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
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.
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.
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.
Forever NeverlandGrace disliked Tinkerbell. She disliked her because she had wings and she could fly whereas Grace stayed on the ground, catching fireflies. The fireflies, in turn, made it easy because they knew she would let them go. She would stare at their radiant light in awe and try to understand how something so little could shine so very bright.Forever Neverland in Free Verse More Like This
She tried to pretend the bread she had in the mornings was ice cream flavoured, and even imagined her little brother had never been taken from them but had been enthralled and forever lost in Neverland. When she tried to explain this to her mother, her mother would look away quietly, and sometimes, rise with a quiet shudder...and leave the room.
For a little girl who had the hope of the world resting quite easily on her head as a crown, she knew. She knew that one day, he would come for her and maybe, maybe they could be together again like they were in her dreams.
As she grew older, she slept on a bed of green, with a desk of wood and a massive window t
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?
GluttonHis caramel covered fingers caress my coffee skinGlutton in Free Verse More Like This
An epiphany aged in its own beautiful winery,
A honeyed breath drawn in a moment so heated,
Its oven like intensity roasting any kind of chastity.
Irreverently juicy, pleasingly sinful,
Succulently divine in its every form
Lovemaking at its most beautiful
Moans that echo sheer gluttony.
I never knew passion was edible,
nor lust so delicious in its impassioned call
Until he showed me why chocolate
is the most deadly sin of them all.
LustHis hands have a habit of finding my hip bones,Lust in Free Verse More Like This
trailing his river like fingers along my stone smooth skin,
his lips do not move, his mouth tells me stories.
Mine spend their time
tracing the length and breadth
of his back in kisses*
We travel through lands that never existed
before we touched them
At temperatures far exceeding in Fahrenheit
If only we could understand
how lust and geography
make such divinely sinful bedmates.
* One hundred and sixteen
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
Seventeen (In Phases)1.Seventeen (In Phases) in Emotional More Like This
It was because her parents had named her for the grandmother who had broken her mother’s heart. The grandmother whose heart was supposed to have melted from her birth and hadn’t.
That was why her mother barely looked at her. That was why she called her ‘girl’.
That was why she liked to pretend she was the quiet woman in the background of an old black and white movie. Because everything here was like an old black and white movie.
[And if she really looked back, her mother had never appreciated the elegance of the 1950s enough.]
It was because she hated surprises. The surprise she got on her sixth birthday when her father left taught her just how a single person had the ability of taking your soul, splitting it in two and wearing it on their breast pocket like a white carnation waiting to die.
That was why when she lifted a book, she looked at the last page first.
That was why her namelessness had become a comfort to her.
That was why sh
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.
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
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
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
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
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?
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."
Please,don’t make mePlease, in Free Verse More Like This
fall in love with you,
I don’t want to remember you,
those Sunday morning
or the way your
lost boy eyes always,
always found a way
to find mine.
There are only so many times
I can allow you to slice
through my scar tissue
before I finally
She Talks With MonstersThis girl never had a fear of monsters.She Talks With Monsters in Free Verse More Like This
She allowed them to rest on the insides of her eyelids,
the crook of her neck, the empty spaces of her chest cavity.
She had no fear, there were much scarier things in this world
than darkness, clawing at her back. Living for the night
she etched her dreams upon the bars of her cage
whispering of centuries past because she truly missed the sun,
grass on her back. Frosty Decembers have her forgetting
what it feels like to love, but she knows who she is
she doesn't need the taste of cigarette ash
suffocating her inside her own flesh.
November skies tore open this night,
ripping a hole in her bedsheets.
It is in those dark spaces between
bone marrow and heartbeats that she finds herself-
tattered and breathless, whispering dark secrets
into a strangers ears. Her origami limbs folding
like patterned paper only to reach desperately
for the sun kissed frills of Apollo's robes.
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.
Two Truths and a Lie: Tadashi Hamada x ReaderTwo Truths and a Lie: Tadashi Hamada x Reader in Drama More Like This
I'm warning you now, you might want a tissue box near by.
“Hey, is anyone sitting here?” you ask the cute Asian boy, indicating to the empty seat at the lab table.
He looks up at you and smiles politely, “No, it’s all yours.”
You find yourself smiling back, “Thanks,” you say as you set your backpack on the ground and take a seat.
The professor soon walks into the room and promptly begins class. “Alright, everyone, welcome to the lab portion of Biology 240. You may want to start getting to know the person sitting next to you, as they are going to be your lab partner for the rest on the semester. Instructions for the first lab are on the table, you may begin.”
“He’s not one for introductions, is he?” you say in a slightly joking manner.
The boy laughs, “I guess not. I’m Tadashi, by the way,” he tells you offering his hand.
You take it and shake in greeting, “(Na
Animation 2: Tadashi x ReaderAnimation 2: Tadashi x Reader in General Fiction More Like This
Part one: http://katgirl28.deviantart.com/art/Animation-Tadashi-x-Reader-514479970
Tadashi slams the book that he had been reading closed and tosses it onto the bed beside him. With a sigh, he sits up straighter and turns to place his feet on the floor. He lets out a sigh and runs a hand through his hair. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he stares blankly at the wall, lost in thought. Unknowingly, his leg begins to bounce up and down.
"You're doing it again," Hiro states in an annoyed tone from across the room.
Tadashi turns his head to focus on his little brother, "Doing what?"
Tadashi frowns. "I'm not sulking."
Hiro doesn't even bother to look up from his computer. "You totally are."
Tadashi scoffs, "I am not. I don't even have a reason to be sulking."
"Yeah, you do. You're depressed that (Name) hasn't been in the café since last week."
This time Tadashi rolls his eyes, "I'm not depressed," he replies.
Hiro finally looks over his shoulder
Memory File: Tadashi Hamada x ReaderMemory File: Tadashi Hamada x Reader in General Fiction More Like This
Contains spoilers from Big Hero 6! This takes place after the events of the movie.
“Come in!” You announce when you hear a knock on your lab room door. Looking up from your circuit board you were currently soldering on, you watch as a young raven haired boy pops his head in. You smile in greeting before placing your soldering pen on its stand. “Hey, Hiro! What’s up?” You had developed a sisterly fondness for the younger Hamada brother, taking up the responsibility with your other friends to watch out for him, as Tadashi would have wanted you to.
Hiro, though seeming to be in relatively good spirits seems hesitant to come into your lab. “Hey (Name).”
Picking up on this strange behavior, you take off your safety glasses and step away from your work bench. “What’s wrong?” you ask, getting concerned, as you walk toward him.
He glances away from you and scratches t
Storms: Tadashi Hamada x ReaderStorms: Tadashi Hamada x Reader in Romance More Like This
It was kind of raining on and off here, so I got the idea for this. Enjoy!
You once again let out an involuntary yelp as another loud clap of thunder shakes your window after the flash of light appears.
“Are you sure, you’re okay?” you hear Tadashi’s voice coming from your cell phone, which is pressed tightly to your ear.
Letting out a shaky breath, you have to take a moment to calm yourself down before you can respond. “Yeah… I’m fine.”
You can practically see him frown. “No, you’re not,” he responds, detecting the hitch in your voice that gives away how scared you really are.
You can hear how worried he is about you by the tone of his voice. It creates a pang in your chest to know that you’re causing him trouble. “Don’t worry so much, Tadashi. I’m okay, honestly,” you tell him, your voice a little stronger this time. You’re currently
Animation: Tadashi x ReaderAnimation: Tadashi x Reader in General Fiction More Like This
You watch the recorded video on your cell phone for the hundredth time, for some reason hoping for a better outcome. However, just like before, the jerk that had been standing in front of you at the time that you filmed this, steps in front of your camera, and completely blocks off what you had been filming. With an irritated huff, you press the button to turn off the screen of your phone and toss it onto the table. You pull out your ear buds as well; the soft buzzing that fills the café now entering your ears. You sigh tiredly and rub your forehead.
You pick up your drawing notebook and flip through the first several pages. Going through it fast enough, you can see the animation piece come to life. However, it doesn’t last very long, before the pages become blank. You only have about a quarter of the notebook filled and you only have two more weeks to fill the rest of it. Unfortunately for you, the only reference you have for
Boxers: Tadashi Hamada x ReaderBoxers: Tadashi Hamada x Reader in Humor More Like This
“Tadashi! Are you almost ready?! We’re going to be late, if you don’t hurry up!” you call out as you hurry up the stairs to his room.
“(Name)?!” he calls back. “Wait! Don’t come up here!”
But it’s too late. You’ve already bounded passed Hiro’s side of the room and over to Tadashi’s side. You stop and take him in. He’s only wearing a t-shirt and a pair of boxers. You can’t help but grin in amusement. Crossing your arms, you lean against the corner of the wall, “Pokémon boxers, huh?” The blue fabric was decorated with Pikachu, Bulbasaur, Squirtle, and Charmander.
He cheeks flush as he scrambles to grab his pants and put them on. “Don’t laugh,” he says in a stern tone.
“Too late,” you respond, already starting to giggle. “Oh my gosh, you’re the biggest nerd that I know!” your g
Tadashi is Here: Tadashi Hamada x ReaderTadashi is Here: Tadashi Hamada x Reader in General Fiction More Like This
Tadashi is Here:
Contains spoilers from Big Hero 6.
Takes place after the events of the movie.
“Hey, Aunt Cass!” You greet, upon entering the Lucky Cat Café.
“(Name)! It’s good to see you!” she comes over and pulls you into a hug. “What can I help you with?”
“Well, I have a big research paper I’ve kind of been procrastinating on and the internet here is faster than at my apartment. Hiro said I could use his computer.”
“Alright, go on up!” she smiles encouragingly at you and waves you toward the back.
“Thanks!” you respond before going up the stairs and to Hiro’s room.
You go to swing your backpack off your shoulders to toss it on the ground not knowing a strand of hair was caught on the zipper. The hair gets ripped out, causing a sharp burst of pain. “Ouch!” you rub the spot to try to ease some of the pain.
A soft beeping fills the room follow
Late Night Studies: Tadashi Hamada x ReaderLate Night Studies: Tadashi Hamada x Reader in General Fiction More Like This
Late Night Studies:
Contains light spoilers from Big Hero 6
You groan in frustration when you realize that, once again, you have read an entire page in your text book without processing any of the information. You rub your tired eyes as they strain from having to focus on so many tiny words. You look up at the clock in your bedroom; it tells you it’s just a little passed 9:00 in the evening.
You look back down at the papers scattered around your desk, and just want to bang your head on the table. There is no way you are going to be able to figure out how this computer chip works without a little help. You grab your phone from off to the side of your desk and hesitate a moment. You decide to send a text out first, before you call.
Are you still awake?
It doesn’t take long for you to get a response.
Yeah, what’s up?
You let out a small breath of relief and dial his number. It rings once, before he answers.
Christmas Eve: Tadashi Hamada x ReaderChristmas Eve: Tadashi Hamada x Reader in Humor More Like This
Warning: There's a bit more fluff in this than usual, but nothing too graphic.
Contains light spoilers from Big Hero 6
You step up to the front door of the Hamada residence and knock. Not much later, the door opens to reveal the youngest boy in the house.
“Morning, Hiro!” you greet with a smile.
“(Name)! Aunt Cass didn’t tell me you were coming, today!” He smiles back in shock and opens the door a little wider.
You step through with a laugh. “Well, it was supposed to be a surprise for your brother, and we didn’t want you blabbing off to him.”
“Hey, I don’t blab!” he protests.
“Yes you do! You suck at keeping secrets,” you say, taking off your coat and your shoes.
“I’m great at keeping secrets! I didn’t tell you about how Tadashi’s planning on asking you to go on a trip with him for New Year’s Eve!”
You raise an eye br
Wedding Bells: Tadashi Hamada x ReaderWedding Bells: Tadashi Hamada x Reader in Romance More Like This
You pace the floor of the small room, the only sound being the clicks of your heels on the hardwood floor and the soft swooshing of the fabric of your white dress. You step in front of the mirror once again to check your appearance. Just like the other 63 times you’ve checked in the past hour, you look absolutely perfect. Your makeup and hair have been artistically done to enhance your already natural beauty. The beautiful wedding dress hugs to your curves in ways that you know will drive your soon to be husband absolutely insane, while still maintaining the elegance of a beautiful bride.
The white diamond sparkles brightly on your finger, but is otherwise the only piece of jewelry you have opted to wear. You couldn’t wait to be able to add the second ring that was meant to mold perfectly next to the one you already wore.
You look up, startled when you hear the door burst open before it slams shut. “Hiro?”
winter always reminds me of you.It never snowed last December, but it was always there on the horizon. Like a bad dream on the periphery of my vision, a relentless reminder that I don't ever have control over things the way I think I do. The way I want to. Recently, I realized that I feel everything a bit too sharply. The cold. The pain. The nothingness.winter always reminds me of you. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It's heart wrenching. It's stomach twisting.
The minute you were gone, the air in my lungs left too. It's amazing how long you can live without breathing. It's much longer than anyone tends to claim. Truthfully, it's not even the thing I miss anymore. I only miss you. I miss the feelings. I miss anything that isn't the slow crack and settle of this old building. Or the familiar beating of my heart. The sun rising and falling from the sky each and every day.
I don't remember what it's like to not wake up to a pattern, but I do remember that it was so much better than this.
I used to never know what to expect. Now I have no expectations at all. It didn't take me long t
i'd call it love, if it wasn't suffocating.every time it rains,i'd call it love, if it wasn't suffocating. in Free Verse More Like This
i think of you.
because that's all there is--
and a quick breath of air
before we all go under.
every time it rains,
i swear i'm drowning.
I hope it's worth it when I'm gone.I can't even pretend things are simple anymore.I hope it's worth it when I'm gone. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It's raining again, and with every crash of thunder, I miss you more than I can bear. I know it's not worth saying, because really nothing much is anymore, but it doesn't make it any less true.
It's eleven ten on a Friday night, and I'm sitting in the middle of the grass, watching the downpour spill off the roof. My t-shirt is clinging to my ribcage, and my hair is sticking to my face. I can feel the water running down the ridges of my spine, the backs of my hands, clumping in my eyelashes, but still, I don't move. Sometimes, when I can't stand what the world is doing anymore, I allow myself a thunderstorm to wash everything away.
It's the meteorological equivalent to a clean break. Faster to heal -- or at least, that's what they say.
The lightning is tearing across the sky, cutting through the darkness like a crack in the atmospheric layers. I'm staring at this like I half expect all the air to disappear around me while the world disinte
i'm telling myself not to get my hopes up.It's been a long time since I felt like this.i'm telling myself not to get my hopes up. in Free Verse More Like This
It's all small kicks of my heartbeat
and subtle smiles when no one's looking.
I'm checking my phone messages
more times than any girl should,
but you're not letting me down.
You remind me of a time when things were easy
before I memorized what sadness felt like
and stopped feeling alive.
And for the first time, I don't feel broken
in a way that can't be fixed.
I don't feel like I was built in a way
that doesn't fit.
we're all made of stories.We're all either made of cells or stories, but in your case, it's both. You're somehow bigger than what one body can contain. And I know that all of this all these words and breaths and spaces aren't enough to explain you. You're better than any fiction will ever be.we're all made of stories. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I remember sitting in the passenger seat of your car, watching the familiar city streets flick by, fast like a picture book. It felt like there was something I was missing between the pages and second story houses, but I couldn't place it. I had my arms wrapped tight around my middle, holding my insides in since I was afraid with every passing moment I would let their contents spill. You wouldn't look at me, but you kept talking. For the first time ever, I wished you would stop. You were telling me that you could never love me and I was completely aware that I had already foolishly followed you in too deep and now you were letting me know that you had been drowning for years. You were promising to take me und
this isn't progress, because you're irreversible.You were never meant for me.this isn't progress, because you're irreversible. in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I knew it in the most obvious manner. It was in the way you had a subtle sort of comfort in your own skin a quiet and humble confidence while I struggled to make sense of the prints on my fingertips and the way one of my eyes crinkled in the corner more than the other when I smiled. You felt safe with yourself while I was always warring with my own reflection. Half the time, I didn't know who I was. A quarter of the time, I still don't. You would call this progress if you were here to see, but I just call it sad.
When you miss something for long enough, you start to forget the exact way that things happened. Or the exact way they happened to fall apart. For instance, I don't remember the first time you didn't call, but I do remember when you told me you loved me but not enough. It's never enough, is it? The point is you were gone before I could even say goodbye. You were gone before you were ever really here, but somehow I let myself bu
living in your liesdear girlliving in your lies in General Fiction More Like This
its like you dont even know you anymore. and when people talk about you, its almost as if you have no idea who theyre speaking about or whether any of what they say is true. its to the point where you started avoiding mirrors or catching your own eye in the reflection of windows, because you dont even recognize yourself anymore. maybe your hairs a mess and your clothes dont match, but at least you can keep pretending that youre not uncomfortable in your own skin. youve become a stranger and it scares you since youve always been most afraid of the things you dont know.
and you dont know you.
i know youre tired. youre tired of being afraid and youre tired of being alone and youre just tired of being. its two thirty seven in the morning and youre wondering if insomnia has a flavor or if everything really tastes this kind of bitter. you hate
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
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
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
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.
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
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
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
A Very Short StoryA Very Short Story in Short Stories More Like This
Everyone was two inches tall.
the last poem i will ever write for you.last springthe last poem i will ever write for you. in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
(after almost a year)
you lost me when
you fell into a venus fly trap.
there was even a sign saying
'THIS IS NOT A VENUS FLY TRAP'
and i believed it. i am so
sorry. you are a rose.
and what you couldn't say,
you spoke with your blood-shot
eyes leaking blood-clear tears
and i believed you because
you meant it.
i painted you turtles.
you pulled my hair.
we wasted gas and blew money on cigarettes.
we fucked like we breathed- erratic,
and savored. you held small
secrets that only i knew. we
promised to get married and
hump each other senseless.
we went hiking
and before we left
you had to have me on
your living room floor.
i had not seen you in a week
and all the messes we made were
cleansed in a semen-salty bath.
on the mountain-
we stopped at every bench for a
cigarette because we were out of
breath. we never made much sense in
the first place and i went down on you in the wilderness
because at that altitude you have to go down
somewhere. you hel
on being sorrythere are days when the beauty in me is suffocated by the senseless rage in you. i sense this rage in you. i watched you unfold into something i could hold on to, something that grew and made sense. i watched you pick a dead butterfly up from the ground and then you gave it to me and i kept it for the longest time, over a year, and i still have part of it. i watched you climb a mountain and hold the sky in your mouth. you gave that to me too. i watched you water me until i grew right alongside you. we were an unbreakable pair. roots all tangled in with each other. i watched you cry because you loved me so much. i cried too. i watched you make mistakes, and i made some too. i forgave you, and you forgave me too. you were the most beautiful thing i ever saw. the tallest, brightest, widest soul i will ever hold. but you are dark somewhere in there.on being sorry in Free Verse More Like This
i watched you stumble onto yourself. your heart is very clumsy. you are unforeseeable, you are table toppling on children's feet. i can't brea
on hindsightif you would have told meon hindsight in Free Verse More Like This
i will love you conditionally,
when i am feeling good, but not too good
because when i feel my very best i will
not need you, when i am feeling bad,
but not too bad because at my very worst
i will hate you.
i will stand with you provisionally,
so long as i do not have to stand very long
and i can take breaks from you as i please-
i will look into you tentatively
and reach the decision that i am better than you,
that you are one big fucking joke, that i have
a higher calling to marijuana and making
temporary homes inside of nice, but stupid
if you had told me that now when we talk
it's only because you want to know who i'm fucking
and where i'm at and what i'm doing not because
you care about me, but because somewhere in the
back of your mind you claimed me and even though
you are not stepping up to fill your position as
high conqueror of my cunt, you expect me not
to look for satisfaction elsewhere.
if you had told me that i would waste the past few m
on leaving it behindi stillon leaving it behind in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
this might appall you
or agonize you but i do.
i remember still evenings
with little to exchange besides
heartbeats and breathing patterns.
i remember soft afternoons
with my back raking against the carpet
leaving sporadic scars and stitches of memory.
i remember dark roads, and darker rains.
i remember a longer faith and a shorter pain.
the wounds are not as fresh, they do not sting,
but they ache and the few times i hear your voice
wedges your fingers in my brain and i can feel the cake
of neglected cum stains and i can hear the desperation in
the small whimper of my name and the way it was hard for your
breath to escape and my mind is running on thin rails, paper train,
and all i ever wanted from you was a home, not a place.
you would finger fuck me in the movie theater
and i would squirm and you would laugh because
i am not so good at keeping quiet. and all it would take
was a look from me or my hand up your knee or my lip under my
teeth and your eyes would
blue babyhello i find your big blue eyes swimming aroundblue baby in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
my ankles often. small, subtle fish that
follow me everywhere i go. normally i would
protest to being followed
but not when i'm followed by you
grass feels good, cigarette smokes good, car runs good
hello i'm scaling the moldings of the universe twenty solar systems away,
i'm holding stars and not even worried about breathing.
ashes, ashes, we all!
can't stay hung up in the sky forever,
but the thing about you
kid is that you always take me there
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
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
I Am A WriterI Am A Writer:I Am A Writer in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Gentlemen, today I speak to you
To convey an issue that has plagued the core of our community.
For so long have we been considered second-class;
To this day there are those who still believe that we are not artists.
But today is not about freedom, today is about honour,
Because there are many writers that still seek to shame us all...
I speak of those individuals, who take art from others.
Covers, photos, paintings, digital art, anime and manga.
It matters not where you draw your source from,
But every action impacts upon us as a community.
BECAUSE I AM A WRITER!
When I craft my works, when I write each and every line,
I paint using expression; metaphors are my colours.
The words are my brush and each and every rhyme is my medium.
I do not ask to be considered an artist, but I do ask to be considered.
BECAUSE I AM A WRITER!
For someone who practices his craft day and night,
Painstakingly learning how to use each and ever
The SadistThe Sadist:The Sadist in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I love it most when they scream in pain;
Cliched as that might sound.
Their tearful pleading exhilarates me;
Especially when they are unbound...
I adore the feeling of letting them run
In the knowledge that they won't get away.
I'm afraid that once you enter my lair;
You are simply here to stay...
My greatest joy is in wresting confessions
For in pain they admit to any crime.
How many times have they renounced their devils
Squealing all the time...
A white hot poker, can work such wonders
The tightest of tongues will turn to slack.
I like to hold it against their flesh;
Until it blisters, chars and goes utterly black...
The smell of flesh that has been branded by iron
Is purer than the air in the highest of peaks.
The kind of refreshment I need to find;
Is something obtained from the weak...
My favourite victims are the witchling girls;
For they are used to calling on magic.
Take that away they are but mewling kittens;
A fate which is r
true lieshis eyes looked at me with disdain. i thought that once i had broken through his barriers his eyes would smile and his laughter would ring through every fibre of my body and that his cheeks would glow. instead all i felt was a greater coldness. except now it wasn't just a general feeling- it was directed very pointedly at me.true lies in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"you're not who i thought you were," he growled through clenched teeth. his words left me feeling that he wanted to say something angrier, something more malicious but he held back. even when his defences were down he was still calculated.
do you think that maybe you never knew me? that you built up an ideal image of someone unattainable yet appropriate for you? i pleaded with my eyes. but it was no use. he wouldn't even look at me. he knew, he finally knew, that he had built me up to that ideal because he felt it would be everything he deserved. now he saw, or rather didn't want to see, that he really didn't deserve it at all. ideal or not- he didn
a welcome truthit always felt like the last timea welcome truth in Free Verse More Like This
so the one time it didn't
i knew it was
emalineshe was a quite sort of girl, he had observed. the kind of girl you wanted to say you knew because it meant you held a piece of the puzzle others could only wonder about. in knowing what was hidden to others, you became special. she was the sort of girl who ripped her favourite pages from books and tucked them carefully into her palm, then snugly into the worn pockets of her grandfathers cardigans, which she said were the only ones that fell just right on her small frame. she collected words in her perfect pout keeping secrets and promises and words that just roll of the tongue, but never rolled off hers just right- so she kept them hidden inside where she was perfect. her eyes spoke a million words a minute that he often found himself tripping over them if he looked too deeply; but just like looking into a flame he was completely consumed, he knew it- she didn't.emaline in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
she was an oblivious sort of girl, he had observed. but she was his sort-of girl.
patternswe are between waking moments and drifting daydreamspatterns in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
your tender touch felt in my bones, i wish i could bottle up
with all the other spine tingling moments that pass
with the rise and fall of your chest
misty mornings are the bookends of our love
flittering eyelids keep away the thoughts
i run from in our shared dreams- creaking
realities heard as quite comforts
lies we told ourselves,
lies i believed,
lies i loved.