Teaching Summer to BreatheSummer will always remind me of hot, sweltering nights spent drinking sangria, through the dripping fairy lights of your bedroom window. A sticky, starry sky looked back at us, the glow of the moon almost golden in the heat. Fourteen meant we weren't growing up fast enough and a liquor cabinet key seemed to hold the answer to that problem.Teaching Summer to Breathe in Emotional More Like This
You taught me how to drink that night.
(You also showed me how beautiful it was to just hold your breath till your head spins and reality seems like it is going to fade further and further away.)
Six summers ago I met a boy who liked to tell me how much like summer I was. He was big boned and thin skinned and the first time I told him he wasn't mine to keep, he left handprints on my skin that reminded you of a canvas covered in autumn leaves that you saw in New York. Then you proceeded to break every single window in his house (Yes, even the one in the attic he loved so much.)
You taught me how to smile through heartbreak that night.
Astrologically Challenged“We need to ta- what are you looking at?”Astrologically Challenged in Free Verse More Like This
"Oh...but I thought you didn't like them."
“Actually, I hate horoscopes. They lie every single damned time.”
“Not to me they don’t.”
“Sure. You were saying something.”
“We need to break up.”
“I fell in love with you before you were the boy who sang about my problems in your songs, and before you tried to evolve me into your version of a better me and before I saw how you treated your neighbour’s dog and before I knew how much you believed in horoscopes.”
“What’s wrong with horoscopes?”
“Nothing, except for the fact that you never really thought of it as a novel idea that you share the same day as one twelfth of the world.”
“Well you aren’t-”
“I’m not so perfect myself, I know. You loved me better before you read my poetry and understood how damage
Another Language called EnglishI took your adjectives for granted. There was something about the way you skipped over your 's'es and gleaned over your 'i's and 'e's, that never really made me want to kiss you. You'd sit there with your languid fingers clutching a book that was half finished, and read me words that were completely mispronounced. It would prickle me under my skin and I would grit my teeth, wondering when you would stop. I would never understand the english language you thought you spoke, and your confidence in your own words annoyed me.Another Language called English in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It was comical when you spoke in front of our friends. Your mistaken pronunciation of the word 'pronunciation' in particular made them giggle. I would stand in a corner, clutching a glass of rum and coke and cringe, flushing in second hand embarrassment. You would smile at me from across the room, and continue with your tangled tongue as though nothing was wrong.
I felt sorry for you. But not sorry enough when you took your favourite writing pen from my d
ApplesSweet and sensual,Apples in Free Verse More Like This
The feel of your fingers on my skin.
Slow and longing,
The trail of your hands on my curves.
Languid and helpless,
The pulsing of my veins under your masterful strokes.
My love for you is like my love for apples.
Juicy, crunchy, delicious...
And as dark as a sinner's heart.
Skinny Wordslook:Skinny Words in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
he was winterish blue eyes and an autumn scarf dressed in an stupid pink summer sweater that made no sense on a spring day. His shoes were converse, the kind of the skinny intellectual who had just enough money to buy one pair of decent shoes. she never really liked skinny intellectuals, yet did find herself considering them sometimes, in the way she considered coffee that was tongue scalding (horribly and without excuse).
it is odd then, that she still doesn't regret his monsoon flavoured kiss, the kind that made your tongue bleed with its passion, its heat.
he drew in uneasy catches of breath as he snored in the heat of the summer night, nights when she would stay up and listen to cars that passed by, pretending they were a waterfall instead of the cold harsh truth of metal against concrete, just so she could sleep as soundly as him.
she took his breathing for granted.
he spent hours lost in the dry unending silence of his typewriter, of h
City of LightYou are my city.City of Light in Free Verse More Like This
Your eyes are the gates,
Your soul is my transport
Your veins the roads I must travel.
You should never ever be afraid
of my knowing you too well.
Or of my being too close to you.
Can you ever,
Even after living your whole life in it,
Know a city too well?
Sea of Liesi.Sea of Lies in Free Verse More Like This
My father never read me the story of Icarus. I found it for myself. I suppose he did not want me to know what it was like to almost touch the stars. But it was only after I had read the story did I even try to reach so far. It is a little like falling in love...and then drowning in the sea.
(I would be lying if I said the fall didn't break everything I had once believed was solid.)
My science teacher knew well that I was a dreamer. When I told her I believed fairytales were as real as love is, I could see the disapproval and disappointment in her eyes. I suppose thats why in her classroom, when I was asked what the greatest force in the universe was, I answered love. I suppose thats why she laughed and reminded me that love was as much a fairytale as the fairytales I believed in.
(She was wrong. Love exists...its just been broken into a million little pieces, set afloat in a sea of heartbreak.)
My mother didn't want to speak about t
Love as an AsthmaticI snatch my breath after we kissLove as an Asthmatic in Free Verse More Like This
because I want to feel you
in my wheezing, useless lungs
not just a craving
a desperate need
in the physical urge
to breathe you in,
make your mystical secrets
a part of my body.
Lost NovemberI am lost November,Lost November in Free Verse More Like This
with the breath of winter
at the hairline of its neck.
I am the blood orange that
sours a little too soon.
A thirty day intuition
to a season of good will.
A blip on the side of
the road that melts easily
out of sight, out of mind.
An unremembered instance
on a torn index page
of a forgotten, spineless book.
I am lost November.
Remember me the instance
when you feel unremembered too.
Nothing Lives Foreveri.Nothing Lives Forever in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
When you were a child, we would sit on the porch to talk about your day. And sometimes, we would find a dead bird, or a frog on there. And you would ask me about death and why it happens, looking at the poor creature in my hands, its life cut short and touch it tenderly. I would always say the same thing.
Nothing is meant to live forever, my dear.
The school called me in on your twelfth birthday and asked if I had known how clever you were, that your test scores were the best in the state. They asked me if I knew I had a genius child on my hands who grew bored easily in class and tended to distract others in his classroom, sometimes causing arguments, fistfights and could manipulate his classmates into doing anything.
We don't think this is the school for him. He needs to be challenged appropriately.
You fell in love at seventeen and she was lovely. Kind, caring and beautiful, I couldn't ask for a better girl for you. She was our neighbour
Je t'aime when you're quietHe'd found her in a sleazy Parisian bordello, sitting at the bar, the fingers of her left hand curled round a cigarette, the other rubbing the rim of a wine glass, softly. She was conversing with a group of men, her French tinted with a soft English accent. They all laughed, hers the most noticeable.Je t'aime when you're quiet in Short Stories More Like This
He motioned for her to go over to him, and he half-expected her to ignore. But, she didn't. Not before taking a drag of her cigarette, she waltzed over, swaying her hips in a way that could be called a mix of ladylike... and stripper-like.
"What are you doing here?" The question came with a tone of agitation, making the lady pout theatrically.
"I've no idea what you mean." She said, feigning innocence.
When she noticed it left him unimpressed, she continued.
"I'm on vacation, what are you doing here?" She pointed a finger, challenging.
She laughed in response.
"Oh, please. The only business you have is paperwork."
"Which you are supposed to do." He reminded. Truth be
It'll wash offShe kenlt next to his cold, lifeless body, shivering.It'll wash off in Short Stories More Like This
"Wait for me." She whispered
"Wait for me!"
No one could hear her screams, the rest of the house empty.
She turned her head, her tears falling onto the cold tiles of the floor.
She reached out towards his hand, grabbing a bloodied knife.
"You couldn't wait, could you?" She laughed, still crying.
She stuck the blade into her gut, gasping.
With her final, weak breath, she spoke:
"Sorry," she breathed "For bleeding on your shirt."
Upon our wishes...Our world is breaking,Upon our wishes... in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The sky is shaking,
Thunder rolls, a stormy night,
A glorious victory, a precious fight.
Long shall she reign, Cathrine the Great,
Or Cathrine the Damned, for those who hate.
Heels clack against glass, she walks to us,
Drowning in her own ego. She smiles, thus,
She turns around, walks away,
And with the flick of a switch, twas our final day.
Long shall she reign, Cathrine the Great,
Strong was her mind, but stronger - her hate
InterceptorFeed me, my servants,Interceptor in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Undress me, prepare me
For the war we have started
With the world, beware me.
Take me into the clouds,
Arm me, I'm the Terminator
I rule this world. In my mind,
The power of a gladiator.
Let them cower with fear,
Let them learn my name.
Even I don't know it,
But, fuck, I'm game.
They deserve to die,
They're not on my side.
But they've got nowhere to run,
Nowhere to hide.
The tainted ones, the damned,
Be proud of the name,
Who cares what they think,
They're all one and the same.
The Machine, it rules,
Let us destroy it,
And then reign powerful,
Our rocket, deploy it.
As they succumb
To our power, the human race,
They don't know it,
But they'll remember my face.
PerfectPerfect.Perfect in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Call me perfect.
I'm blonde, sweet and beautiful.
Say I'm pretty.
Call me tomorrow.
I say I'm fat to get people to call me thin.
Call me nice.
Call me cute.
The only thing I've ever read is my diary.
Look at me.
I'm so special.
Call me gorgeous.
I puke every night.
I get A's on blowjobs.
My breasts change size every year.
Call me perfect.
Though I'm fake.
Here we go again"Are you still there?" I could hear my grandmother's voice from the speaker installed into my car. I snapped out of my thoughts, and turned my head towards it.Here we go again in Short Stories More Like This
"Yes, Oll, I'm here." I let a faint smile onto my face, turning back to the window.
"As I was saying..." She continued, heard by only my parents in the front seat, me blocking her voice out and focusing on the rain outside.
Soon enough, we pulled up to Anna's house. It was pretty big. Since her parents died, she inherited a fortune. Thus she took it upon herself to redecorate the whole house. Still, she couldn't dare touch her parents' old bedroom.
Even though it was finished, one room was kept for storage, most of the furniture covered by white sheets.
Walking in, I felt it to be a completely new house. I slowly walked to what I hoped was still her room. However, one of her maids cut in front of me, carrying a basket of clean laundry.
"Excuse me?" I asked, getting her attention. "Is Anna around?" I asked, hoping she
Ace is angered by your...Shut up about it.Ace is angered by your... in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
You dumb fangirls, it doesn't work that way. Do you think actual homosexual men in the real world would walk around in their flamboyant clothes and newly dyed hair? No. It'll get them raped or beat up.
Not every man without a girlfriend or wife is gay. Not every short man is on the bottom.
Not even in straight relationships are the roles ultimately decided. Y'know why? Because it's fucking stupid. For instance, I'm a girl, but I wouldn't blush at the sight of a guy or girl that I like. Because it's stupid. Because everyone has this new thing, it's called self respect.
Which brings me to my next point
Used so many times as fanservice, it's so degrading. Not girl's love, but the whole "we're straight, but we'll make out so the guys like us" thing. It's ridiculous. And the worst part, I know actual girls who do this. That aside, it's pretty damn stupid. And don't pull your "if girls like two guys, guys can like two girls" crap, because
1. A girl can like two
Smokey Cities oneshot 4Cara groaned and looked at her wrist watch.Smokey Cities oneshot 4 in Short Stories More Like This
'4.15, what's taking him so long?!' she thought, 'He was supposed to get it over with by 4.'
The girl paced back and forth in an alleyway, passing by a door with every turn. Behind the door, however, was a certain dark haired boy who was supposed to take care of a problem, but he showed no signs of coming out any time soon.
Growing impatient, the girl opened the door and peered inside. Behind it was a flight of stairs leading to a basement-like structure. Down the stairs, a light bulb barely illuminated part of it, occasionally flickering. In the shadow, a silhouette could be seen, but only one, Cara assuming her friend got the job done. She carefully walked down the stairs, unnoticed by the other, and, upon reaching the bottom, peeked her head into the shadowy part of the room. She mumbled an 'ew' at the sight, as her roommate knelt down and carefully made an autopsy-styled y incision and spread the flesh apart at the ch
Tornbrooke -Act2,Stage2-Act 2;Stage 2:Tornbrooke -Act2,Stage2- in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Your name is Cassandra Orean. You are currently dead. Oddly enough, you're in college, studying god knows what.
You speak French and Greek fluently, and are a singer, usually working at sleazy bars.
You tie your red hair and examine your teeth, hoping there's nothing stuck in them.
Your breath smells of wine and you exit your chambers and slowly slide down the stairs, into the bar bellow.
You have the night off, so you take a seat, not ordering anything, as you feel you've already had too much.
The slow paced music plays in the background, as you pull out a cigarette and insert it into your holder. You can't seem to find a lighter, but smile as a man turns towards you and offers his. You gladly accept and turn to look at the staircase.
You hear a loud noise, sounds like glass breaking, and watch as
You yell at your idiotic friends to hurry up and follow the path given by the loud woman kind enough to give them their second points.
PurgingI've been here for yearsPurging in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I still don't understand
Why the fuck must we bow down
To the one in command
We talk about liberalism,
Free will, free speech,
But in the end they all try
To wipe our damn mind with bleach.
And we can't say anything,
Oh, no, they'll hate us,
So fucking what,
If it changes, fuck your status
What is it with everyone
Throwing such a fit
Over the stupidest of things,
You're missing the point, you dit
Don't deny the damn facts,
They were all smart,
So what if they were crazy
Insanity's a work of art
And the whole body's a fucking puzzle,
And the pieces are broken,
Dammit, let me solve it,
I wanna see them fucking choking.
In end, we're all alike,
Animals, freaks, the same,
But you don't get it, do you,
It's like a bullet through the brain.
And the sparks that fly,
All over, around us,
They represent the damn truth,
If we don't run, they'll find us.
ShadowI hoped that once apon a star, that a passer by would climb my balcony of vines.Shadow in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
To hear my voice, to help the one that needed help; in my time of need, where were you?
But now you just hang as a shadow on my wall, waiting until I fall asleep to stir.
I will take it as an acomplishment I hope you know, that I got you to travel here...
to stay in the mist of my room, even if you do tangle my hair and mess up my place.
Is it is rather troublesome forcing you too pass through my wall, to the next room,
when I decided that to change is what I need too do. Even so, do you listen?
where were you when I needed company over, someone to talk to?
How far did you travel to find my tower, glooming over the hills?
I hope you realise how much trouble you caused me, getting into my head. My thought's were all sped.
Do you feel as if a simple kiss to the cheek goodnight would satisfie me? I guarante,
sadly it comes out as nothing but a shallow whisp of wind, colding and breaking my skin.
Have you ever
What ifWhat if one day, I fall asleep...to never wake...to never breathe,What if in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
what if one day, I fall asleep...to never wake...for my story to end.
Would you be sad? mad? or maybe distrought?
would you be happy? bubbly? or in self thought?
How would I know, if i'm down belown. In the pits of my mind.
Shadows embracing me, inside my weak mind,
what if my story ended, on that faithful rainy night;
when the lights each went out one by one...causing my to be blind.
Its possibly you know how one day we're fine...then another bam,
we can dissapear into the night. Not leaving a single trance but our note.
I see how its impossible, to forget one you love, oh so much,
but if one day, when I set up our midnight tea party, will you leave forever?
and by leaving will you forget me? I do pray not. For I would be so oh distrought.
Maybe you put toxins in my tea, maybe you decided after to flee...
with a silky voice I say my goodnight's, oh dear such a hazard...such a fright.
I never enjoyed the word 'goodbye.'
My doctors wordOh what's your diag-nonsence doctor, the pills you give to me,My doctors word in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
am I to be locked in this room, un-able to breath;
from the fact its small or a stranger in-habbits it, but its fine right?
As long as you can tell me how fucked, how messed up I am,
then you're doing your job, never the less of my feelings in hand.
Tell me doctor, why my mind's a-blaze, these thoughts running so recklessly,
through my cranium and why my eyes oh so dull are glazed?
You give me a pill to stop my emotions running willd,
what if it doesn't work? will you still be ablinged;
too medicate me more, to 'help' me with your vice?
Am I but a self-indulgent girl? or am I mad? either way,
I think that i'm actually really glad, to have this perspective;
on life, to have this messed up mind, memories i've had.
It seems i've seen the world, for what it really is, but please...
doctor tell me how I can't because i'm just a silly little kid.
I know i've been arrested, I know my choices are bad..
but doctor how can you be so
SmileWhat's with the hate that gleams in your eyes,Smile in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
as you stare down at me, a low enitiy in your life.
Have you ever smiled before, feeling the skin stretch;
increasing a happy aura around yourself...
even a fake smile, to fool the normals.
You sit so high and mighty, by yourself.
Have you ever fought your demons, you self indulgent mess;
leaking your happiness wherever you go, you won't infect me.
How many lives have you took, as you sat on your throne,
your head held high, you rule with a golden throw.
I suspect your 'follows' love you so?
well you're wrong, they just want your power,
eventually you will be over-thrown.
I see that smile painted on your lips, that tainted smile,
the one you show when people realise what the reality is.
But I guess i'm lowly, as you call it yourself,
have you ever battled with such stelth? of course not,
you impetuous person, telling all to smile even though thou are dead inside?
I know how the game goes, count to ten and hope for the best,
even though you
RainRain, rain please don't go away, visit me every night to calm me,Rain in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
forget the sun, forget the day...just give me a night full of rain.
Rain that patters against my window, rain that calms me so,
for tommorow I might not be around, she rain sing me to sleep;
so I can rest throughout the night.
As I lay upon my floor, staring at the ceiling tall,
I look to the window and see the rain, standing and walking...
my heart feels pain.
The rain which is hated, oh so much...the rain that's cold on the outside,
the rain which people block out, the rain that's noticed in the worst way.
Rain that dampans my hand when I feel the sting of bullet-like droplets,
my open window will swing in movement to the wind and the sky's;
are oh so dark, darkness will calm me, darkness will embrace me.
When morning arrives I know the rain will fade...and the sun...
will come out to play.
RapunzelDear little lady, there you sit...upon your window ledge,Rapunzel in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
your face coated in doubt. Tell me princess are you ok?
Woud you want to ever break free? to feel the grass under you feet.
Little princess in her teenage years, your golden hair and blue eyes,
are you made of star dust too? any special powers in you?
I know how one day a lady you feared came, she took your voice;
she took your reason. She inprisoned you in a tower of sin, so tell me...
did she win?
Dear little rapunzel fight the power, let your hair down for the wind to shower,
for dear little rapunzel don't you know? if you sing louder someone will come.
Sing your heart, sing away your doubt. Sing so loud it comes out as a shout,
fight the spell, hear your voice...when you're free you can rejoice.
Rapunzel, Rapunzel let down you hair. Escape your prison,
young lady fair.
Rapunzel, Rapunzel I know you can hear, let your voice out loud and clear.
After your escape you will find a castle near, Rapunzel run, run far from here!
HopeWhat is hope?Hope in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Hope is when you get up in the morning and have a positive attitude, thinking about all the good things which will happen even though you know your day will be bad. Hope is what gets you out of bed in the mornings and pushes you that extra mile. Hope is the smile, real or fake, that makes it's way onto your face even though you feel like frowing and giving up. You may not be as skinny or as shapy as most people, you may not be perfect or be as beautiful as others but hope keeps you going; it keeps you smiling and moving foward in life. Hope is remembering that inperfection is perfection and no one is perfect. That is what hope is.
The ballad of a sleepless dameAs I lay here in my mixture of hair and sheets, my eyes cast to my ceiling,The ballad of a sleepless dame in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
stealing glances at the windows, doors and blinking rapidly;
I can't help but feel i'm being watched by a demon of the night.
A monster that creeps in the alleys at night, takes young girls with a fright,
a hunter, a preditor, a murderer of dames minds, a sore sight.
Trying to catch my sanity, a tear escapes my eyes,
those eyes that once where oh so bright, are now as dull as this darkened night.
That monster that chased me in the woods that cold night, the monster;
that forced me to interact with violence and smite.
Oh how troublsome it can be, when someone is watching me.
I'm not entirly sure as of tonight, I feel like soon I might die,
I mean I've drifted off almost into slumber, what if I should never awake?
What if my parents find me tooken away into the night,
never to return, never to say goodbye;
these dreams keep continuing, what a fright.
The same woods, the same blood, the same flinching under your t
One word ends it allYou say we're together, you say we're family and in all our glory,One word ends it all in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
you say we stick together, you say we're all one.
How can you keep up a lie so perfect? how can you start a war,
out of cold blood and anger, that splits us all up together;
we're not one, nor will we ever be. That perfect lie, I see.
I doubt any hope that we will be fixed tomorrow,
I doubt any hope that we will confront us about our problem.
I know that by the next night we would have forgiven,
hope and love and all them lies;
everytime you hurt me and apologize, I see through your lies.
I want to leave at midnight, I want to forget all about you,
it would hurt too much to die on cue, but when I think...
it hurts to breath, it hurts to love.
How come I am not the perfect child? my priorties are fucked,
and my mind is bust.
However its always my fault, I see how you make that so,
can't be, just forgive and forget? well sorry, i'm not that shallow.
I may be stupid, I may be dumb but I can tell when things are blown,
BurnI could apease your secret fears, I could aplaud you and cheer,Burn in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
but all you do is set fire to my soul, burning me in the wake.
My eyes once so bright are now dull...my heart is oh so small.
I'm in a constant battle with myself, the hits I take I take in strife.
Just remember that one day when i'm gone, my soul will linger on.
There are normally two sides to every story, fairytale or not,
but with my story just a reminder, there is not.
I could lie and tell you i'm fine, I could smile and disagree that i'm not;
for I am but a invisible girl that was interuppted too many times.
Does it please you to see me burn? to linger in the depts of hell?
I will allow you, to take my sanity with concious clear,
but if I sink, I will take you with me, my friend dear.
I'll allow your words to pierce my skin...your memories will seep in,
but only if you awnser my question, am I alive or dead?
I know they try and bring me back with med.
I could tell you i'm not suffering, act as sweet as sugar,
Scarificationblood oranges areScarification in Free Verse More Like This
slice them open
without a moment’s
their crimson juices
licked from our lips
& that is what
i want to be. -
i sucked from
your mouth -
along my spine.
- i was cut open
binge eatingi have a buildupbinge eating in Free Verse More Like This
of black holes
suffocating my arteries,
having swallowed down
the bitter taste of too many
girls with galaxies traveling
the length of their spines.
i ate them in mouthfuls,
gaping & sad like a binge
reaching for the skies-
unable to hold them all in.
i don’t think the universe
is as vast
as it used to be,
of my ribs;
i am hungry.
& with a collection
of moon sighs
as a reminder
in my pockets,
i will just have to learn
how to calm this swollen
It is 9 in the afternoon& I have forgottenIt is 9 in the afternoon in Free Verse More Like This
how to write in poetics-
tongue kissed & gaping like
a siren missing from her sea.
I have been coughing up black
for days. Unable to clean the taste
from my mouth, these broken
typewriter keys sewn into my
fingertips scream something fierce.
They ache with longing
to tell of a story
that left them
for a better high
a story that never deserved
to make a home under the skin,
to crawl breech through an
-& out through the wrists
of young girls much too ripe
to fall from their beds.
I am so damn tired
of looking over railings
& wondering what
it would feel like
Dear Poetry,You will find out that I am not a strong person. Dragons do not make a home beneath my skin to hoard their treasured princesses. I am not that lucky. For I have misplaced collarbones just as quickly as I’ve misplaced hearts, a pulse still rhythmic against my fingertips. I am a monster of words, devouring Cummings and Plath with no ounce of self control left in my body. I promised myself this weight would not fall for the sharp edges of stars ground into your knuckles. But, write air into my lungs, poetry. Give this wild thing a reason to learn the definition of tamed.Dear Poetry, in Letters More Like This
Write me a poem, and I will promise to fall in love with you, slowly and then…all at once.
whiskeyShewhiskey in Free Verse More Like This
in one slow,
I heard it plunge
into the gaping
emptiness of her.
drank the sun
from my fingertips,
licked me from her lips,
look better dead, plucked
from your November pores."
"They go down smoothest
with Writers Tears."
I am girl.Other boys tell meI am girl. in Free Verse More Like This
I’d look best
& they know
I am girl-
from the curve of my hips,
to this jutting collarbone,
lonely of love bites
But, your hands shape
falsities out of my limbs
with a tongue speaking of me
Why do I allow your body
to find rest against these bones
when you don’t even recognize
the taste of my moon skin
between your teeth?
Bones mend, but tell no lies.You have cataloged your scarsBones mend, but tell no lies. in Free Verse More Like This
like your body is a library-
to be read through &
You think of
all the little boys
whose greedy fingers
You are angry-
cared for you
They left you
on a shelf
to gather dust.
should you ever
Scorpiussometimes,Scorpius in Free Verse More Like This
i wake up with bits of Orion
still stuck between my teeth.
& i grin, remembering
the face of every lover
i’ve managed unscathed,
to crawl out from underneath.
‘ad astra’ inked into ankle bones
like little wings, Pluto’s underworld
ripe, coursing through my veins:
i stake claim to clavicles.
between the constellations
of tongues & weak limbs,
i get off
on all the ways mere mortals
beg me to sacrifice them
to the heavens.
For I'm a graveyard lurker.my veins are blueFor I'm a graveyard lurker. in Free Verse More Like This
with restless wanting;
your ghost fingers
at this untamed
stop loving me
like that, darling,
kissing the stars
from my throat.
if i can’t have the sky,
i will howl my laughter
to the earth,
planting a home
in the dirt
beneath my claws.
You should never attack a poet,we are the best at exploiting weakness.You should never attack a poet, in Free Verse More Like This
the night you took a scalpel to my chest
& fed my heart to the stars,
you told me i could hate you
if i needed to.
with an exorcism
i tried to cast you out
of my body.
i was contorted limbs:
the language of tongues
trying to find myself
in the cosmos
of lit kerosene fingertips,
& the kinds of habits
that only choke me at 3am -
when my eyes aren’t yet heavy
enough for sleep;
my mind tells me to do awful things.
between fucking &
you are the calories
in the mathematical equation
i think of shy moons
and i don’t eat for three days.
you only liked me
when this poetic tongue
space shrapnel aside-
you’re too far down now
for even the stars
to graph you into their maps.
a meaningful poem about nothing.this is a poem about how fixing peoplea meaningful poem about nothing. in Free Verse More Like This
is not romantic.
we’re not meant to be somebody’s answer,
we’re not meant to make someone feel alive again.
this is a poem about why you shouldn’t kiss him
because he’s broken
because you want to save him.
save yourself first.
kiss him because he holds a place in your heart, not
because he's the only thing making it pump.
kiss him because he’s in your life, not because
he is your life.
hold him, but don’t hold onto him because you believe
(get to dry land first.)
this is a poem about how i find poetry in everything.
breakups. my dad telling me i mattered.
nightmares. my neighbor’s insomnia.
how it drove him crazy.
how he swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills to fix it.
my neighbor’s funeral.
this is a poem about the split-apart theory.
the idea was that when humanity became arrogant
toward the gods, we were split in two
and were doomed to spend our live
infinite/opposite.being an adult means knowinginfinite/opposite. in Free Verse More Like This
that there are things much scarier
than spiders, or snakes, or clowns.
the ocean, for one.
losing your parents.
empty tequila bottles.
waking up, still reaching
for someone who left you
a long time ago.
i live like there’s an end for me
because there is.
plants will wilt.
forests will burn down.
eventually, even the stars will burn out.
people will come to us.
they will touch us. they will hurt us.
they may keep us. they may not.
but i never hold on too tight
because when it’s time, my time,
i’ll only be letting go.
the heart has valves
that constantly open and close
giving love, taking love.
and my best advice
is to be selfish.
know when you’ve had enough.
know when you deserve better.
close the valves and
keep some love for yourself.
know that you are perfect
even if you eat that second cheeseburger
because there’s magic in this world.
we’re proof of it.
is fear o
bodies like star systems.“the neighbor’s house smelledbodies like star systems. in Free Verse More Like This
like the ocean when i walked past,” you say.
“it’s a sign that i’m drowning.”
“i stepped in two patches of fresh dirt.
it’s a sign that they’ll be digging my grave.”
“i saw the boy i’d lost my virginity to today.
it’s a sign that i’m going to cheat on you.”
“you wake me up with this shit,” he says in annoyance.
“is that a sign i should break up with you?”
“no,” you say, not looking at him, fighting
to keep smiling. “it means -”
he goes back to bed.
he thinks you don’t get it,
but you do.
he teaches you about chemistry,
about physics and the stars.
he teaches you that the universe is finite,
but constantly expanding;
he takes you hand to his chest, and says
“like my feelings for you.”
used to be, you thought he was your gravity
because you were so drawn to him
you loved someone.i.you loved someone. in Free Verse More Like This
Chloe is nineteen when she dies.
She ends it with a shotgun
the night her brother gets out
They say he molested her
he raped nine women
ten eleven twelve women
they say no
it was nine little girls
ten eleven twelve
little girls, kids, the bastard.
he was a bad man
“No wonder she did it.
If he was my blood
I’d’ve done it, too.”
You go to the funeral
because that’s what good people
because your mother asks you
“You want to go to Heaven,
without looking up from her knitting
and you would laugh in her face,
but she’s your mother
and you love her
so you go.
A man you know stops you –
a friend of John’s –
John, who is not yours anymore
(even now, even in death,
you know he’ll keep her
longer than he kept you)
on your way to the bathroom.
“John really loved her, y’know,” the man says
as if you wouldn
things i want you to know.0.things i want you to know. in Free Verse More Like This
there is a picture in my living room
of my parents in their twenties, in sunhats,
there is a picture of my father holding me
when i was two years old.
there is a picture of my parents
on their wedding day.
there is a picture of me when i was
ten, eleven, twelve.
i’m seventeen now and
i won’t let my mother
take any of the pictures
i need to believe that, at one point,
this house was more than just
i was born on the second-to-last day
i weighed seven pounds, two ounces,
and it was ninety-nine degrees out.
four years before that, in 1992,
the officers who beat rodney king
within an inch of his life
five years before that, in 1991,
a cyclone in Bangladesh killed
138,000 people and made 10 million
ten years before that, in 1986,
a fire in a Los Angeles library
damaged more than 400,000
and on that day, april 29, 1996, i was born
and i’d like to pretend
that it was a go
if i could.1.if i could. in Free Verse More Like This
i’ll be honest with you;
there is a certain authority to being
somebody said once that writers struggle with reality
because we spend all of our time
constructing our own.
the truth is, life may be impermanent
but the details are not.
time has one direction
the past cannot be revisited
and history cannot be redone
with a red pen.
what happens, happens.
we are walking permanent records
that can never be expunged.
no matter how many orphans we pull from fires
no matter how many dying children we sing to
we still made our mother cry once
we still let our little brothers find us passed out
on the front porch when we were nineteen.
imagination is our primary retreat
because there, that boy does fall in love with us
and our first kiss is not spit on our chins
or misses landing on our nose
(maybe there are waves crashing in the background)
and we say everything right.
there, we have crafted a version of ourselves
that lives perfectly.
“if i could,” someon
painkiller.you show me a bottle of advil. you say to me, “if i swallow all these pain pills at once, do you think i’ll finally stop hurting?”painkiller. in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
“you shouldn’t joke about that,” i say.
in retrospect, i should have been grateful.
it was the only joke you’d ever told where i wasn’t the punchline.
i’d like to write your name in a bathroom stall. i’d like to come back every day, checking for tears in sharpie’d letters. for a “he’s such a scumbag.” for a “you’re not alone.”
i guess i want to think that you’re a criminal mastermind. i want to think that you’re a serial heartbreaker. i want to think out there, somewhere, is somebody else like me, who you’ve hurt.
(i know you’re none of those things. i know that you’re just a boy – and, really.
that's the saddest part of all.)
i taught you how to stargaze, and how to uncross your arms and let people in
adults.i.adults. in Philosophical More Like This
The media doesn’t support a positive body image
because it’s not good for business.
They want us anxious and afraid
of seeing the numbers on a scale go up.
We’re not worth our weight in gold.
It’s what we don’t weigh
My first boyfriend, who panicked when I touched him
would say “I’m fat”
the way somebody says “I should have never been born.”
They want us spending our money
on designer jeans, instead of groceries,
on concealer and diet plans, instead of an education.
Please don’t starve yourself.
Believe me, I’ve tried
and your body will start to eat itself from the inside out and
if you let it
it’ll get to some valuable stuff.
they’ll only appreciate your body when it’s a corpse.
They won’t notice you
until there’s nothing to be noticed
they’ll mourn and wish for something
that is no longer
In the second grade, I learned that
breaking a writer's heart.never break a writer’s heartbreaking a writer's heart. in Free Verse More Like This
because your name
will forever belong to us.
you will sign it
into every broken bit
and one day, you’ll open a book
next to the words
"let me tell you about the time
i was hurt."
never break a poet’s heart
because between the beat
of the stanzas,
you’ll hear that heartbeat,
proving you wrong
with every line.
never break a writer’s heart
because we will take the pain
and make it into something
you could never live down.
you could live with heart monitors,
that measured the damaged pulse,
doctors who told you,
but you can’t live with the bold strokes,
smooth as a flatline,
that accuse you of being
the best thing
that’s ever happened to them.
you can’t live with it;
our soulmate, now writing.
You, now replaced
by a pen.
never break anybody’s heart
because you’ll cut yourself
on the pieces of it.
and see, hearts heal.
Hurt...Why is it,Hurt... in Free Verse More Like This
That when you try your best
Not to hurt a soul...
You end up getting hurt
More than anybody else?
Writer's block.A thirteen-year-old poet,Writer's block. in Free Verse More Like This
Whispers frolicking among her tongue
As a ballet dancer across a stage.
What to write, oh, what to write…
Her fingers wrapped around a pencil,
Gently tickling the page
With a language between herself
And her imagination.
Thoughts race through her mind,
Frozen hands on a silver clock
Turning moments into
D r e a d f u l h o u r s .
What to write, oh, what to write…
Crickets stop their chirping,
Birds start to sing.
Five thirty in the morning,
And not a single word on paper.
What to write, oh, what to write…
She begins to scribble across the page,
Doodles and anything that crosses her mind.
Words begin flooding her thoughts,
As she wrinkles the paper and grabs a clean sheet.
“A thirteen year old poet,
Whispers frolicking among her tongue
As a ballet dancer across a stage…"
And just as she nears the end
Of these words,
Think of This..You want to end it?Think of This.. in Free Verse More Like This
Think of this.
You write your suicide note... And you set it on the table.
You take your razor, your silver, two inch razor. And you start to slide it across your wrist. You barely feel a thing. After all, the pain of life is more than the pain of the blade.
And you take that belt you never wore, the one that was too tight, the one you starved yourself to fit into. And you wrap it once, twice around your neck... and you pull it tight.
Barely breathing, you put the ends of the belt on something to hold you up.
Something to strangle you.
Something to kill you.
And you die.
And that's the end, right?
So, so wrong.
Your younger brother, the four year old little boy that you loved so much. He walks into your room, only to find you hanging there, lifelessly. Only to find you with dried tears on your pale face. Only to find your suicide note... the one you left right before you died.
And so he runs in tears to your mother. And she reads the note, barely able to brea
On To Dead Little GirlsSpiders hang from threads made of shadows.On To Dead Little Girls in Free Verse More Like This
Blood dripping from his tongue,
Silence flooding the sky.
He’s pouring salt along open wounds,
Bandaging them with dust,
Disinfecting with poison.
Black roses on a coffin
For a small little girl
In a pale pink dress
And cuts along her
Frozen clocks begin to move
The sun has risen,
Early morning light
Shining brightly in the sky.
He walks to the graveyard,
Setting white daisies on
The little girl’s
Days go by,
And he sits there.
Tearing petals off the flowers,
And a butterfly lands on one daisy.
He crawls on his hands and knees,
Holes in his clothes,
Dirt on his fingers.
He tickles the butterfly
And treasures it until it dies.
For the best thing to do
Is rip off the wings of a butterfly…
And sew them onto dead little girls.
Hello Darling.Hello darling.Hello Darling. in Free Verse More Like This
I see you're hiding behind long sleeves.
I can see you trying to cover up your "ugly side" with gemstones and lace, with pretty clothes and make up.
But, hello darling.
You can show me.
I see you're pushing away your dinner.
I can see you thrusting fingers down your throat into the sink, trying to hide your secret with laughter and smiles.
But, hello dear.
You can show me.
I see you're hiding behind these precious things that the others care so much about.
I see you're upset with who you are, in fear that who you are might upset others.
I see you're broken, and I see, you're outspoken. You're lost and confused.
I see you're trying to hide something.
But, hello honey,
You can show me.
Because I don't care what they say about you.
I won't listen.
In my head...In my head,In my head... in Free Verse More Like This
The birds that fly above me
Are the dragons of my kingdom.
In my head,
Cats and dogs are lions and wolves,
And my fish is a sea monster.
In my head,
My pen is a sword,
And I’m fighting witches and evil men
To find my prince charming.
In my head,
Butterflies spin through the air
And fly through my bedroom windows
To whisper things in a language
That only I understand.
In my head,
There is a world other than
These black and white dreams
And these faded grey skies.
In my head,
There is a universe.
Can’t you see it, too?
To some people.To some people, it’s called breathing.To some people. in Free Verse More Like This
To me, it’s called inhaling poison,
Which drenches my lungs and sinks into my bones
And melts into my mind.
To some people, it’s called anxiety.
To me, it’s called an unbearable shakiness in my soul
The nervousness preventing my from ever escaping
This disease in my heart.
To some people, it’s called living.
To me, it’s called never being able to run away.
Never being able to truly go, truly leave.
To me, it’s called being caught in a nightmare,
While struggling to dream.
Chasing a mystery with no solution.
Escaping your own sanity to reach more sanity,
Freeing yourself from your happiness to find more happiness.
To some people, it’s called life.
There’s no such thing.
Living a LieLiving a Lie:Living a Lie in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I feel like I've awakened from a comatose state
And the world has gone on without me.
I stretch my legs and take a walk outside
And for the very first time I see:
A strange kind of beauty, that is utterly alluring
It calls out to my spirit with the gentlest of cries.
I'm afraid to admit, for it was rather unmanly,
That I left with tears in my eyes...
I can't imagine how I could have forgotten
The very way that I used to walk...
I remember now my habitual actions
And I've even learned to talk!
"Arrr me hearties, good day to ya all
It be a fine day ta sail on tha sea
And if we find a plethora o' treasure;
Then yer drinks are all on me!"
I must admit it that brought me a smile
To be speaking my native brogue.
It reminded me that a dashing man
Should always be a playful rouge.
But that aside I'm feeling better
For now my mind has found its peace.
A comforting sense of order and structure
It's almost as rare as the golden fleece.
Within this sphere
The Legend of ForeverAloneMan"They say that he's a legend, an incredible person far greater than any other!" said the Mage, bubbling with excitement as he described his hero to the Knight. "Would you believe he conquered seven dungeons all on his own?"The Legend of ForeverAloneMan in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The Knight scoffed at his remark, "Ser Mage, I believe you have been lied to. There is no possible way for a man to face even a single dungeon on his own. Hundreds of monsters wait inside, each eager to tear the unwelcome adventurer limb from limb. I have no choice but to believe this tale a far-fetched fantasy. Perhaps one that sprung from your many nights of alcohol abuse."
"M-my drinking habits have nothing to do with this, I'm telling you, he exists! The legendary swordsman who faces dungeons on his own!" The Mage huffed angrily, as he turned away from his companion. He intended to come back with a stronger insult, but his thoughts were interrupted by a brilliant spark of light. And from this spark, like a white rose blooming in a gar
ShinobiA lone blade decides the fate of a nation... (1剣は国の運命を決定する)Shinobi in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
That is the principle that we have always lived by. I do not pretend to understand the greater workings of the world, for that is not my intended purpose. I was born and forged as a blade. One that will never see the light of day.
Tonight I was called from across a distant land, to travel to a forgotten castle. Here, away from all things mundane, sits a lord who views himself as a mortal god. He does not speak to his people; he does not show his face. Instead he allows his chosen 'angels' to rule the nation in his stead.
This has led to severe unrest in some provinces and for the sake of maintaining the greater peace, the shadow of fire (火災影) has decided that we will strike him down. If one man's blood can save the lives of many, then he should be glad to have it spille
What Are You To Me?What Are You To Me?:What Are You To Me? in Free Verse More Like This
I have walked in this world,
And they have told me of kings.
Of brave rulers who make the tough choices,
Men of example and outstanding character.
But it was then that they said,
What is a king to a God?
What is a mere mortal to a higher power,
One who holds our fate in his hands?
They said he was benevolent and kind,
Wrathful and jealous, magnanimous and selfish alike.
He was the perfect ideal, embodying all things
And we were made in his image...
It was then that I was laughed at,
By he who asked this question:
What is a God, to a non-believer?
One who lives by the truth he sees...
He is the man who acts as per his morals.
He lives through his eyes and is judged by his fellows.
He submits to no higher being, not a one does he fear;
Comfortable with his own conscience...
But all three, I beg; I ask ye this:
For what is a king to a God,
A God to a non-believer,
And all three of them in comparison,
To the madman who watches the world burn...
Can I Cut Yet?Can I Cut Yet?:Can I Cut Yet? in Free Verse More Like This
Hey, Hey Sadako
I really want to cut something
can I, can I please?
This girl is talking to me, she seems rather nice
The colour of her eyes makes me think of fucking lice
I want to cut her, I want to cut her so bad!
but that seems to make Sadako really sad...
Okay, I guess I won't cut her
Hey, Hey Sadako
This teacher is really boring
I want to cut him, I WANT TO CUT HIM SO BAD!
I'm in class now, Sadako stands beside me
She points out a mistake I made in my notes
I start tearing at the paper while grinding my teeth
I want to show them my frustration, OH SO BAD!
but that seems to make Sadako really sad...
Okay, I guess I'll wait till I get home
HEY, HEY SADAKO!
My whole body is trembling, my hands are in shakes
The world is spinning and I'm sweating out cold
The box-cutter is in my hands and I hold it up high
I want to cut something, I want to cut something up so bad!
HEY HEY! CAN I CUT THIS, CAN I CUT THIS LUMP OF FLES
My FirstYour loving smile,My First in Free Verse More Like This
On luscious lips,
In shades of blue.
My only mistake,
When I stole your breath,
Was falling in love with you...
I Once Loved...She was beautiful.I Once Loved... in Free Verse More Like This
And twas I who loved her...
I held her in these hands,
Like a warm blanket,
Comforting and kind.
But she was a bitter poison, toxic and deadly.
No antidote to her venom;
I wasted away with delirious eyes.
A coward they called her,
And it was the truth!.
But to save myself, I would have her bleed.
Her heart a raw panacea;
Crunched between my teeth...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 22nd July 2013
DieDie:Die in Free Verse More Like This
Such a simple word, spewed without thought.
"I wish you'd die, I wish you'd be killed."
But what if we actually gave meaning to those words?
Can you understand the emotion, the magnitude, the weight,
Of actually seeing the life of an individual depart?
Can you look them in the eyes, as they bleed into your hands;
Observing their final moments, as the light fades from their eyes?
Or are you simply a soft-hearted coward,
Sitting fat behind a computer, wishing death upon others?
To say that one is deserving of death,
Suggests that you are ready to kill.
And if indeed you are ready to kill,
Then you too must be prepared to die.
"Now please, stop those tears my good man, we've only removed three of your toes so far (^_^)"
-Chen Yuan Wen, 9th July 2013
NPR three minute story submissionShe closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk through the door. That low rumble had been Tom's temperamental engine; she was sure of it. The sound had tattooed itself on the inside of Anna's ears ages ago. Maybe he was sitting in the front seat of his car, trying to work up the courage to knock. Maybe his brows would knit together and his mouth would quirk and he would say, "I missed you, Sunshine," though he had never once called her by that nickname. Maybe she could apologize, and he would kiss the insides of her wrists, the back of her neck, her eyelids.NPR three minute story submission in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Yes, she could hear a car door opening. If she listened hard she thought she could even make out the rustle of his corduroy jacket.
Go outside, said her heart.
Wait, said her brain.
She began to count aloud. "One, two, three, four"
Anna was eight when her baby brother was born. He was little more than a fragile bag of bones and organs, an accident waiting to break her heart. Every night she'd snea
the expirationthey put an expiration date on sadness last wednesday, and now the world is happy again.the expiration in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
the law says we only get six months to mourn tragedies, six months to howl at the moon and claw at our thighs until they look like road maps. six months, and then the pain will die away just like we wanted to.
i didn't think it could really happen, but i've seen it. my neighbor's husband left her two years ago, and they're taking retroactive sadness into account. now that her grief has expired, she can't stop smiling. she told me that she's free to pull the weeds from her garden and wear her red high heels again. she has a date with the UPS man, and i swear she's lost five pounds.
i ran into my friend jennifer in the produce section yesterday, and she hugged me so hard that i felt my back crack. jennifer had a miscarriage seven months ago, but when she mentioned that she's going to start trying for another baby, i was the only one tearing up over the zucchinis.
i've got two more days left 'til mine
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.
numbit is two o' clock in the morning and i can't sleep. or i sleep too much. one of the two, and the pills make three. they stew and burn the back of my throat; the chemicals dissolve and form words.numb in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
the medical literature didn't say anything about that. or the numbness in my arms and legs. the tingling has crept up my right leg for the past week, weaving itself between my toes and nipping at the back of my knee. maybe it's a side effect, or maybe it's diabetes. or a blood clot. maybe my foot will need to be amputated, and i will have to hobble down the aisle for our wedding.
he coughs beside me, still fast asleep, and i touch one of his eyebrows so softly that maybe i am imagining the wiry hair against my fingertip. will he still love me if i only have one foot? i could ask him. i should shake him into reality and tell him about the burn and the tingling and the wedding photos that i will likely ruin.
"i'm sorry," i say, just to hear the words aloud, but he doesn't wake up.
the one tha
neverlandi'm giving myself ten minutes to grow up,neverland in Free Verse More Like This
and with every minute that passes i am remembering
balloons and party hats and streamers
and the second star to the right,
straight on 'til morning.
every year i write myself a poem for my birthday,
but this year i think i'll write a poem about
peter pan and he'll die in the end and everyone
will be sad. i'll be the saddest though,
because there comes a point in your life
when you realize that you're not peter pan,
or wendy, or even a lost boy.
(how sad, i think, to be lost but not a lost boy.
it doesn't matter though, because neverland isn't
real and now look, i'm another year older, and what
have i even done with my life?)
today i'm twenty-three and peter pan is dead.
my ten minutes have passed and i still haven't
grown up. people around me forget how to talk
to mermaids, and no one claps because no one
believes in fairies, or flying, or themselves.
today every birthday candle looks like a bone
and i still have so many wishes left to make.
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.
compulsive liar.once i asked you your favouritecompulsive liar. in Free Verse More Like This
colour, and you said, "the brown
of your eyes," so i put in one green
contact and told everyone that i
came out of the womb as a factory
defect, half-priced, damaged goods.
sometimes i am from canada and
sometimes i am from england and
sometimes i am from spain.
i've carefully tempered my accents
and plotted out my stories with
yellow and purple coloured pencils
on index cards. my origin changes
like the seasons.
"why do you lie to everyone?" you
"why not?" i reply.
i wear nametags that read "alicia"
and "liana" and "samantha," because
i want to know how it feels to be
someone else for a day.
you make me a nametag with my
real name on it, and i just laugh.
(later i slip it beneath my mattress
and spend the night staring at the ceiling.
see, i've tried myself on one too many
times, and the fit is never right.)
you call me your little compulsive
liar, and i guess that is supposed
to be somewhat affectionate.
i spin before the mir
A Very Short StoryA Very Short Story in Short Stories More Like This
Everyone was two inches tall.