Warner Brothers Versus Warner BrothersMore Like This
The Next Game Of Thrones? Warner Brothers Versus Warner Brothers!
Justice League War Cover Art
Much has been written over the last few years about Warner Brothers’ rivalry with Disney over the directions each has taken with their superhero franchises.
Disney owns Marvel Comics and Warner Brothers owns DC Comics.
After many years of autonomy, Warner Brothers has just moved DC Comics, their New York publishing powerhouse, to be more under i
they told me no one could love a girl with scars.i told them that i could love myself.More Like This
quirks.when i was a child:More Like This
i loved to steal.
i would go around my neighborhood
and steal lawn ornaments.
at daycare, i would steal money
once, i stole my next door neighbor’s
when my parents confronted me,
the lie was smooth and solid:
i saw so-and-so take it.
when i was a child:
i loved to lie.
i would make up stories
to get reactions out of people.
to see if they’d believe me.
once, i convinced my friend charlotte
that i had twenty-four hours to live.
when she burst into tears,
i had to bite my tongue
to keep from laughing.
when i was a child:
i loved animals.
i would lock my dog in the closet
and in the bathroom.
a lot of my neighbors left birdcages out
during the day
so i set all of the birds free.
once, i imagined what it would be like
to kill an animal.
then, i imagined what it would be like
to run over it repeatedly
with a car
so i did it with my scooter
to a rose i found
because it was red
when i was a
give me a reason to stayI need more from youMore Like This
than two lips parted;
hungry hands scrabbling
at my sides.
I need your limbs
twined around my
hopes and dreams -
I need your fingers
clutching for my soul.
The CartographerSkin apricot soft, slight crinkle fuzz, transparentMore Like This
and a-freckle, I am a buffet beneath him,
My eyes sails buffeted by the winds of words slipping from his thick love lips -
they are slick and wanted between his up and down
breathing, lungs iron weighted on me
and I am craving from the inside, his wired arms an addiction,
he cups my constants like landmarks: his are the hands
of a cartographer.
My bones stream and bush-fire, stone and slow slipping riverside,
He, the aerial pilot, graphite fingers insisting there is beauty
in the blackest holes of the galaxy.
I need not be found, yet still -
He finds me;
My landmark man, my harbor, my safety.
dear aunt susan thank you for the sweater for......christmas it keeps me warm and i like it very muchMore Like This
let’s be honest here:
by the time i hit nine years old i had gotten thank you cards into a science
they were a routine formality, because i saw no point in mailing words that were expected
(if you can expect words, just write them for your goddamn self)
i had an assembly line for these little paper parades of gratuitous gratitude
i never needed algebra to teach me that perfection must be formulaic
i’ve never been good at this.
but here you are, with this card in your hands
so evidently, i must have sucked it up and finished writing to you
i would apologize for how many weeks i wedge between replies but
the days are melting away off the calendar in molasses slowmo and
somehow, a second has stopped being less than a minute and
a week has stopped being less than a year and
all i do is d
This Little Purge of Mine.Write!More Like This
Every word that uncontrollably
festers and functions
the making of my reality.
First and foremost,
the most thorn-full regret
of hurting someone
just because I NEED
to break fragile things
when I know I can.
Driven to snap the arms
off discarded toys.
Breaking what was once valued.
Second and most painful,
living with the knowledge
that BEING in love
who doesn't love me back
a self-created Hell.
the flaming thistles
into me intimately scarring
a little deeper.
a daily exercise. Without aim
and out of control.
I want the world to hurt
as much as I do.
Third the breakdown of this state of being.
I crave being used.
I know it's not real, but faux love
is better than none at all
when every desired touch
is like yesterdays candy.
Sweet nothings. Junk.
Throw me out like a wrapper.
A shiny distraction
for a moment.
he saved me, but he killed me.More Like This
i. first light- i met you in a crimson forest.
it was a rose garden summer, and out of a black mercedes
you walked out, your five year old eyes greener than
you reached up to pluck a rose from its stem, and offered it to me.
"what's your name?"
daddy told me that i couldn't tell strangers my real name.
I looked at the rose in my hand.
you smiled, you were a seastorm of now long-gone innocence.
i didn't understand
but I knew.
ii. i forgot about you for
1562 days, 11 hours, and 22 minutes,
my name, but i didn't recognize you
until i saw your eyes.
iii. my father fell and didn't stand back up again.
i screamed, and you carried me home.
iv. i didn't talk for a week.
i stared at the gray of the sky. it was the color of my father's eyes.
you sat next to me in the pouring rain,