A Song, A Car, A HighwayAn eyelash falls down his cheek,A Song, A Car, A Highway in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
and I wonder-laugh at the unexpected fall.
It’s black against his skin, as pale as my own,
and nearly so as the dust of snow outside the window.
I expect him to hold it out and bid me make a wish,
but he brushes it off his cheek,
and his eyes don’t follow its path to the hand-brake, as mine do.
I want to lean down and grab it for myself because damn,
if he isn’t going to make a wish I could sure use one.
But when I ask him, he grins at me and asks what I would wish for,
when we have such a future in front of us.
For now I’ll keep it a secret, but I do lean close to him and whisper
that we can put that future to the test, and if it’s a good one,
I’ll pay him back in eyelashes.
FourThe noise in the airport should have been unbearable, but to Prosper it was muted, shoved to the background while he tried in vain to think of something to say. Other passengers were yelling and running past them, but Prosper felt as if the silence stretching between him and Fae was unbearable. She managed a smile for him, but it was strained, and Prosper knew that there was no real happiness behind it.Four in Short Stories More Like This
"This is for the best," she murmured, gently grasping his hands in hers, "but, I'm glad, at least... that we'll get this. Closure. I would never want to end what we've had over the phone, or... well, you know what I mean."
"I..." Prosper couldn't finish the sentence, and perhaps for the first time in his life, he could think of absolutely nothing to say. He didn't usually struggle for a way to put his thoughts into words, so for that usual talent to depart him at a time like this was terrifying. Fear rushed over him, and he wondered, not for the first time, if he was making the b
Sleds, Snow, and Hot ChocolateProsper would have burst into laughter at the picture before him had he not been absolutely positive that said action would earn him a snowball to the face. Blaire was sitting on bright yellow sled , bundled up in at least fifty layers, wearing the expression of a five year old recently given an ice cream cone. The sled, in turn, was poised at the top of a large, rather daunting looking hill, and Blaire was attempting to convince him to go sledding with her.Sleds, Snow, and Hot Chocolate in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Pleeeeease!" She continued, adopting a pout onto her formerly excited face.
"I'm wearing sweatpants," He pointed out, "Cloth sweatpants."
"Oh, suck it up, you baby," Blaire countered, which impressed Prosper quite a bit, since it usually took a lot more for her to start insulting him.
"What, and walk two miles home in soaking wet britches?" He questioned, "I'll pass on that."
"Fine." She said, sulking, "then at least help me up." She held out a hand to him, which Prosper was a little reluctant to take, since Blaire relenting in so
Dysthanasia.Short-sighted though I’ve always been,Dysthanasia. in Free Verse More Like This
I noticed when you wrote lovely wounds into
my skin with all the blunt finesse
of a child drawing with crayons
but I missed the moment
when you stopped caring enough
to make them beautiful.
Love Me DoProsper was feeling mildly awkward. He knew that it was expected, routine even, to meet his girlfriend's parents and family, but it didn't make the situation any less nerve-wracking. He had endured the interrogation from Blaire's father about his life/plans/job/future, her brothers attempting to intimidate him, and her little sister giggling over his accent, and was now convinced that he never wanted to go through anything of the sort again.Love Me Do in Short Stories More Like This
Blaire and Prosper were now sitting cross-legged on her old bed with the door wide open, because, as Blaire had put it, both of them behind closed doors would make her father, Tim, "uncomfortable". Prosper was quite sure that he didn't want to make her dad, a large, well-muscled fire-fighter, any form of nervous at all. Especially since her father and brothers seemed to think he needed to be glared at routinely- despite the inevitable warning he had received from them about being with Blaire.
"I know what we can do tonight," Blaire said
Three"I have to kiss her?!" An eleven-year-old Prosper exclaimed, staring at his best friend Owen. They were crouched behind the large slide in the playground, the bright red plastic affording them enough cover to constitute their very own hide out. Or so they figured, after chasing away a couple of girls who had been playing there previously.Three in Short Stories More Like This
"Yep." Owen replied, his blue eyes serious as he spoke.
"Bu- c'mon, I mean, why would I-," Prosper couldn't seem to get the words out, but it was bad enough that they were even discussing kissing a girl in the first place.
"Chicken!" Owen accused, a grin lighting up his face, "You took the dare, so you gotta do it! You can't back out without being a right wuss!"
"I'll do somethin' else." Prosper said, desperately trying to dig himself out of the rather large hole he had fallen in.
"Nope, that's your dare," Owen said, "If you wanna be leader of this group with me you gotta go through with it, and show you're not a wimp."
TwoProsper grumpily banged his feet against the solid wood of the examination table he was sitting atop. He knew his mother was ignoring him, and, even worse, not even bothering to hide it, sitting across the room reading one of the many magazines that where piled on the small tables. He hated going to the doctor. Dr. Knowles always ruffled his hair too hard and talked too loud. If he told Prosper that he had to get a shot he was going to run for it. Stubbornly continuing to glare at his oblivious mother, he clenched his fingers around the edges of the table and waited for the stupid doctor to come in.Two in Short Stories More Like This
However, when the door finally did open, instead of seeing the large, obnoxious, slightly balding old man that he had come to expect, he was faced with- unexpectedly- the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with long brown hair and a pretty face.
"Hey there, Prosper," she said with a smile that lit up her face, "I'm Jane. Dr. Knowles is on vacation right now, so I'm going to be helping y
Another Quirk"C'mon, Blaire," said Prosper. "Just one more time, I promise."Another Quirk in General Fiction More Like This
Blaire crossed her arms and shook her head stubbornly at him. She'd been humiliated enough by this stupid "lesson" that he'd insisted on having.
"Fine. How about a deal? You try again, and I'll tell you where I got this scar." Prosper said, pointing to his eyebrow and holding out the soccer ball with his other hand. Blaire bit her lip. She was sick of looking like an idiot...but she really wanted to know where that scar came from. She had asked him a million times already, but he would just grin at her and change the subject. She huffed irritably and blew her bangs out of her face.
"You'll really tell me?" She asked finally.
"No... but I'll give you a clue." He said, smirking at her in that infuriating way of his.
"Should've known." She muttered to herself. She sighed when she saw him still smirking at her, but they both knew she would give in, just as they both knew that Prosper's "clue" would proba
a lessonShe isa lesson in Free Verse More Like This
she tosses her hair back and
she laughs at the world
who cannot hope to match her stride.
She meets eyes unashamedly,
she is radiant with confidence.
She is shy,
her eyes are downcast and
her cheeks are mottled
Her words are whispers,
her breaths are sighs.
She is a sly smile.
She is a soft
whisper in his ear.
She does not seem to know
who she is.
to peel back the layers.
(though they are both afraid
that what lies beneath
to speak to her.
But the words are stuck
in his throat,
suffocated with the
and he has nothing
to give her.
if there was ever any truth
in either of them.
In him for loving not-her
the way everyone loves not-her,
or in her,
for the elaborate
He wants to tell her
he adores her, but
he has no oxygen around her
(no words to give her),
no conviction to assure her with,
no one to love but fiction,
and he is silent.
(you are a contradiction.)
PaybackBlaire woke with a start, very alert and, for some reason, very cold. Blaire rubbed her eyes wearily and looked around the dark room, realizing after a moment that she must have forgotten to leave Prosper's apartment after he had made her come over to '"admire" his new futon. Honestly, in her opinion, it was more a ragged piece of junk than a futon, but she had to admit that it had been surprisingly comfy. Hence, the reason she had fallen asleep at Prosper's apartment.Payback in Short Stories More Like This
Although, she reasoned, it would be difficult not to fall asleep while enduring a every-movie-in-my-apartment marathon that Prosper had suggested- so that they could fully appreciate the futon, apparently. Glancing around her once more, she noticed why she was so cold, and, eyes narrowing dangerously, focused on the sleepily sprawled out man by her side.
Normally she didn't mind falling asleep with Prosper- despite being leaner than most, he was surprisingly easy to use as a pillow- but there was one thing about him that
KraftschoepferIm Angesicht der NachtKraftschoepfer in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
reicht ein Gedanke
so klar wie der Himmel
der heller scheint
als alle Sterne zusammen
Diese fernen Lichter
Sinnbild für all die Dinge
die mich so sehr bewegen
Ein Gedanke nur an dich
und ich fühle mich erleichtert
obwohl du nicht bei mir bist
es vielleicht nie sein wirst
Doch hältst du eine Geborgenheit
die tief in mir schlummert
von der ich hin und wieder zehre
wenn ich neuen Mut fassen muss
Es ist nur ein Funke
der darauf wartet
zur Flamme zu werden
Egal wie lange es dauert
ich lasse ihn nicht ausgehen
diese kleine Quelle der Kraft
die so viel zu geben vermag
Halt mich fest"Halt mich festHalt mich fest in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
und geh nicht fort!"
Diese Worte spreche ich
in deine Umarmung
in welche sie sich einnisten
um dort zu ruhen
So wie auch ich
der ich Geborgenheit ersehne
in deinem Halt
und sie auch zu finden scheine
Eng an dich geschmiegt
fühle ich still
und möchte nicht loslassen
dich sanft streicheln
und mich wiegen
Halt mich fest
und geh nicht fort
GleichgueltigkeitDer Kreis schließt sich wiederGleichgueltigkeit in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Es ist immer alles gleich
mit Stacheldraht umwickelt
und aus dem Körper gerissen
Feste bohren sich die einzelnen Spitzen
und lassen den Lebenssaft spritzen
Bis der Behälter leer und ausgelaugt
der Hoffnung gleich verwittert und verstaubt
ein schützender Kokon
die Empfindung genommen
Der wirren Gedankengänge überdrüssig
da sie nur Chaos bringen
Wenn ich nur koennteWenn ich nur könnteWenn ich nur koennte in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
würde ich deinen Namen streichen
jedes verdammte Mal
wenn ich ihn lese
Wenn ich nur könnte
würde ich nicht mehr an dich denken
an diesen Schmerz
den du verkörperst
Wut und Trauer weichen lassen
wenn ich nur könnte
Die Tränen fließen lassen
wenn ich nur könnte
Wenn ich mich miserabel fühle
ändert sich überhaupt nichts
Die Welt dreht sich weiter
nur ich trete auf der Stelle
Akzeptanz ist wie das Finden einer Tür
oder das Einreißen von Mauern
Hauptsache frei und voran
Nach dem Regen der Sonnenschein
oder zumindest trocken und sorgenfrei
Wenn ich nur könnte
und bis ich kann
Gedanken eines AugenaufschlagsDenkst du manchmal an mich?Gedanken eines Augenaufschlags in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Lächelst du dann dabei?
Ein Lächeln nur für mich?
Ich wünsche es mir.
Wenn ich nachts wach liege
und einfach an dich denke,
möchte ich das Herzklopfen spüren
Ich will mich nicht dem Schlaf hingeben,
meine Gedanken nicht so leicht hergeben,
sie in Dunkelheit ertränken und aufgeben.
Die Melodie von Licht und SchattenEin Zimmer im DunkelnDie Melodie von Licht und Schatten in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
nur das Mondleuchten
birgt ein Wechselspiel
von Licht und Schatten
Zwei Gestalten liegen
driften zu lieblichem Klang
leiser Musik in andere Welten
Solange ich dich bei mir spüre
ist alles gut und zeitlos
scheint der Moment, in dem
deine Wärme meine Zuflucht ist
Fort von allen Ängsten
lass uns gehen - gemeinsam
in dieser Umarmung treiben
und unsere Hände die Liebe halten
Haut an HautGanz unbefangenHaut an Haut in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
umschließen sich unsere Hände
über den Köpfen
während wir liegen
HerzwundenEs ist dunkel gewordenHerzwunden in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Das Leben und seine Sorgen
Das Loch in meinem bebenden Herzen
wie eine leere Seite meiner Geschichte
Ich trage sie mit mir
mit erhobenem Haupt
aber gesenktem Blick
In ruhigen Momenten
am Puls der Welt
kann ich spüren
wie die meine zerfällt
Die Strömungen zerren
Die Wahrnehmung verzerrt
Die Einsicht getrübt
von Gram verzehrt
SehnsuchterfuelltDu willst die Sinnlichkeit festhaltenSehnsuchterfuellt in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
ein zerbrechliches Konstrukt
voll fließender Schönheit
Ein Moment des Einzigartigen
Der Betrachter ohne Worte
vor einem Bild verweilt
sprachberaubt ob des Anblicks
Mannigfaltig regen sich die Gefühle
Es ist schön ja so schön
zum Verlieben schön
zum Verzweifeln schön
in tausend Splitter
tränkt Lippen rot
wie ein pulsierendes Herz
Liebe deines Lebens
Lebe deine Liebe
Oh du himmlische Passion
bist du von ewigem Begehr
oder zeitloser Lust?
Bis der Morgen kommt
und der Kuss der Nacht
dich leuchtend verlässt
UnruheEine betäubende StilleUnruhe in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
im Auge des Sturms
der in mir herrscht
und sich niemals legt
Alles was bleibt
ist ein Rauschen
Chaotisch schwirren die Gedanken
beeinflussen was ich fühle
setzen sich fest und nisten sich ein
wie ein Parasit, der unter die Haut geht
Ein Virus, eine Krankheit
Über-Ich gegen Es
In diesem Spiel
bin ich nur ein Ball
der irgendwann ins Aus geht
der jeden Tag aufs Neue beginnt
the perfect strangershe misses colin the most at night, when, waking from nightmares, her hand reaches out into the darkness for someone who is no longer there.the perfect stranger in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
an unexpected message flares briefly on her screen, long enough for her heart to drop into her stomach in surpriseher ex-boyfriend's little sister's ex-boyfriend? sighing, she types a hello and strains her memory to recall what she knows of this boy from their one brief meeting. his name is aaron. tall. shaggy bed-head hair. sleepy hazel eyes. she lightly touches the keyboard, entertaining the notion that other people might feel as lonely at night as she does.
"tell me a secret," she types to him.
"why should I put my trust in you?" he asks, surprised.
"who better to trust than a stranger?"
so he does.
a five minute secret turns into an hour long story, then a night-long conversation.
the next morning, after telling this boy how colin broke her, she wakes to a message in her inbox:
The world is yours.
Boys are stupid.
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.
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
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
no one warned the little girlssometimes you will fall in love with the handsno one warned the little girls in Free Verse More Like This
or with the jawline, not with the penis.
watch out for boys whose eyes
are rougher than their voices.
little girls love hard and fast, and it is a lie
to say that words will never hurt you.
kissing in the rain is not romantic.
it's cold and wet, and your nipples
will be like pebbles digging into his skin.
he'll wipe water from your lashes,
and, if he is polite, he'll pretend
not to notice his thumb blackened by mascara.
later as he sleeps you will watch his lips,
unable to feel anything except your hair
curled damply against your skin.
when you were young, sex was strange
and scary and unreasonable.
when you grow older, that doesn't change at all.
please, do not use the flavored condoms.
getting married tastes like a wedding
invitation, heavy cardstock and eggplant ink.
if you cut your tongue and bleed
all over the calligraphy, it's bad luck.
when you speak your vows and look in his eyes,
you will still feel the blood
in your mouth, warm a
waiting.he has been there for so long that the girl sometimes wonders if he is part of the beach, if the seaweed and shells fuse themselves to his ankles at night and grow over his browned legs like ivy. he is always still, so still, eyes focused on something distant in the waves that the girl can't quite see, though she tries. the man has a face like a creased paper bag and she finds herself wishing that she could see inside his head.waiting. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
she watches him all day from the corner of her eye but no one ever joins him in his vigil. he is alone in casting shadows that grow longer and longer as the sun sets. the girl wonders what it is like to be so alone and decides she'd rather be lonely on the beach than spend all her time with people, particularly the people she knows who seem to be full of incessant questions and sharp elbows.
the man is waiting, and so instinctively she waits too.
the girl is the only one to see him cut his palm wide open on a shell. she watches the red droplets fall heavily on
Riding BikesGoing off medication is like riding a bike.Riding Bikes in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
The doctor holds tight to my handlebars and lowers my dosage. The training wheels are off, and oh hey, look at me go! It's like flying but not, and I'm doing so well but then there's a horrible accident and I'm somehow upside down at the bottom of the sea with both wheels still spinning.
"Help," I say, and my doctor pats my head, puts a band-aid on my knee, and writes a note on my chart.
I've balanced by myself for months at a time, but I always end up hitting a fucking tree or falling off a cliff or something equally catastrophic because I am a catastrophic person. Except that is an exaggeration. I am an exaggeration.
I like to compare mental illnesses to mundane physical activities. Also you should know that I am sick but trying to get better.
Sometimes I relapse and then write poems about it.
It's not even the kind of sick where people bring you soup in bed and soothe your fevered brow. It's the kind of sick where I'm late to work because
you can't make them love you.He is beautiful, new, unexplored. He has wanted to kiss her ever since they met one week ago and fell prey to helpless chemistry.you can't make them love you. in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Dont, she says, moving her hands in a subconscious yes pattern along his arm as he rubs his cheek against hers. You dont even know my favourite colour. The wind cuts through her thin jacket, and his chest is so warm.
Red, he guesses, improbably correct. His ears are cold.
And how many dogs do I have?
Two, he says, and she laughs wildly at his luck as he nuzzles her neck.
Im trying to save you, she tells him, pushing fruitlessly against his broad shoulders. So you dont wa
Some One Loves YouPainting and singing and loving,Some One Loves You in Free Verse More Like This
Dancing the blue nights away,
Its funny how feelings can change you,
Like rudders steer ships in the bay,
But wonderful musical rhythms!
Change all of the things that we hold,
Flowers and bonnets become precious,
Sunsets and moonlight become gold,
Can you say that you've held lilies?
Gentle and fragile as dew,
Soft-ish and wonderfully refined
Different and foreign in hue,
Refrain then refrain it attacks me,
Overwhelmed I don't know what to do,
Crazy and quirky, sweetish and perky,
It ran... me... through...
Quietly silently stop now,
So nighttime can now claim her own,
Flowing and dripping my blood is,
Falling where lilies have grown.
I think I am getting lightheaded,
delirious, ecstatic, I lay,
starring and gazing at tree tops,
Till as one, we both shall sway.
Increasingly awfully seductive,
Night is creeping along,
I Surrender and give up my thoughts,
And Night, she sings me a song.
"Sleeping and dreaming oh mortal,
Find peace in the picture I drew,
Blue ShadowsGrow old with me my love,Blue Shadows in Free Verse More Like This
Because we are all we have in this life.
And when the rocks on the river bed slide,
Move on, our fears, our friends, our pride.
We have come to the close of the world,
Or maybe the opening,
But if you hold on as my life will drain,
I'll hug you tight, and let you lean on my cane.
When we circle the circle,
And fight our own kids,
And the irony of it all,
When they trip and fall,
And I put the flowers on my friends grave,
Wishing and not believing,
My soul feels ten times older,
And my hands so much colder,
But by God if my white hair flows,
And my actions find a purpose,
I'll happily sit by you the while,
With ancient love and silly smile.
Blue shadows from the stars, undefiled.
Run AwayWhen in the process of flipping through mail,Run Away in Free Verse More Like This
And remembering letters from lovers so pale,
Its not myself who's enchanted with words,
Tis that romantic in me, he feeds the birds.
What birds you ask? Well, Ill tell you without reserve!
Those beautifully dangerous doves, this pain I quite deserve.
I try time again, to resist that ancient pull,
Yet I give in, when that magic blows on me! It attacks my mind in full!
And letters, those letters! They are going to drown me one day.
When my heart stops beating, because of signal delay.
You see, my heart has a mind of its own, through my brain tries to dominate,
Revolution breaks out, and my hearts decides to roller skate.
Then after that escapade, my heart feels wild and free,
It rebels, and guess what? It invites two lovers to tea!
But one flies north, and wouldn't you know it, south the other one flew,
And my foolish heart cries, and tries to split itself in two.
But it can't, and it doesn't, and I'm left with a awful curse,
A mind that is c
One DayOne Day.One Day in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
If I could tell the world,
My words would run out the door,
For I am not yet practiced,
In choosing less over more.
Choosing? Yes choosing,
It is what we do, though our soul we damn,
And we choose what we choose,
While we crawl through the sand.
The earths crust? Yes!
It is cursed, filthy like glass,
A glass that is darkened,
And no longer light will pass.
Glass? We are all bottles,
Bottles adrift in the sea,
And we bounce from high to low,
And wander what it is to be,
Be? Yes we are beings that be,
And proudly we flash our face,
Then sink to the cold bottom,
Devoid of any grace,
So why do we float,
Why do we cling?
It is the rock of solidity,
Of which people sing,
But what is a rock?
And how do we know?
We are bottles in the ocean,
We hope in hope, and believe it to be so.
We hear a whisper,
Over the ocean spray,
It tells us to hold on,
It will be worth it one day.
The Other SideThe Other Side in Concrete Poetry More Like This
The Other Side.
If I could count feelings of greater displeasure,
The sort that never depart,
I would have a chest not lacking treasure,
Full of the nastiest art.
But pick one out of the lot says you?
The worst of my heads little tricks,
Well, there is one I hate, it is true,
Something I cannot fix.
Maybe you guessed in your cleverness so,
Maybe it's always my curse,
Its the feeling of not being able to know,
What you think, so I guess at the worst.
My head is not used to such circular games,
My heart is not either, you know,
If I must beg with a thousand names,
To win your favor, then let it be so.
Whisper to me all the things that you feel,
Tell me my heart's not alone,
I don't know how to think or even to heal,
It shakes me down to my bones.
It's the other side, in your head, in your hair,
I can't hear, but I want to be there.
The Worst ThingThere are hundreds of reasons I feel deep inside,The Worst Thing in Free Verse More Like This
That most everything in the past years gone by,
Has died, has withered, has gone,
But through all this I can still stay strong.
The future is a scary ordeal,
Learning how to trust, learning how to heal,
But those things I can take in stride,
Though it steals my contentment, and reshapes my pride,
The worst thing, the worst thing is this,
Watching the decay of those that you miss,
I cry, I get angry, then I cry again feeling sick,
Childhood feels perverted, my bruised heart is kicked,
I wait for them to grow wise,
Trapped in a tangle of lies.
They seem to be scared all the time,
What have you done, I love you, come back dear... Dear friend of mine.
Lets Die Some TimeHave you ever thought of dying? Why yes of course!Lets Die Some Time in Free Verse More Like This
What could be more lovely than riding the white horse?
Everyone loves dying! We work up to it for years,
Then we hop into the casket with a smile reaching our ears,
And do we fight? Do we resist? No don't be silly!
We go out in style, with something a bit frilly,
We can't wait to get the heck out of here, off and away,
As they slam the lid we think "Who the heck wants to stay?!?"
The dressed up folk now, they think a bit quirky,
Did you hear the story of them crying over dead turkey?
The look on their faces at funeral, like Christmas came late,
I don't understand them, who wants to wait?!?
What part is it? They are so attached to?
Is it their arms or their legs? I ask you!
Is it the mortal flesh, or colorless field,
Or the blackness scarred world, to which we must yield?
What say you? We are hanging off the rails,
The city opens up below us, hear the horns and the wails!
Look at the lights, the millions of people,
Look at the stars, an
GlassI am a prince, I grew up with honor,Glass in Free Verse More Like This
I am a prince, my blood is royal and pure,
Royal as the kings of old, cleverness pumps through my blue blood,
Pure as my father and mother, who love me.
But I grew up too with glass playmates,
Much prettier than I,
I realized I couldn't play ring around the rosie anymore.
I kept breaking their hands.
blue morningsholding outblue mornings in Free Verse More Like This
impossibly bated breath
blue like the morning
as it touches the canvas
of your sheets,
billows of cloud
this is not what
i asked for.
i never said
i needed more
than a hand to hold,
for you to touch my heart;
you lent me your body
and a person
much more than is sure
as the stars.
(as though the certainty
of those celestial jewels
that you were less afraid.
burning like a forest fire,
sinks its teeth
into your copper skin,
reflective and deep;
you touch me too tenderly
for me to believe
that i am just an embellished vessel-
you speak to me too softly
for me to believe
that you don't feel at least
half of what i do.
i need words-
less poetic than a letter,
but more honest than one as well-
written on my wrists
so that when i look at my hands
you can't give yourself
what you want most,
or why i am able,
to wrap you in my arms,
too pale for an
dear alaina.dear alaina,dear alaina. in Letters More Like This
i am not being passive-aggressive. i am not avoiding confrontation or arguments or sensitive subjects so that i won't get upset: i'm writing a letter that i can't imagine you'll see, explaining to you everything that i need you to know.
i'm sorry i'm not better. i'm sorry that i'm not trying. i'm sorry, but i can't, not now. i wish you could understand, without any fear or worry, that i need to destroy myself before i can get better. it's like i'm a phoenix, needing to catch fire and turn to ash before i can be reborn. i need to be the biggest source of pain and misery in my life; i can't let anyone else have the power to hurt me more than i have hurt myself already.
it's not enough to tear myself apart, in every sense that i can. it's not enough to pull strings of skin from the teeth of my razor and clutch toilet paper from the public bathroom to my arm like if i don't, i might die - in all hones
waterbirds in your lungs .collabsometimes the skinwaterbirds in your lungs .collab in Free Verse More Like This
between my breasts
smells of you-
the sweet, ocean waves
of bodies and release
like ebb and flow
i play the skeleton keys
in the hollows of my nest
recite incantations like bluebirds
threaded through cords. the
shine of my eyes has been replaced
with a metronome
measuring the beat of your
i still have you
and motions like sex
etched into my body
even though you are so far
i spend my time
feeding myself to the sea
in hopes that the salt
will carry me east,
in hopes that my presence
will be enough
for so many weeks
i felt your body fold into mine
like the waves reclaiming
where men are hung and
pupils dotted with lava stones.
there is iodine in the nooks
of my jaw and it filters between
outcroppings of rock
white as pearls.
i breathe inand out
creaking in the
10 ways depression can say i don't love you1. "i'm sorry10 ways depression can say i don't love you in Free Verse More Like This
i don't want to
come over today."
the clock reads 4pm
and i roll over in my bed
2. "i forgot it was your
i'd forgotten my own
3. "i promise i won't
the ER doesn't believe
it's an accident
4. you asked if i loved you.
i had to sneeze and it
i think you took that
as a no.
5. we haven't had sex in a month.
6. we don't see
we don't see
i even have any.
7. i never answered your text.
it asked if i was okay.
8. "i need you to open yourself
up for me," you said.
i stopped talking.
9. "what do you want from me,
apparently you didn't.
10. tonight i will sleep alone
but not really.
depression will hold me
and stroke my hair,
telling me everything
will never be
the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders in Free Verse More Like This
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.
i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;
i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)
and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leaves the space next to me
much emptier than i'd like.
my only company is
the sadness that comes from
being alone, and having no strong arms
to reassure me that i am beautiful
and no dream can hurt me-
i can only hope that
you are not the exception.
this is the pen finally knowing
this is how we hold onto the bones
we support in our bodies.
SteadfastSteadfast in Free Verse More Like This
He stands straight and tall
Shoulders at right angles
Cast from strongest,
in his hand-painted face
His acrylic uniform
is crisp, clean
fresh from the box
He's ready to serve
protect and defend
who thinks the soldier's just one
(which he is)
and not only that,
that the courageous toy
is damaged goods
(which he is)
Where there's supposed to be two
there is only one
his missing leg
fuels him to try harder
to prove he's not so damaged
as everyone thinks,
to prove he's better than
all of those millions
of whole soldiers.
But to the pretty girl
in the paper dress
and point shoes
he already is.
I loveI love in Emotional More Like This
I love the fact that this is never going to reach the front page
I love not being on the front page
I love pages, actual pages
I love turning pages
I love reading what's on those pages
I LOVE reading
I love good books
I love books that stir me
I love good bookmarks
I love reading in the sun
I love reading in the sun by the pool
I love the pool
I love private pools
I love water
I love cold water
I love drinking cold water
I love swimming in cold water
I love rain
I love how rain feels on your skin
I love dancing around in the rain
I love the smell of pavement in the rain
I love puddles
I love jumping in puddles
I love galoshes
I love my galoshes
I love polka dots
I love colorful polka dots
I love COLOR
I love the color green
I love greenery
I love trees
I love BIG trees
I love climbing trees
I love forests
I love adventuring in forests
I love pretending to be mythical in forests
I love my friends, who pretend with me
I love friends with imagination
I love exercising the imaginatio
Marco...LoveMarco... in Free Verse More Like This
seems less like
a many splendid thing
that lifts us up
on gilded wings
and more like
an all out search
of hide and seek
in which both
a game of Marco Polo
in a vastly
where the first person
you touch could
and, if you're lucky enough
to locate the hider
to grasp the perfect arm...
you have waited well
you have won the game
But to those who are
do not begin
--- finish ---
because, in your frantic
you could make
Odyssey Chapter II: Survive or Win Her eyes were closed but her brain was whirling, snatching at shreds of memories, watching them rocket across the screen of her eyelids.Odyssey Chapter II: Survive or Win in Sketches More Like This
These aren't going to be easy, says his self-assured smile, but I'm sure you'll survive. That's why I picked you. You're a survivor, tough to track down and even tougher to kill. Kill? The word re-echoed in the hollows of her ears, chilling her blood. Kill, kill, kill, the memory whispered as it shot away. A new one now, a meeting in mahoganycharcoal suits, blood-red ties, but faded faces.
He's crazy sir! Sending her into this alone. She'll never survive! Twice had she heard the word, it flashed in her mind like scintillating crystal. You forget her skill, Mr. Byron, we all remember how well she performe
ME3: How It Should Have Been She's standing on a cedar porch, leaning on the railing and watching the stars. A small sigh escapes her lips as her gaze sweeps the night sky. The stars looked so tightly packed hereseemingly limited by earth's horizon. It wasn't like in open space, where the cosmos seemed to stretch on for eternity. This sense of limitations brings her a strange comfort, because it allows her to temporarily disconnect from her responsibilities. Here on earth these stars were merely pinpoints of light, instead of faraway planets in need of her help. A gentle breeze sighs past, and she inhales deeply, relishing the salty air. Her eyelids flutter shut and her heartbeat slows, a small smile lifting her lips.ME3: How It Should Have Been in Sketches More Like This
"Hey," his voice, coupled with the musical collisions of two beer bottles, widens her smile.
"Hey yourself Major," she turns just in time to re
To Dream IS To EscapeDreamscape:To Dream IS To Escape in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Press StartPress StartPress Start in Articles & Interviews More Like This
You had one as a kid. You have it inside your TV cabinet or hunched underneath your bed. You may even do it religiously two to three hours a day. Video games have been staple in the lives of recent generations and more so the generations to come. They are culprits of time, catalysts of camaraderie and agents of entertainment.
As the Seniors depart for adulthood, as they take the challenge that is college, and as they make their way into the world's threshold for them to conquer, we contemplate on the journey that life takes us. We are left to ponder: "Do we need to leave the high school?" "Do we have to grow up?" That, is just part of the journey. Life is like a video game.
You start off as a n00b (Internet language leet speak for "newbie"). You began as a child, randomly pressing the buttons of the console and eventually dying on the first level. Things start to surface: the haunting first try, the humiliation, and the loss of street credentials with peers. It blows. But t
The Wedding SpeechYou should know, I had a dream of giving you a speech on your wedding.The Wedding Speech in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
It was white and glittery. A little like a white Christmas but without the noise. It was diamonds and satin and white flowers. A June wedding.
Your man was dashing. He was in a white suit, if I can remember.
You were stunning, as you always have. You make your sweatshirts seem like wedding gowns, so surprise me if I found you absolutely beautiful in the real thing.
A microphone was handed to me and I had a card up. I was never good with speeches.
I've always wondered why we were friends. As if fire and water were to meet long enough to make something of themselves before they douse or evaporate, but they never seem to create something; only a sight to reckon with. You were brash and outgoing and adventurous; I was selective and cautious and unnerving.
We've never had time together. We were always on the other side of campus, like the weights of a turntable that never seem to meet, just to keep the balance
Writer's BlockI am a personWriter's Block in Free Verse More Like This
In the midst of an empty space
The notebook page;
Flipping against the continuous blow
Of the eager electric fan
I enter it as a wholesome word
Positive in meaning
Full on letters
Ample on syllables
The word is
I grab a pen
Mighty fine in its 0.5 tip
And sable in its blood
My pen is a warrior
Trudging through the hopeless blizzard
Blank and despondent
Bleeding in his paces
I carry him to write a story.
Along the vast hollowness
The page taunts me
The warrior slowly gets heavier
His veins keep flowing
But his story is halting
My letters sluggishly
Crawl between my arms
Like jigsaw pieces
To an unclear photograph
As the fighter gradually ceases
So does his story
So do I
My head feels numb
My mind gets lost
This wilderness is harsh
Throwing nothing but nuggets of white
Across faded lines and dying ideas
Nature delights itself
As it feeds on the word and his warrior
The young man clots
And falls from the leaves
Of the discordant book
King of Unrequited LoveHe sat there by the bed on my apartment window, intently typing out the little thoughts his scatter-brain could not catch by the flitting minute. He was wrapped with the coats and scarves of a million scavengers by the cold window frost. He tapped out his keyboard with the gentle sound like rain that spread throughout my room as I lounged staring at the ceiling. The night was just about to begin with dusk plastered behind the city silhouette outside. He left to buy some coffee, since the last batch brewed had emptied from my pot, and he left with one last warning, pointing at his laptop:King of Unrequited Love in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
"Do not read it."
As the curious little caterpillar that I am, as soon as the latches of the downstairs door and the stone steps of my building sloshed with his iron-toed boots, I shed my blue blanket into the broken oak floor and trudged towards the screen. It reflected the crystal lights the frost on my window had gathered, and the white starked throughout that little corner of my room. I sat up, str