til love doesn't matter,
or it's just soft like the colour pink and new clothes,
no more of these thorns.
have i not bled enough?
the quiet things that no one ever knowsi hope you know i'm nothing.the quiet things that no one ever knows in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
the mat that clung to my backmy story was thatthe mat that clung to my back in Free Verse More Like This
love knew me,
& i knew love;
that we embraced,
our limbs interwoven
like the fabric
of the universe.
it has been two weeks,
& i have two freckles
like tooth marks
right where you left
that last time
i saw you,
the last time
i thought maybe
you could love me
as i am.
the sadness of how
mistaken i was
fills me up now
& blossoms like a flower,
hot tea like twigs & branches
within my bones.
my story has changed thus:
more than the number of wishes
made on the stars tonight,
that one day,
you can be in a relationship
instead of my sickness;
that one day,
i will not strain your bones
with the stress of my
world on top of yours.
i hope that you miss me
a little how i miss you;
but above all,
like the heavens & celestial bodies
of the midnight above us,
i hope that you find
happiness in your heart,
even if it is not
echolaliayou were the taste of something sweetecholalia in Free Verse More Like This
with the foreshadowed promise
of the bitterness that would soon
wash me to sea again.
the nights we spent
of clouds and of cloth-
frighten me as much
as they please me
the roiling ocean,
lapping at our heels
as we became lovers
under the sky;
the curses and hisses
of an extraterrestrial fire
as you whispered to me
to pay no attention
to the teenagers drunken
on the sand;
to feel your skin
along mine in lines
and your lips,
the entire inability
to dismiss the songs that
our hearts once sang
as fragmented fantasies
strikes chords of longing
and echolalia in me
as i utter the moans of
the single wolf
aching on the cliffs.
no amount of midnight,
nor any number of stars,
can take me out of the headlights
i walked toward the cars.
i do not know
how to live with you
as much as i do not know
how to live without you;
i am dead,
buried in the earth,
because knowing you
has rendered me
Christmas Carols: A Led Zep Fic: Part 7Christmas Carols: A Led Zep Fic: Part 7 in Short Stories More Like This
Jimmy paced nervously across the studio, reflecting on the events of the night. Jimmy KNEW and understood the message the ghosts were trying to give him... but he at same time, he didn't feel as though he had done anything horrible enough to merit the fiery bowels of the underworld... and "ghosts"... that was another thing that troubled him. It had been 28 years since Keith Moon died... fewer for Bonzo and Grant, but still long enough to wonder why, after all this time they'd chosen to arise and harass him.
His eyes fell on the decorated Christmas tree in the far corner of the studio, and the spirits' words echoed again in his mind:
"I'm doing you a fucking favor."
"I've been spending the last decade working out a way to get the four of you little snots into paradise."
"There's no bounds to one man's kindness. A word of advice, or a gesture of goodwill can span lifetimes, and influence generations."
"Christmas", he thought subconsciously. "Gifts... generosity... this whole thing is a g
Christmas Carols: A Led Zep Fic: Part 8Christmas Carols: A Led Zep Fic: Part 8 in Short Stories More Like This
The black mist surrounding Jimmy and the spirit dispersed, but although they were no longer in the black abyss, the air around them felt as cold and as desolate as ever.
Three men stood around a table bearing a large bottle of whiskey, shares of which each of the men held in small glasses. It was a bleak, gloomy looking room, but the men were all laughing and drinking in some sort of grim celebration.
"It's a damn shame. Great loss to the music world. Great loss." A mam sighed, taking a swig of whiskey.
"Well yes and no. I'd say the ol' bugger was at the end of his rope anyhow. I don't believe we could have squeezed any new material out of him if we tried. He did that ONE reunion, and then what? A big goose egg. So much for re-inventing the wheel, eh?"
"Who do you suppose he's left the rights to his music to?" another man inquired. "His bandmates, perhaps? I don't believe he had any spouse I could name... his personal life was about as successful as his solo albums."
"Well he certainly
Christmas Carols: A Led Zep Fic: Part 1Christmas Carols: A Led Zep Fic: Part 1 in Short Stories More Like This
December 23rd, 2006...
"That's a wrap." said Robert, putting down his headphones. "Everything's sounding good. I'm heading home."
"Already?" Jimmy muted his guitar with his palm. "It's only 11:00."
"We've been here since noon, Jimmy. I can't pull these all-nighters anymore, and besides..."
"Besides what? I thought you WANTED to do this reunion."
"Well yeah..." Robert sighed, "...but you know... it's Christmas eve tomorrow."
"Oh." Jimmy scowled and began plucking out a tune on the guitar. Robert sat in silence for moment, and then spoke up again.
"I'd really like to start the drive home tonight so I can be home with the family in the morning."
"I suppose you would, wouldn't you?" Jimmy sneered. "I also suppose that means you won't be coming in to rehearse tomorrow."
"It's only once a year, Pagey."
"There are only so many days in a year, Robert, and there are so many hours in day. Each hour wasted is money."
Robert laughed. "Oh listen to you. You with more mon
Christmas Carols: A Led Zep Fic: Part 6Christmas Carols: A Led Zep Fic: Part 6 in Short Stories More Like This
They flew over the landscape, the stars above them. The sea below them, and a whole lotta unanswered questions between them.
Jimmy spoke up, as they glided along. "So... just a question, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Yeah?" grunted Peter.
"Don't take this the wrong way, Peter... but how did YOU manage to get into heaven?"
"Why, Pagey? You don't think I'm a good guy?" Grant prodded, not looking at Jimmy.
"Oh, no, you're FANTASTIC, Peter. There's no doubt in my mind about that, but-"
"Then what's the trouble? It takes more than a few dirty words and busted heads to send a man to Hell, Pagey."
"I'm still not convinced..." Jimmy said cautiously. "You've never really been an idyllic image of spiritual salvation, Grant."
"Alright, alright, you REALLY wanna know? I'll tell you. Arms racing, Pagey, arms racing. As much as it twisted God's titties to have me in heaven, he wanted me out of Hell even worse."
"Why? WHY? I was in charge of YOU tosspots for twelve years. If I can
Symbols and Smartasses: A Led Zep FicSymbols and Smartasses: A Led Zep Fic in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"You know, if you stare at your hands long enough, they start to change colour... have you ever noticed that?"
Robert lifted his head to see if the bassist was paying attention. He had his head emerged in a book, as usual. Reading. Move along, Robert. Nothing to see here.
"Hm?" came a minimally-attentive grunt.
"Have you ever noticed that?"
"Nevermind." Robert sighed. "Why are you always reading when I try to talk to you?"
"Why do you always try to talk to me when I'm reading?" Jonesy replied, without batting an eye.
"Why can't you just answer me like a normal human being instead of answering me with more questions all the time?" Robert growled. "That's something smart-asses do to make life difficult for everyone."
No reply. Jonesy was back in his book, and Robert was alone again. Bonzo never pulled this shit on him. Bonzo would agree with him. Bonzo would start staring at his hands right away, and then reply in that thundering voice of his, "Bloody fuck, R
Christmas Carols: A Led Zep Fic: Part 2Christmas Carols: A Led Zep Fic: Part 2 in Short Stories More Like This
"Last chance?" Jimmy choked. "Bonzo? What? I-"
"Listen, I was allowed to come back here for only one night, Pagey. I'm doing you a fucking favor." Bonzo indicated the chains and the bottles hung around his body. "This represents the misspent hours of my life, Page. The greed, the stupidity... but more than that... all the things I DIDN'T do. The time I wasted."
"Wasted? Bonzo, you came to every studio session! You gave up weekends, holidays... anytime the band needed you, you were there."
"My point..." Bonzo said grimly.
"Sure you had some rough patches... the drinking and all fuck else, but when it came down to it, you were always a good man of business, Bonzo."
"BUISNESS?!?!" Bonzo thundered, grabbing Jimmy by the collar. "My CHILDREN were my business! My FAMILY! My respectability, my heath, and my forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!"
Jimmy was aghast. "I had no idea you pos
Night Out: A Led Zep FicNight Out: A Led Zep Fic in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
This song was the inspiration for this one. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zg2eJX9JrO8
You don't need to travel at light-speed to know how it feels. You never need to travel out beyond the earth and the sun and the moon to some distant star-speckled void. All you need is a car, the bright lights of the city, and the right state of mind.
That night, I wasn't myself. I looked around at the rush of stimulus. The animated neon lights. The sweat running down the scantily-clad bodies of the dancing girls. The pounding, driving bass of the music that enveloped us like a pulsing, solid wall. The clinking and tinking of glasses as varieties of booze were passed around. The laughing, the chatting... the haze of smoke.
Richard had insisted that this club was the spot to be on a night like this. The gig had let out earlier than we expected, and we had some time to kill. The night was still young for whelps such as ourselv
Time Wastes You: A Led Zep FicTime Wastes You: A Led Zep Fic in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It must have been about three in the morning. Little trickles of rain still slid down the glass of the window in the hotel room, even though the storm had ended hours ago. There was no thunder now, no rain, no lightning, but somehow, something woke Jonesy from his slumber. His eyes fluttered open, and he rolled over in his bed, drawing the blankets tightly around his thin frame. He muttered something inaudible to intangible people. Characters from a dream he was still half immersed in. It took him a moment to realize that he was awake. Jonesy stretched out his arms and heaved a relieved sigh when the joints in his arms cracked.
For the third time that night, he stole a glance at the clock next to his bed and groaned. It was going to be one of those nights. One of those nights where you sleep on and off, and don't get any real rest.
"Deja-fucking-vu." He grumbled.
As he settled back into his nest, something, he noted, was different. The room was the same room that he had gone to bed in.
Christmas Carols: A Led Zep Fic: Part 5Christmas Carols: A Led Zep Fic: Part 5 in Short Stories More Like This
Jimmy couldn't think straight. His mind was a blur of memories he had tried to lock away for years. Memories. That's all they were. Memories. How could a memory do harm? It couldn't, could it? Not unless one allowed it to.
He got up from the chair and paced back and forth. What the hell just happened? How many more dead drummers were going to come and torment him tonight? Fuck, if only Peter were here. Peter would set him right. He was the best manager ever to walk the earth. Peter would pull him up by the lapels and say, "Jimmy, get over yourself." He smiled a little. "Jimmy, get over yourself. Hop in the car. I'll buy you a drink. You won't remember any of this in the morning." Good old Peter Grant.
"CLANG! CLANG!" The bell struck two, and sure enough, another strange lighted flooded the crack beneath the restroom door.
"Page!" a low voice beckoned.
Jimmy ducked. He didn't really know why. So far, he'd endured a night of the walking dead, time-travel, and exploding restroo
Christmas Carols: A Led Zep Fic: Part 4Christmas Carols: A Led Zep Fic: Part 4 in Short Stories More Like This
"Keith? Can I ask you something?"
"What does my missing a few Christmases have to do with damnation?" Jimmy swallowed. "That is... I'm not really sure I understand yet."
"Remember what I said back in the music shop, Page?"
"I guess so, yeah. Something about... uh... kindness to your fellow man."
"More importantly than that, Pagey, the significance of one action, and how it can leave behind a wake of influence."
"Yeah, the guitar-teacher to me, me to a billion fans. So what? That's not a bad thing, is it?"
"It works the other way too, Page."
"I suppose that makes sense, yeah, but-"
"Look." Keith pointed forward, and Jimmy looked to see himself, a younger man again, talking to a younger Robert Plant in what appeared to be a venue's green room of some kind. He had a guitar in his hand, and looked ready to go onstage.
"Fuck, I was skinny." Jimmy remarked.
"Listen." Keith instructed. Jimmy did so, and walked closer to the two musicians. He took a seat on the nearby sofa, and listen
day nine.you are a sidewalk-chalk smile and a broken guitar string;day nine. in Free Verse More Like This
you aren't perfect, but you're alright.
i pick up my phone at three in the morning just after the end credits to your favorite tv show.
please show me what i'm hoping might be there.
but it's still nothing, there's no alert.
new text message: go to sleep.
sleep with one eye open, maybe. both? not a chance.
i trust myself enough not to fall in love with you.
cracks in the sidewalk.I AM:cracks in the sidewalk. in Free Verse More Like This
i am broken. i am a leaf run over by a bicycle. i am torn and twisted and a wednesday in the rain. i am scuffed converses and i am the mud.
i want warmth and acceptance. i want scabs on my toes and not a moment to miss. i want children, all of whom a carbon copy of my mother. i want to leave my clothes by the bed and more than my footprints by the sea. i want to work to live.
i need an endless supply of channel three's and ups and downs and late night george carlin specials. i need pizza with ice cream and chocolate sauce and a playstation, to make me feel alive again.
i feel i think i wish i may i wish i might.
i met this boy once. he had freckles on his freckles, and muscles on his muscles. he had a superhero football player astronaut pizza boy complex, and that only made sense to us.
i met this boy again and he didn't have so many freckles and i think he lied. he had a transit sleeping lazy i-don't-care complex, and that only made sense on his end of the spec
november *you are a storytellernovember * in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
and i want to know
you are willing to
share with me. i will
become a human sponge, and
soak in the words that
spill from your lips. they
are scarred and torn, but
they are yours, and that
makes them inexplicably
and fresh. you are young
and unexplored, and i am
a traveler. sometimes
we journey into
places that do not deserve
our presence. this is
expected, and we
must adjust ourselves to the
new surroundings, which
is easier said
than done; my compass points to
an endless plain, marked
with oddity and
a heart made of kaolin.
i promise not to
share your crevices
with anyone; sometimes we
voyage to places
where we overstay our welcome.
but that is acceptable.
i'm a traveler
and home is where you
feel the safest. and the most
aware of your old
ground for a new wanderer
with tales they will share.
they are made of mud
and heat. they are twisted, but
the minstrel, are now
mended and sew
there aren't many of you-if you have ever played scrabble you'd know that words like "are" and "is" and "the" make you a terrible player and should cause a meltdown.there aren't many of you- in Short Stories More Like This
if you have ever played chess you'd know the secret to the queen's sacrifice, and it isn't what you think.
i have built castles and blown them up with fireworks. this is not the fourth of july but we could pretend. because that is what best friends do, they pretend. they pretend to be okay and that the neon band-aid under their eye is some lady gaga inspired fashion statement. but a real best friend knows that it is all an act and we are not that naive. best friends know that when you say you are okay, you could be lying. they will shake you and tell you to 'spill the beans', but they never specify if they are kidney or lima or actual peas. i don't think a best friend pays attention to detail in these situations.
i have cut the thorns from roses and given them to boys. a best friend respects you for being masculine and backwards. a bes
december.remember when we boughtdecember. in Short Stories More Like This
balloons with our allowance?
we walked up to the hillside, and we
let them go.
your mother told me all of the people in heaven missed their families,
so we wrote "i love you" on every yellow balloon.
yellow was my mother's favorite.
and i'm sure my mother missed me too.
she wants what she wants.she wants someone to tell her she makes him the happiest man on earth. she wants someone to sugarcoat everything; she won't feel guilty for taking the stars from the sky.she wants what she wants. in Free Verse More Like This
she wants love letters on loose leaf paper, without the ruffled edges torn off. she doesn't mind a little bit of imperfection in her day. chipped nails don't mean much, after all.
she wants a sunrise and sunset simultaneously.
and chocolate covered
even the finest chinai am a cracked teacup unwrapped on christmas morning, filled with promises;even the finest china in Free Verse More Like This
you would say differently.
i've slipped myself under your covers a million times from miles away,
but you wouldn't know that, even if you had accepted the gentle way my fingertips slid across your shoulders.
it's been two days and it still hasn't kicked in.
i met you on a tuesday and it was raining. i never knew your name. you told me you worked in a pancake house, and there was nothing sweet about you. i tried to fall in love with you, but that resulted in blunt force trauma to my ribcage. i'm not complaining, i just thought you should know.
when i was young, i was told never to step on a crack, or i would break my mother's back or something along those lines - the lines of the tile in the kitchen. when i was seven, my mother was dead.
when we laid in that cornfield and the comet rolled by, i secretly wished that we would have a daughter and we would name her amelia and we would love her. but we would show f
lockets and reveries.i don't want to talk about the way the colors blend when the sun sets because there aren't enough talented painters in the world who could create such a piece. i don't want to talk about the way the stars swoop down and take you, because i know that isn't the only way you'll leave. i don't want to talk about your hair being slightly jagged in the front. it upsets me, because i still want you to believe someone introduced you to the blades while you were sleeping. those scratches on your back aren't from me.lockets and reveries. in Short Stories More Like This
i'd love to write you a letter with lead, so it's just a bit heavier on you than my words. i'd love to write you a letter stained with water from the ocean. i'd love to walk away, but cement only stays wet for so long.
you are a marble left behind by little jamison, because the brown flecks in the blue world just seem to ruin everything, and now you're buried underneath the sofa, with dust bunnies and the dog's rampages after seeing the girls down the street. you are that sma
easy.no, this is not easy. it's not the most difficult thing in the world, but it's not easy. it's like when you're a kid and there's no cotton candy at the circus. You get there thinking, "okay. popcorn, clowns, cotton candy, sodasodasoda sugarhigh." but there's no cotton candy and all your hopes and dreams blow up in your face (but you don't have to worry about your stomach going to war with the rest of you -- or maybe that's just me.) no, this is not easy.easy. in Short Stories More Like This
it's like being on the beach without a friend.
there's no point in walking through the sand if you can't laugh at the shapes being made by the other person's toes. it's like...when you're window-shopping and there's nothing attractive (not that it matters, since you won't be wearing it anyway), but you keep lusting after a useless, limp, boring black sweater because it reminds you of that night in the coffeehouse with your ex.
every time he put sugar in his disgusting black (what a coincidence) coffee, his eyes twitched. it's like when
januarylet's move to a placejanuary in Free Verse More Like This
where it is cold forever
so that we can dance
in the snow, make
angels and sleep in the space
between dawn and night-
fall in the chasm
and dangle in the warmth
of everything we
knew; let's move to a
place where we know no margin
and there's no sign of