I'm Not the Marrying KindI'm not the marrying kind.
I have stones in my hair instead of flowers,
And a rosebush of thorns is more poignant to me.
I'm not the marrying kind.
My words aren't pretty or wise,
And I can't sing about anything but a broken heart.
I'm not the marrying kind.
I am the sort of damaged you see in an old recorder,
And the kind of old in an instrument that breaks into a billion pieces at a touch.
I'm not the marrying kind.
Neither neat, nor tidy, nor correct in my behavior,
And yes, I did in fact tell you to fuck yourself.
I'm not the marrying kind.
I do not stay silent in arguments,
And I like to lie compulsively, just to see your face change.
I'm not the marrying kind.
I am not the ideal of any lady, nor her likes,
And I do not allow any man to walk all over me.
No. I am not the marrying kind.
But I do like the idea of a little girl with her mo
The Girl Who Was Afraid To BeShe speaks to me fondlyMore Like This
of passions and talents,
of guitars and stars,
with such breathless intensity
then stops short and
for speaking at all.
All because somewhere in her life,
someone she loved broke her heart
her beautiful words
and telling her to
keep it down,
People aren’t born sad.
We make them that way.
I am YouLife spoke to the void.More Like This
"Why do so many hate me? Yet they cling so tightly to my cloak."
Death spoke to the void.
"I am accursed and feared by so many. Yet they all come to me in the end."
Joy spoke to the void.
"I am pursued by all. Yet they find me so elusive."
Hope asked the void:
"Why am I both held so tightly and thrown so easily away?"
War spoke to the void.
"I am what they hate. Yet they cannot live without me."
Peace spoke to the void.
"I am sought by all. Yet they have never found me"
Innocence asked the void:
"Why am I both the first they have and the first they lose?"
Strife asked the void:
"Why am I the one that they hate to love? Yet they still do so love me."
Intellect said to the void:
"I lead them further toward salvation. Yet I also lead them toward destruction."
Madness asked the void:
"Why are those blessed by me the only ones to see the truth?"
Sanity asked the void:
"Why am I both the lense to see and the fog obscuring?"
Sleep said the the void:
"I am necessary to
On self-loveMaybe whoMore Like This
she really loves,
is the name
of the boy
she thinks of,
while she lines
her chatoyant eyes
maybe the name
she really needs
to think of,
is her own.
Battle ScarsBattle scars aren't ugly.More Like This
They are proof that you fought hard and long.
You are strong.
Don't you deny it.
Keep fighting on.
the dead and the dyingthe funny thing aboutMore Like This
humans is that
we think we are
invincible and immortal
a tainted world
where cars drive
too damn fast.
i just try to
get by without
more than once.
I love... and hate being a writerI hate being a writerMore Like This
yet I love it too
though such ambiguous feelings
cannot be explained so simply...
I loathe the unsterilized ink
which continually poisons my veins
and pumps from an all too emotional heart
yet when this ink is set free
breathed from my syringe of a quill
I'm assailed by such a breathtaking sense
of relief and release that I forget
and become intoxicated on my own vile.
I abhor my blank eyes
which so incoherently delude me
as to what is real
that I am faced continually
with the realization that reality
will never be enough for me
and yet these blank eyes are the same
on which I paint such beautiful fantasies
and experiences which I faithfully adore.
I detest the imagination
which hosts menial plays with
unwritten roles and spitfire lines
and asks me to fill the holes
never become a writeri.never become a writer.More Like This
you will become a perfectionist,
picking life apart
with a magpie's eye,
hunting for the beautiful bits
until you can make yourself
a sparkling throne
in the center of a junkyard.
ii.you will write when you're sad.
you will write when you're happy.
whenever you feel something,
you will vomit the emotion out
into some sort of literature.
when you're finished,
you'll be empty
and surrounded by
pages and pages of
everything you once were.
iii.you will try to make
pain sound delicious,
painting over the ragged wounds
with pink paint
and candy-coat lies.
you will learn
how to decorate graveyards.
everyone will play in them,
but you alone will see the headstones.
iv.if you fall in love,
you will turn your love into a poem,
and you will always like your own words
more than you like the real person.
you'll become so selfish
you'll disgust yourself,
but you will not be ab
CourageYou ask me, 'what is courage?'More Like This
Courage is seeing the hail of fire that surrounds you;
The flashes of light that blind.
Projectiles that score flesh and bone,
Sending red rivers splashing through the sky.
Courage is seeing all of that and staying on to fight,
Simply because there are those who cannot.
Pretty PeopleI just want to be pretty.More Like This
Like him, like her...
I want the face that
I want the body that
Why is she so skinny?
Why is she so curvy?
Why is he so handsome?
Why is he so perfect?
I just want to be sexy.
Like him, like her...
I want to fit in my
Old jeans and dresses
That I wore in high school.
I want to walk by to
Have people whisper,
"That girl is gorgeous."
I just want to be thin.
Like him, like her...
Why are they so lucky?
Why do they get the glory?
Why do they get that body
And that face without
Even working for it?
You know the feeling
Of being called ugly,
Unless you're one of them.
I know the feeling
Of being called ugly,
Cause I'm not one of them.
I put on makeup to
Make myself look different.
I'm ashamed at my
My parents were pretty,
So why not me?
I just want to be pretty.
Like him, like her....
Broken Sleep, Red LipstickI am only an insomniac when it rains. The pitter patter of the raindrops reminds me of the pitter patter of cat paws.More Like This
(He liked to sleep at my feet when I could barely think, just to make me feel better. I think you used to tell him to.)
I wish I could wrap your memories around my spine and wear them as a backbone, because they are stronger than the arch my broken spined back seems to have developed of late.
(Spines are oddly brittle, and a lot like wrists. Easy to break and forever to heal.)
But I cannot depend of any of that anymore. So I wear red lipstick and high heels and go to parties and tell strangers how amazing they are to be wearing red lipstick and high heels and how different they must be to come to this party instead of the other one.
(All because you would hate parties and think nightlife is so stupid.)
It is what I do with my insomnia. Because my spineless back, the memories of you incessantly looped in my sleeplessly addled brain and the raindrops
Get Over It“You’re just sad.”More Like This
“Suck it up.”
And the worst?
“Get over it.”
I’m not just sad. I suffer from depression
Waiting for happiness’s resurrection.
I can’t just forget it, it’s in me for good
I can’t do the things that I know I should.
I’m not just sad. I’m broken. I’m lost.
I’ve tried everything to fix it, no matter the cost.
I’ve carried a blade just to hold to my wrist.
I’ve carried a dream inside of my fist.
I’ve talked about it, like they say I should do
But all my efforts are stopped by ignorant people like you.
“You’re just sad.”
“Suck it up.”
And the worst?
“Get over it.”
I am...I am a female.More Like This
I am a teenager.
I am a high school student.
I am an artist.
I am a writer.
I am a trustworthy person.
I am a good friend.
I am a good listener.
I am a good adviser.
I am friendly.
I am social.
I am a justice fighter.
I am a freedom fighter.
I am an LGBT supporter.
I am a transgender.
I am brave.
I am strong.
I am not afraid.
I am not hiding.
I am sly.
I am silent.
I am insensitive.
I am honest.
I am often confused. But
I am always led to truth.
I am a person who uses ':3' more than needed. But
I am a person who uses '<3' very rarely and only to special people.
I am a person who is uncomfortable when called 'dear', 'honey' or 'sweetie'. But
I am a person who appreciates any nice name they're being called.
I am a person who feels awkward when hugged. But
I am a person who needs to be reminded that is loved.
I am a person who can move on. But
I am a person who needs new people to like them.
I am a flexible personality.
I am able to fit in every group of people. But
Who Needs Friends?Dear Loneliness,More Like This
Will you be my friend?
Because I seem to just be a trend,
That the world has put to bed.
Will you make me smile?
Because Happiness has run a mile,
Just like everything else I need.
Will you help me hope?
Because Optimism is a slippery slope,
When you've seen the world.
Will you make me care?
Because I hate Interest's flare,
In a place too dull for life.
Will you make me content?
Because you're the one that'll prevent,
That which I long for.
Will you make me feel alive?
Because I don't even want to survive,
In a world that cares too much.
Will you make me a saint?
Because I don't deserve a heavenly taint,
Due to the sinner that I have become.
Will you make me your sob-story?
Because you want all of the pride and glory,
Of surviving where your buddy fell.
Sex Object Between her legs, lies something thatMore Like This
every man seems to want.
A place where she should be able
to call her own, between her legs.
She feels that men only want her,
a true want, to have sex with her, and
The breasts she has, they gain
stares from men passing by, tripping
over themselves to find a chance to touch.
When will she stop being looked at,
as an object of sex? when will a man
see her as someone he may spend his
Her hips curve, and she doesnt
want your hands on them, if your
just going to touch her skin.
She wants a man to touch her soul,
not just touch her skin, and run his fingers
where they do not belong.
What made these men think, she
is just a sex object, a toy that could be
put on display, and taken whenever they
Between her legs, lies something that
every man seems to want.
Proud she is though, that she hasnt
given in, hasnt
Grow UpWhen I was young,More Like This
I knew a girl.
She was so warm and bright,
so I asked her that question
that all children must answer.
'What do you want to be
when you grow up?'
Her eyes lit up with joy
and she jumped with excitement.
No, an astronaut!
I'll be famous
and in movies!
will be everywhere!'
She listed so many more
until she finally just smiled
and looked at me with eyes filled
with child-like wonder.
'I could be anything I wanted.'
Years and years later,
I saw the same girl again
but her eyes no longer
lit up with wonder.
I asked her,
'What did you end up being?'
She smiled the hollow smile
that adults have when talking to the young.
'Not what I wanted to be
when I was young.'
Nothing more was said on the matter
but I could see that there was no more wonder
in the eyes that once shone so brightly.
what you bring to the tableyou know, today i read that humansMore Like This
are made out of stars
and i found that really interesting
because we all look up to celebrities so much,
like they’re sent from the heavens
when it turns out,
we are too.
your mom gave birth to you and
i think that’s beautiful—
the way one living thing can make
another living thing
and the second be completely different and unique
from any living thing that has ever lived before it.
but i also think it’s beautiful the way
you are made up of things older than
you can dream to be and it doesn’t define you
and it doesn’t break you and it doesn’t really change you—
you could have been a dwarf star or someone’s sun,
but now you can be anything you want and if you’re lucky
someone’s world can still
revolve around you.
worship yourself. love the bend in your spine
when you’re carrying a backpack full of your future,
the squint in your eyes from staying up too late,
your feet that without
apple juice boywhen i was a kid,More Like This
i thought an apple and apple juice
were the same thing,
so every day, i would drink
a cup of juice and joke about the lack of doctors.
then my parents put a limit
on how much apple juice i could have a day, simply because
i was getting fat.
i didn’t understand why my parents were being so mean.
when i was younger, i didn’t care if i got fat or not.
i didn’t really know what fat was,
but i knew that
oreos and apple juice tasted good.
i couldn’t wrap my head around the fact
that these things that tasted so good
were so bad for me.
i haven’t thought about this in years, because
when you grow up you forget things
or remember things all wrong or you
finally figure out what fat means and spend the
time you could be guzzling apple juice
standing on a scale and pushing apart your thighs.
but then you kissed me tonight
and i opened my mouth by accident
and you tasted good,
like apple juice at eleven in the morning
or oreos that have been soaking i
HandsI want to touch your handsMore Like This
Count each line, trace the intricate maze of endurance
Cheeks caressed, coffee mugs grasped, doors opened, paper cuts bled
Infinite loops of your fingerprints
Stuck on windows in the fog of warm breath
Smeared on doorknobs and keyboards, smudged along the minor keys
I want to run my fingers over every callous
Every scar, every nick, every bump and bruise
Press your knuckles with a kiss
One, two, three, four…run your thumb across my bottom lip
I want to know the taste of your muscle memory
Fingers snapping, pointing, wagging
Every peace sign offered
Every bird flipped
The small burn in the crook of your middle and index
From a piece of ash of your first cigarette
I want to touch your hands
With my hands
So your hands touch mine
Memorize with me
Each carved line
count to infinity before you sleep.cause i knowMore Like This
there are days when
it's painful to even breathe,
your throat closing up on the knowledge
that you don't know
how much longer you'll be waiting on this
band-aided, superglued planet.
every cell in your body vying to be the next to die,
and all you have to tell them is
maybe. maybe next time.
those are the days you spend
cutting rose thorns into your palms
and clenching your fists tight around
jagged reflections and prismed rainbows.
the days you realize
we're losing so much faster than we're learning.
we're maturing faster than we're growing.
adults stuck in the bodies of kids,
moving around, making the mistakes
no one ever wants to look back on.
those are the days you realize
it's not worth living here anymore.
you're using too many burnt-like sugar words
to get what you want, a mistaken human in wolf's clothing.
your lies are becoming louder than your screams,
but if the knife fits wear it on your skin.
this is the age where you feel caught between
Golden Ink and Going BackI thought I was in love with that four-year old red-haired boyMore Like This
Shining in a silver knight costume with a black dragon sewn on
Because I was in the pink Sleeping Beauty Dress
I was a good Belle, too
(Back when I hadn't picked up a book
Except for the blue one with the golden pages
Brimming with witches and fairies and magic)
I wanted to be a princess, back then
They were the ones who always found love, at the end
I wanted to be Wendy, too
Because she wore a blue nightgown and learned to fly
Now, I'd rather be Peter Pan, honestly
Because he managed to swerve this whole ordeal of growing up
(And maybe a little because of the flying)
Now, I just want to go back
Back when the only kissing I thought about
Was in The Princess and the Frog
And the only houses I had to be weary of
Were houses made of candy
Back when the only disappointment
Was when my parents were too tired to read me a bedtime story
Or when I found out that the real Little Mermaid
Dies by Hans Christian Andersen's hand
a lessonShe isMore Like This
she tosses her hair back and
she laughs at the world
who cannot hope to match her stride.
She meets eyes unashamedly,
she is radiant with confidence.
She is shy,
her eyes are downcast and
her cheeks are mottled
Her words are whispers,
her breaths are sighs.
She is a sly smile.
She is a soft
whisper in his ear.
She does not seem to know
who she is.
to peel back the layers.
(though they are both afraid
that what lies beneath
to speak to her.
But the words are stuck
in his throat,
suffocated with the
and he has nothing
to give her.
if there was ever any truth
in either of them.
In him for loving not-her
the way everyone loves not-her,
or in her,
for the elaborate
He wants to tell her
he adores her, but
he has no oxygen around her
(no words to give her),
no conviction to assure her with,
no one to love but fiction,
and he is silent.
(you are a contradiction.)
Ways to conquer heartbreakDance with fistfuls of roses, shred their petals one by one and wear their thorns like armor.More Like This
Write your secrets between the folds of paper cranes and tuck them safely between the empty spaces of your castle ribs.
Open your broken heart to hummingbirds, allow them the warmth and shelter of your arms.
Rebel. Tape poetry to your limbs, Cummings and Sandburg and Sexton.
Take a walk outside of your skin for a while, run with wolves.
Extinguish that forest fire that’s been curling too long in your lungs.
Be that lionhearted girl those snobby poets always write about.
Allow that cavern of stars in your throat to speak your truths in uppercase letters, in free verse yet to be proofread.
Write about wars and victory.
Be the hero.
Love Letters On the TrainDear Stranger,More Like This
I'm leaving this post-it tucked in the side of the train-seat. If you're reading this, you've seen it. I've seen you sit here every few Monday mornings, sometimes tapping a bent, unlit cigarette against your thigh, sipping from your tea (who brings a tea cup onto a train anyway?); sometimes staring at the rain outside, or reading your well-worn, beaten copy of Jane Eyre (I hate that you fold the corners down - it's bibliophilic abuse. I wish the book would papercut you to defend itself a little, but I digress).
You seemed so sad this Monday morning past. Please smile again. I love it when your eyes catch the light of something I'm unaware of, something silently and intimately your own; a secret from the world that makes everything all the more meaningful to you.
- The Passenger
I'm not in the habit of reading post-its from strangers. I found a love-letter hidden in a newspaper once, that the author forgot or was too afraid to send. It made me sad to think
she says:she says,More Like This
“tell me what you’re thinking”
as her hands trace the back of your neck
like leaves skimming the surface of water,
a child peeking from behind her mother’s
skirt and pulls away so fast that you can’t be
certain she was ever there at all.
lips pressed to her temple,
you can’t be sure she’s real
just like you could never be sure the
monster in your closet, the ghost in
the attic, the fabric of time itself
was ever real at all of an ersatz universe
constructed around you for your benefit
“i’m not thinking anything at all.”
and she knows you’re lying.
and this is how you fall in love with her.
“be honest with me”
and you’re not and she knows this
and she forgives you anyway.
she forgives the days
when your hands turn into lead
plates so heavy you can’t pull yourself
out of bed let alone answer a text
message, when your eyelids are sewn
shut every morning by the entangling
the science of usacceleration = gravitational pull / massMore Like This
You didnt send my heartbeat into a frenzy the first time I saw you. It was a month or two before I started feeling the little palpitations inside my chest and made sure that my hand accidentally brushed against yours every now and then.
(I wanted to make sure you got used to the feeling of my atoms colliding with yours.)
I told myself it was stupid and simply physical. You werent pulling my heart strings, you were toying with my belt buckle by smiling at me across the room and asking me to spend time with you on a Saturday afternoon. I was sold by the time you pulled into my driveway and my name slipped from between your lips.
(Sweaty palms and twisted vocal chords told me no one said it quite like you.)
I promised myself this was strictly a one-way thing. I feigned like I felt nothing, and in my nervousness I became the witty jackass. You laughed at my barbed-wire jokes and sped through a red light while I was watching
Loving A Guy Who Cannot Love Himself.Firstly, tell him that he doesn't necessarily need to be the “strongest” man in the world,More Like This
that if he cries, you won't look down on him for it,
that you won't call him weak.
Tell him that he doesn't have to like sports, or fishing, or football, or any of the “mainstream” things that boys are “supposed” to like.
Let him know that liking art, or dancing, or singing or acting doesn't make him gay, doesn’t make him any less of a man, it just makes him who he is.
A human being.
And for goodness sakes, tell him that blue does not have to be his favorite color, than he can indulge in pink, or purple or even magenta!
And to the girl who take on the task, remember please, that it is not always the Knight who saves the Princess.
No, this time, the Princess may need to save the Knight.
Do not pour your problems onto him, rather, balance each other out.
Be a shoulder to cry on. A friend to be there. A love that never leaves.
Perhaps more than often,
It Isn't BeautifulI used to cut myself.More Like This
Some of the marks faded,
But some stayed
And now I’m forever jaded.
People have kissed my scars,
Others have turned away
But here is what I have to say;
It isn’t beautiful.
When it hurts to walk
Because your thighs are bleeding,
When you can’t talk
About the help you’re needing;
It isn’t beautiful.
When it’s boiling outside
But you have to wear sleeves
Because of your bloody little
It isn’t beautiful.
When your friends
Are scared of you,
Of the things you do;
It isn’t beautiful.
When you feel so worthless,
So down and out,
Used up and empty,
And all you do is shout
But nobody hears,
Because you silence it
It isn’t beautiful.
When they find out
And you see how much,
How deeply they care
And they hate themselves
For not being aware;
It isn’t beautiful.
When they take it away,
And monitor you
And you’re itching all over,
Desperate for it,
For one last hit
She's a WriterShe sits at her deskMore Like This
Her headphones in,
The world shut out.
She bleeds for others
As words fly from
Her mind to her fingertips.
She stares at the screen,
At every little comment,
The good and the painful.
She forms her emotions
Into books and poems
To throw away the hurt.
She's a writer,
And her best weapons
Are her mind and her pen.
a cure?they say Van GoghMore Like This
used to eat yellow paint
so that he could get
the happiness inside of him.
especially on nights like this,
I wonder if that would work.
I wonder if the pigment
would seep into my intestines:
would spread through my veins
like an elixir:
would curl and coil and cast
on every angle, every aspect
of my body.
I wonder if endless trials
and retrials of drugs
could be replaced by the
occasional dose of cadmium,
liquid sunshine, intangible dream
I swear I can almost
I wonder if it would do
than make me sick,
curled up on the bathroom floor
and left choking on a life
that I can never have.
To My Biology TextbookOn page 159 of my biology textbook, it reads,More Like This
“...cancer is the uncontrolled growth of cells”
as though that could explain everything,
and I thought it did for a time.
But my textbook never warned me
that his skin would pale
to a point where I could see
the blue freight trains
carrying eighteen pills
throughout his frail body.
My textbook never warned me
that his watery irises would freeze over,
that he would hurl insults like knives,
and that he would clench his jaw
as tightly as his fist clenched his wine glass
because the only person to blame is himself,
and he can’t swallow that as easily
as he can the olives in his martinis.
And my textbook never warned me
that it would be this difficult to breathe
because of my acute awareness
that his breaths are limited,
and that there would be nothing I could do
but soldier on searching for that silver lining
clinging to these foreboding thunderheads.
10 ways depression can say i don't love you1. "i'm sorryMore Like This
i don't want to
come over today."
the clock reads 4pm
and i roll over in my bed
2. "i forgot it was your
i'd forgotten my own
3. "i promise i won't
the ER doesn't believe
it's an accident
4. you asked if i loved you.
i had to sneeze and it
i think you took that
as a no.
5. we haven't had sex in a month.
6. we don't see
we don't see
i even have any.
7. i never answered your text.
it asked if i was okay.
8. "i need you to open yourself
up for me," you said.
i stopped talking.
9. "what do you want from me,
apparently you didn't.
10. tonight i will sleep alone
but not really.
depression will hold me
and stroke my hair,
telling me everything
will never be
My DiseaseMy fingers bleed wordsMore Like This
that my lips cannot say.
When they try to trickle out,
I scowl and turn away.
It may not be contagious,
but it is a disease.
Holding myself deep inside,
it's getting hard to breathe.
Lies come so easy,
to cover up the truth.
It’s like my second nature,
grown from my very youth.
It’s deeper than conviction,
more earnest than a thought.
It’s my way
It’s my life
It is my disease.
How to love a girl who can't love herself.one.More Like This
When she cries herself to sleep
six out of seven nights a week you must
say nothing. You must simply take
her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
pale cheeks and wait for her to
slumber at the sound of your heart.
On the days where she wishes she
were part of the stars, tell her
no. Tell her that there are too many
lights in the sky and that just one
would be forgotten the moment you looked
away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
the way she is: completely human.
Don't let her think about the scars
that no one but her can see. If she
says "I think I'm broken" smile like you
know a secret and say, "No, you're mending."
But do not be the one to fix her - no, she
Introductions"Hi, I'm-"More Like This
"I know who you are."
"You're the guy who thinks he's invisible."
"I have a name-"
"It isn't important. Because you really don't think it's important."
"All right. Since we've started out this way, let me just tell you, I know you too."
"You're the girl who is broken."
"I am not broken."
"You're the girl whose eyes close every night and open the next morning, only to find you have never slept at all."
"I sleep well. Besides-"
"You're the girl who dreams of a happy ending even though she has seen seventeen...no, eighteen unhappy ones in her eighteen years."
"Happy endings are over rated. And you're-"
"You're the girl who wants something bigger, something stronger, just so the weakness in her body becomes something so much more."
"You don't understand weakness the way-"
"You're the girl whose heart broke when she was so young, and she fixed it back together with superglue, but cannot ignore the cracks."
"Superglue makes for a good companion, especially when-"
The DoctorWhen I was seven, I was diagnosed with emotions.More Like This
"Poor girl." I heard them say. "She'll never survive this one."
I laid with my face towards the ceiling on the cold examination table, listening to them discuss my fate. I felt something breaking in my chest and something burning inside my throat. A small tear slipped down my cheek.
"Doctor! Look at this!" Shrieked my mother, "Something is coming out of her eye."
The doctor rushed over to me and wiped the tear from my cheek. He touched the top of my head as he whispered, "I am so sorry." And then he turned to my mother. "It's a tear. It means that she is sad."
"Sad?" My mother asked inquisitively.
"It's one of her emotions. This doesn't attack the same way that normal diseases do, there are all sorts of different symptoms. Right now, she is sad and the only way that I know how to explain it is that she is feeling down."
"What do you mean by down?"
"Her emotions can best be described as ones that are upwhen she is feeling good, and
LifeIve seen the world with these two eyes.More Like This
A movie played inside my mind.
Ive traveled the seas in half the time
Without ever leaving home.
Ive spread my wings but didnt fly
Ive touched heaven, but I didnt die
Had the chance to ask God why
Without ever receiving an answer.
Ive count the stars and made to ten
Lost track and had to start again.
People laughed, but thats how we make friends
Without ever knowing their name.
Ive loved completely and watched them leave
I tell the storysome dont believe
Let them go or did you flee?
Without seeing what tomorrow brings.
Ive cried like I would never smile
Walked in darkness for half a mile
Saw the sun in the distance for a small while
Without ever feeling its rays.
Ive walked the beachestasted the breeze
There was a time that Ive felt free.
Touched my soul and let life be
Without any regrets to hold.
Ive laughed until I could not breathe
Gasped for air a
I am a ClockI am a clockMore Like This
frozen in motion
I am constant
mechanically moving from
one (tick) to two (tock)
Enclosed in a cage
I use all my strength
to move my hands
to the next resting place
(tick tock tick tock tick tock)
I fight the hollowness
of my empty stomach
by aimlessly filling it
with little black lines
that mark the
of my eternal (ticktocktick) progression tock...
I am a clock.
THE Zombie Survival Guide*This part is for newbies. Skip down to the dashes if you already know this stuff.*More Like This
Okay, so first of all, a zombie is a reanimated corpse that lurches around looking for human flesh. Different breeds may be reasoned with, or even "cured" back to the original personality. However, the most typical zombies:
-Are incoherent. They will not be reasoned with or threatened.
-They don't sleep.
-They seem to like brains, but most will settle for a nice hunk of your flesh.
-The come in different speeds, from crawling to shambling to running. Most are shambling along at a slow slow walk.
-They do not drown or asphyxiate.
-Some will burn easily while others will not burn at all.
-Most zombies will "die" from severe damage to the head.
-It is said they are attracted by sound, but this varies.
-VERY IMPORTANT: The most dangerous thing about zombies is that if they bite you and you die before your brain is destroyed, you will come back to life as ANOTHER ZOMBIE. That's how they spread their numbers
Star SwallowerShe'sMore Like This
her head, a stadium drowning with applause.
yet its seats are empty like the notebooks
where armies of words should be marching.
instead she dismantles clocks
thinking she can play with time.
behind the mountains lurks a darker reasoning
a twisted labyrinth of rationalizations
hidden from the suns brilliance.
Years alone beneath the bleached fluorescent
reading those already dancing in the moonlight.
she is living a literary half-life through them
hiding from the symmetry of the writer.
licking salty rocks of excuses.
saving her secrets for posthumous excavation.
decades of productivity left for moths to chew.
you're throwing coffins into the sea
with each day that passes wordless.
denying us the sweet whistles from inside your skull.
meaningful, impacting stories only you could pen.
Stop climbing broken staircases
towards the pale summer stars of obscurity.
these are still fruitful years of beauty.
remove your armor.
claw beyond your fears.
allow us into your wonderla
Overcome your Writer's BlockOvercome your Writer's Block:More Like This
If you want to deal with writer's block
the plan is simple, tickty-tock
Give in to madness, go insane
search for words in the midst of rain
When you hit the wall on its painted face
with your fingers and knees you'll find a trace
The secret passage that will lead you through
or perhaps you might be eaten by a grue...
Back to the rhymes that I use to explain
If you try to go forward it will be in vain
So try a new direction, upward or down
Left or right maybe Charlie Brown?
There are no limits except in your mind
Now do a google search and what do you find?
A pond of ideas now stagnant and brown
I threw in Jay Sean and he went down down down
But I digress and let me wind back
If you focus on the dot then the screen will turn black
and a screamer pops out, you've had a really good fright
are my metaphors putting up a really good fight?
Let me put it simply, in english plain:
A good writer isn't one who forces his brain
Order and stru
Murdering Mary SueMurdering Mary SueMore Like This
Every aspiring writer has met her at least once, whether in his own works or in those of others. The alluring temptation of a perfect character taunts the author from one side while his muse urges him to keep writing from the other. Who wouldn't love her? She's the most beautiful, talented, fantastic woman in the universe, with not a flaw in sight. Every woman wants to be her; every man wants to marry her, so why would anyone want to kill her? Who would want to murder Mary Sue?
I would. I and many greater authors have been working hard to keep this succubus in her proper place: the trash can. Mary Sue is one of the worst enemies of good fiction, second only to poor spelling and grammar. And the seductress tempts even the most cautious writer. Her many disguises can make her difficult to spot, allowing her to weave her way into every plot twist and turn, slowly destroying the author's work. By the time shes found, she may have done so much damage that the
Twilight EssayTwilight is not as important as you think it is.More Like This
You know, I could say that and be done with this rant right now. However, its me and well, I actually like to prove my point. I have facts, unlike most who only rant about nonesense. Lets talk about the major problems: Mary Sueness, Cliches, and Grammatical Errors.
Bella is a Mary Sue
No shes not!! Youre wrong!! Youre just jealous cause you arent pretty like her!!11!!!one
Hmm you know, that might work if I didnt know what else to say or have anything to back me up. Lets just see what the dictionary has to say, shall we? (Please note though that the definition of a Mary Sue does vary and has become "muddied".)
A Mary Sue (sometimes just Sue), in literary criticism and particularly in fanfiction, is a fictional character with overly idealized and hackneyed mannerisms, lacking noteworthy flaws, and primarily functioning as wish-fulfillment fantasies for thei
Are You Gay, Bi or Straight?More Like This
DETERMINING SEXUAL IDENTITY
For many people, there is no question at all about what their Sexual Orientation and Identity are, starting at a very young age. But for many others, it can be very confusing and traumatic. ALL of us are a blend of Straight and Gay. People who are almost completely Straight or Gay usually know how they are different from very young ages. Everyone else will have some someone degree of Confusion and Questioning. Many young people have a small amount of latent homosexuality, enough to confuse them, but not enough to be a Bisexual. Others can be confused by having a friend they love dearly. Some young people are late bloomers, becoming sexually aware later than most others. For others, there is also confusion about Gender. For others, they may not have sexual feelings at all.
Some people may not become aware of their homosexual nature, or may not recognize, realize, or acknowledge their homo
i am an artist.I may not have the best skills,More Like This
I may not be the most well known,
I may not have the most expensive materials
I am an artist.
Dear Jack FrostDear Jack Frost,More Like This
Here sits a girl with dreams
Dreams some believe will never be fulfilled
Some plague her in the night and create darkness under the eye
But perhaps you could be of some assistance
Here sits a girl with hope
All she hopes is to see that white head of yours
Even a letter will do if you have the time
Or frost on the window, or her first white Christmas
Nipping at her nose
The cold yet warming touch of your fingertips
All she really wants
Is to see you
The Girl Who Wants to Believe
August Lover,I want to wrap myself in your air,More Like This
hold your secrets between my
ribcage-embrace & just
I'm a PoetI'm a poet.More Like This
And because I'm a poet,
I have the pride of a poet,
and the background of an artist.
Yes as a poet.
I am overlooked in the group
for the work that is drawn,
and the art that is colored by the painters
I am a writer
and though my words hold power
they are seen as nothing more than words
and never get brought to their original intent
I am a writer
whose every move is watched
whose art is critiqued harsher than others
who's still unknown as an artist
I am an author,
who wears my heart on my sleeve
who leaves everything bare to judgment
who never asks for more than is due
I am an artist,
but I don't always get treated as such
respiration.i am shipwrecked fever;More Like This
& she is denied oxygen.
i taste sirens on the shore
of her collarbones,
& salt-licked sea limbs.
but, it's the natural disaster
wrapped around her coral spine
that really has my lungs
for unseeing eyesladen with skyMore Like This
and painted mockingbirds
on loveless branches
folding in our slender limbs
and ducking under our own
voices, fidgety and frail
against the wall of night.
between the dipping blades
and drawn shoulders
we learned to craft our words
a drumming rain
that carved canyons
in open hearts and
drew the sunshine to
our supping lips.
keen-eyed, we watched
remembering the weight
of unseeing eyes
and scalding remarks
and we learned to slip
the noose-knots and slide
through the soul-cracks
build kingdoms under
with lyrical uncertainty
and tender determination
we built a pyre of peace
in the shadows
and watched it blaze
the truth across our
as new leaves still curled
and stretching hands
unfurled in suppliance
we lifted our heads
in broken laughter,
for this light is our burden,
and even a whisper
can shatter silence
and bring the blind
Under DreadThe winter, the whole winterMore Like This
is sitting on my head, nesting its fingers
in the little hairs over my ears.
Its friend, the great and unnamed doubt,
is leaning against my collarbone
in a most familiar fashion,
and I fall in and out of balance
I have a beauty waiting, warm, willing
on speed dial, but the phone--
where did I leave the phone again?
Beauty is as elusive as
the car keys, which, I swear,
were just in that pocket. I
had my hand on them. The whole winter
keeps coursing its little nails
up and down my neck and taking
all my breath away.
There was a dream I had that
I almost remember, almost remember better
than living yesterday, a dream
of gooey loss, a taffy sorrow that loomed,
loomed, loomed, you see? It was so real,
I just had it.
To My SisterYou dress like a Disney Princess,More Like This
And play with pretty dolls;
Your laughter warms our hearts,
Your smile lifts our souls.
You stumble when you walk,
And you can’t say my name;
You dance to invisible music,
Everyone says we’re the same.
You have curly blonde hair,
And big brown eyes;
A smiling flower of a face,
And chubby baby thighs.
You will grow to be big,
And you will change;
You’ll learn the world’s scary,
As much as it is strange.
If I could give you one tip,
And know that you’d follow it,
It’d be: be who you are,
Live like there’s no tomorrow.
Don’t strive for beauty,
Don’t live for lies;
Find beauty in living and
Keep putting beauty into
Other people’s lives.
I Need FeminismI need feminism becauseMore Like This
It’s acceptable to call me a slut.
I need feminism because
It’s okay for a guy to slap my butt.
I need feminism because
It’s my own fault if a man rapes me.
I need feminism because
I should look good for men to see.
I need feminism because
People think it means ‘anti-man’.
I need feminism because
I can’t do things that men can.
I need feminism because
Girls think it’s cool to shame each other.
I need feminism because
The world has higher hopes for my brother.
I need feminism because
My femininity makes me ‘weak’.
I need feminism because
If I act masculine I’m a ‘freak’.
I need feminism because
My boobs are my ‘best quality’.
I need feminism because
I believe in equality.
Your life is not a British television showPeople on social media sitesMore Like This
tend to glorify things that hurt.
They brag about things
that people struggle with.
Mental illness is not a label.
It is not a badge nor a privilege
or something you have to earn.
they battle voices in their heads
that they do not even recognize.
People struggle to tame
their inner demons
and keep up an image
that the world expects them to uphold.
Mental illness is not cute,
being so anxious you cannot speak is not a quirk.
Relying on people to take care of you is not romantic.
Your life is not an episode of Skins
The idea of Effy and Freddie is fictional,
no one is going to save you.
We go home and muffle our cries
while dragging razors across our wrists
chasing pills with bottles of vodka.
Our thoughts turn on us
Like a loaded gun,
and we are stuck forever
in a game of Russian roulette.
We wear long sleeves,
and try to drown out voices with headphones.
We tremble at the thought of giving up the chemicals
we have become dependent
Shall I Bring You Despair?And so it has come to this.More Like This
The great hero stands poised,
Sword pointed at the demon king.
It is the stuff of legends is it not?
Yet, my objective is already complete.
For I am not a simple nightmare drawn from your feeble fairy tales.
Think about it, if indeed you can:
Today you'll kill me,
And raise my head before a baying crowd.
You'll show your acquisition proudly
And the people will welcome you.
In the first weeks,
There will be feasts and festivals.
Dancing and debauchery.
All to celebrate the hero's victory.
Then you'll become a king,
And eventually an emperor.
You will rule all the lands with fairness and equality.
A god amongst kings!
Yet something disturbs you...
Day by day you see the politics of the nobility.
You see them vying fo
Depression...No, depression is not just getting sad.More Like This
It's a constant sadness that melts into your bones,
An indescribably heavy weight upon your shoulders,
Never mind your heart and soul.
It's believing so many lies (maybe because you've learned to accept them)
And no longer appreciating your self-worth.
Wishing you no longer existed, wishing yourself gone.
Depression holds you back from your dreams
And pulls you into a nightmare.
It takes full control of your existence.
It makes you never want to get out of bed,
And when you finally do,
You just want to get back in it.
But you know the hardest part?
I Am FlawedFrom body to soul and in between,More Like This
They blotch the parchment that is me;
I know of worse flaws I have seen,
I am flawed.
I sometimes lose my temper,
Use my mouth before my mind;
I ponder things I could do better,
And regret them for a time.
I can be harsh, I can be blunt,
I tend to hide my thoughts;
But this is far from what I want:
To be in someone's heart.
Comparisons are hard to make
Since we are all unique.
But half the time my words are fake;
The real me is a freak.
These flaws define me, describe me—
They make me what I am.
In that light, I'm proud to say that
Aren't You Ashamed Yet?Aren't You Ashamed Yet?:More Like This
Truly an object of mystique and mystery
A simple device, with a painted layer
That conceals a face of rotting worms
Oh, I'm sorry, was I supposed to overlook it?
Let me rephrase it in a more appropriate manner
You are a cowardly, pathetic, miserable, filthy
Unintelligent, soul-sucking, perfidious, bag of rotting worms
You who once held my respect, you who were once my friend
you shared in my secrets and you shared in my dreams
But in the end, it was the lies
The horrible, filthy lies that spew forth from your tainted lips...
I guess it was a simple decision
I had no need to keep up this facade
and so I decided that I too should enjoy this game
and I began to taint my lips with lies
Oh how I enjoyed your anguish and misery...
That wonderous feeling of having you squirm
and before I knew it, I found myself wearing
a mask to hide those rotting worms...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 9th
I bet you cut"I bet you cut yourself," he says and it takesMore Like This
All of me and more, and there is nothing to take. I laugh
and cry a little inside. Die a little more and smile
"Of course not."
He stares at me and it's like one of those dreams where you're
Naked and I want to shove my guts in my mouth and burn in Heaven,
rip my scalpel through my thigh, throw my skull at a window and let the
Pain in my body overwhelm the pain in my heart.
"I'm joking," he says and I think I should feel bad for him, instead I
Hate him a little. He's grinning and I think about how I'd love to
Carve his face into the Joker.
"I know," I say and I hate myself a little, too.
He's gone back to me, front to his friends
and you'd think this was to become a nice old love story but
Happy endings only happen in books.
"I do," I whisper and I laugh because it sounds like a wedding vow and I
don't think I'll marry and I don't think I can. I'm scarred and eventually
my scars will have scars
and there will be no amoun
MonsterRun.More Like This
Monsters are following you, they tell you to die.
Smile as long as you can, it won't last for a while.
You're not normal, my friend, that's all in your head.
Don't cry, you stupid child, it will start again and again.
"Talk to us.
Talk to us!
Listen to us.
We tell the truth!"
Life or Death? You need to choose.
It was too much for you and now you're dead.
And no one will be sad.
RevengeI never laugh.More Like This
I never smile.
I never speak.
I am too 'shy'.
What they did to me,
It was too hard.
I wasn't strong enough,
In my heart, it is dark.
I want to see them bleed.
I want to see them cry.
I want to kill them .
Just let me try.
I'm not that weak,
I can do that.
I tell you what's wrong with me,
I am mad.
It makes me happy,
Happy, too see them cry.
I would just laugh at them,
And show them my insane smile.
Yes, maybe I am insane,
One day I'll kill them.
I show them how it is to suffer,
Who's that helpless child then?
They'll all be dead soon.
And they'll see,
see and regret,
everything that they did to me.
Better Left Unsaid.You'll be a lawyer-More Like This
I'll be a writer.
You'll probably make more money but-
At least we'll both be doing things we love.
And we'll live on a farm,
Just like you always wanted and...
I want to marry you-
I can't imagine myself with anyone else.
But you don't know that.
We'd both laugh if I told you.
So it's better left unsaid.
I can see us staying up late...
Watching kiddie movies and eating chocolate ice cream.
And having candle lit dates on our bedroom floor-
Taco Bell, of course.
And on winter evenings, we'll curl up on the couch...
With hot chocolate...
As I read aloud to you-
From a book of my choice, of course.
But you don't know this...
You'd think I was weird if I told you.
So it's better left unsaid.
And one day we'll pick out a huge chair.
A chair for cuddling.
And when I'm sad-
You'll hold me in our chair...
And we'll both stay real quiet,
Taking each other in.
And eventually we'll start to talk-
Quiet murmurs at first...
Society Is Ugly.Society is ugly.More Like This
Beauty is defined by
How you act.
Not by the number on the
Starving doesn't work.
Purging doesn't work.
Pills don't work.
The girl you see
In the mirror is
Just the way she is
Don't get upset because
You don't match up
To the media's
Cutting won't work.
Crying won't work.
Dying won't work.
Society is ugly.
An artistMore Like This
Staring at a blank paper
Is an artist's worst nightmare.
The artist is the shaper,
Their thoughts somewhere up in the air.
They are searching for inspiration,
Sometimes they are even searching the skies.
It takes a lot of concentration,
But you can always see the passion burning in their eyes.
Being an artist does not always mean you're creative.
It just means that you want to create something,
And never want to give up.
PyromaniaI want to see a light show in ochre and dancersMore Like This
two thousand degrees in heat: I want to watch them
all traipse across my bedroom floor with their
encore in grey.
Blistered fingers flicking cigarette lighters
to see an orange pirouette turn for me,
my parents worry that I smell of smoke but they
don't know the reality.
The truth is that you can find me weaving
kerosene trails around the moon and Saturn's rings
telling acorns and oak leaves to enjoy our
favourite disease -
So I flick the lighter once again and speak
to the blackened walls and singed floors:
'Don't fear the kiss of the flame
don't let them douse the burns you reap
don't stop dancing, just don't stop dancing
The SadistThe Sadist: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
waking-cat's morning reflectionyyyyyMore Like This
-ning to wake up
I Am So DisturbedI Am So Disturbed:More Like This
How long will it burn me,
In darkness cloaked.
Raped by a voice,
Of death it spoke.
The ceiling revolves with words of sorrow,
Draped on the walls, they are creatures hollow.
Screaming and crying, the death we seek,
The eyes that stare, when I fall asleep.
Voiceless whispers and empty sound,
The pattern of drool, that stains the ground.
Endlessly scratching at walls and eyes,
I stare at reflections that breathe to die.
The darkened shadows that seem to stain,
The constant sound of a pouring rain.
Wherever I go, the eyes that lead,
Within me planting a dirty seed.
Again and again I am twisted by sound,
I wake in a room that seems to surround.
I see myself, but I know it's not me,
What is man, in the mirror I see...
"You sir, have got terrible bags beneath your eyes!"
-Chen Yuan Wen, 3rd March 2012
Acceptance.Friends all stand in front of me...More Like This
Laughing, joking carelessly...
I hide my arms so they can't see...
What it is I've done to me...
And though I try to hang around...
They often leave me feeling lost...
What will it take just to be found?
How much more will my joy cost..?
('Cause I don't live, I just survive)
(Among the crowd, I'm ostracized)
(I can not be indemnified)
(I fell too hard, I broke this time)
My parents always yell at me...
Like I won't get it unless they scream...
But I never do know what they mean...
Why do they have to smother me?!
I've got my back pressed to the fences...
I'm sorry that I'm such a hinderance...
I long to feel some kind of presence...
Something more than this hated essence..
Suffered from my unjust sentence...
All I ask for from this world...
Is a little bit of pure acceptance...
Black RoseI stomp to my room and slam the door.More Like This
Another horrible day at school.
Tears begin to flow when I realize no one's home.
Looking around my room, I see a seemingly normal place.
It's only that way because I didn't get to choose what it looked like.
Pictures hang from every inch of the wall.
A precious memory in each.
As I'm still scanning my room I see it.
Hidden behind my book.
You gave it to me.
The scene comes back to me now.
We're walking through town at midnight.
Your hand clutching mine.
A cold chill traveling through the air.
The wind keeps blowing my hair in my face.
You take every opportunity you can to push it away.
If it was daylight you would have seen me blush.
You seemed unusually quiet so I kept asking what was wrong.
You replied, "Nothing," every time.
But there was something in your brown eyes that said, "Everything."
We walked in silence until we reached the field on top of the hill.
It was a place no one knew was even there.
No chance of us being disturbed.
Two Years LaterShe asked him gently, “Do you love me?”More Like This
In his long silence, she found closure,
And left her love under a willow tree.
The MonstersThe monsters were neverMore Like This
under my bed.
Because the monsters
were inside my head.
I fear no monsters,
for no monsters I see.
Because all this time
the monster has been me.
ten ways this breakup isn't meant for the movies1.More Like This
you go out for twelve eggs and come back
with half a dozen and a new girlfriend.
you hold the eggs out to me like
six dead birds is enough of a peace offering.
i push the eggs out of your hand and stay
with my hand over your heart as i watch them
fall. if they do not hit the ground, this is all a dream.
the eggs smash on the tile and splatter
on the cherry wood cabinets, newly installed
that cost me two paychecks.
the egg whites hit your leather shoes that
you’ve worn for two months straight
because you think they make you look more sophisticated.
the egg whites hit the fridge halfway up, barely touching
the moose magnet my mother brought us
back from Yellowstone.
the egg whites come near me and i close my eyes
and open them again
because this is not a dream
you stare at the mess and look up and tell me
you’re sorry. i stare at you until you
get a mop and wipe up the broken bits of bird.
there must be irony in that for you,
because this is the last time
and if your heart do hurt theeonce upon a time—More Like This
except that’s not true, because this story
is still happening, so let me start over.
there’s a girl who lives in a small town
who is afraid of falling and snakes and thunder and love and
commitment and herself and gas stations.
this is a good premise for a character because
you can already see her problem: she’s going to fall in love.
there’s a boy because there is always a boy.
this boy is in love with music and leaving.
let’s call him Q, and let’s call the girl G and let’s say
that G is in love with Q but she’s not sure if
he’s a person or an ideal, and he might be horrible
as both but she loves him for his smile and his eyes
and she’s young enough to think that that’s enough.
spoiler alert: it’s not enough.
now, let’s give G some flaws because every good character has flaws.
let’s say she laughs a bit too loudly and her eyes are close together
and she has no sens
on getting to be honesti wonderMore Like This
if you were really drunk or not
when you called me. if that was
just an excuse when i asked you why,
if maybe that made it somehow
seem less strange after all this time.
if you were telling the truth
about keeping everything i gave you.
except for my paintings, which you
admitted that you destroyed. i wonder
how often you take my poems out and
why you asked me what my
warmest memory was of us.
i'd often dream of having
this conversation with you
a year ago, but it was too soon
and we were still in love but
we hated each other. i would have
said, 'the best memory i have of you
is you leaving.' which of course isn't
true. i threw up in an old hotel in
new york city when you left me. i wandered
the streets with a $14 pack of cigarettes
and wanted a man to see how lost i was
and talk me into selling my body, or giving
i didn't answer your question,
but i had the answer, in my head.
i have written poems about it.
you said, 'do you want to marry hi
tear the skeleton from his comfortzonei want to build a skyscraper, seventeen stories highMore Like This
and fill each floor with a story from the people who never said goodbye.
a middle child, born in 1994,
she always wanted to be loved the most
until she learned how to give a blowjob
in an alley behind Miss China’s Takeaway
at knife point.
she lost her childhood
to an ocean who always thought it was small
and never stopped pushing its borders.
he’s not sure how he’s supposed to live without her.
staring at the closed coffin, he loses the ability to want to.
it’s not fair, she thinks,
that the house creaks when she’s trying to sleep,
but when he leaves, it doesn’t make a sound.
nine months and a small coffin later,
she thinks she likes the name “amber”
“tomorrow,” he says as she passes him in the hallway—
him from math, her to english. “i’ll tell her tomorrow,”
a thought he had had for the
They Say I'm GuiltyOf the nearly eighty female prisoners that had answered my request, I had narrowed my choices down to two of them. The first was a voluptuous, porcelain-skinned brunette that would make my brother drool in seconds. The second was a golden-haired, frail little piece of work, and normally I would have dismissed her during the first round of eliminations, but something kept her there. Maybe it was the way she stared at me with her venomous green eyes, but I couldn't be sure. In any case, I had my two choices set before me, each isolated in separate cells on opposite ends of the jail so that I might observe them more personally.More Like This
I turned to the prison guard. "What can you tell me about this one?" I was starting with the brunette.
"Number 67," he practically spat. "Don't believe a word she tells you. She's as good a liar as they come."
I wondered at what sort of lies she had told the guard because clearl
no wonder it took him 1455 pageswhen i was seven years old, a group of kids in my grade threw rocks at me for liking neopets more than webkinz. from then on, i was convinced i knew what hatred meant. but i don’t know how to describe it to the little girl who sits in the corner of my womb and in ten years might call me mommy and ask for help on dividing the world into black and white.More Like This
would i point to the churches with their bigotry? to the cotton fields of the south in the 1800s? to the classrooms of modern day america? would i tell her about how the jews stood in straight lines, waiting to die, with fear in their eyes and faith in their hearts? or would i try and describe the sound tyler clementi’s body made when it hit the water of the hudson river after he jumped from the george washington bridge?
would i point to myself and say, “i am hatred, i am hatred to others. i am lying and cheating and stealing and coveting and jealousy and hubris. i am the idea of every time someone wants to kill someone
Dark Sadistic Muse:Dark Sadistic Muse:More Like This
I seat myself before the computer,
With fingers poised over fading keys.
Eagerly awaiting my latest epic;
Yet frozen by a lack of inspiration.
Here I sit, staring at the blank document.
The dark background mirroring the world behind me.
I swallow hard as my body locks;
Hairs tense as I sense her arrival...
Slender fingers soon wrap themselves around my throat.
With claw-like nails digging in painfully,
They prick the skin that lies just beneath my Adam’s apple;
Leaving me nursing a rather painful necklace.
"Your hands aren't moving," she coos softly,
Her clawed fingers gently stroking my chin.
"Why is that, I wonder?" she asks with a grin.
Her expression reveals a pair of pointed canines,
Both framed by lips as seductive as sin.
"I'm sorry my lady", I whisper in reply.
The excuse tumbles slowly from a paralyzed tongue.
"I have had no inspiration you see;
No dreams with which I am able to write."
She laughs at this; cruel and cold,
Tossing me from
Dialogue: Forgive"Hey."More Like This
"I didn't say anything."
"Good. Keep it that way."
"He's sorry, you know. For what he did."
I stayed silent.
"Can't you at least talk to him?"
I gave out a short, sharp bark of laughter. It came out sounding feral.
"You're lucky I'm talking to you!"
"Me? What did I do?"
"Nothing. That's the point."
"I tried to stop him."
Our eyes met. "Tried isn't good enough," I said shortly.
"Can't you just-"
"Can't I just? Can't I just what? Forgive him? Because I won't. And I never will."
I laughed. "He's not even brave enough to try to talk to me face to face! Instead, he sends you! A diplomat! An envoy!"
"Sending in the cavalry while he sits and watches from the barracks!" I spat.
"Or maybe, instead of the cavalry, I'm a third party. Trying to end the conflict."
I stared at that face. That mouth, twisting and turning words to suit its needs. Those eyes, falsely trustworthy.
"He said I was worse than a dog. A savage. A wild animal," I stated flatly.
"He didn't mean
The First MeetingThe rain was nothing to him. The water soaked his hair and clothes, making it cling to his body, chilling him to the bone. But he kept walking aimlessly, secretly hoping he wouldn't meet anyone or anything. The solitude was his only form of peace.More Like This
He couldn't stop thinking about her. That damned cleric of Sunny's. Her words kept tearing through his head like razor blades. "You poor child," she had said with that maternal smile on her face. With her own blood on her hand, she had reached up and caressed his face so gently. She coughed once, blood staining her lips, then she fell, lifeless, to the dirt.
The image haunted him like no image did. He couldn't even remember the face of the first kill he made, their name or even if they were nice to him. He didn't even remember the face of the woman he had killed before the cleric. He had killed so many in his s
A StatueSo it is now that I feel as a statue eerily unchangedMore Like This
Just a little wear, it is, on my edges
Where the marble becomes rough
Who knew that hail could come down so strong?
Or perhaps it was the wind's doing, it's changes blowing by so fiercely
As to lift the carpets from the earth
Tear the blueness out of the sky and
Poison the waters to make them black; whatever suits its chilly fancy
As winter comes like a stain on your white blouse
My mind unsullied and unfurling as I
Try to grasp what I was so accustomed, so used to having
Too sore to lose as leaves layer over my stone pedestal
And so my fingers, reaching, chip from it
My knees corrode and buckle
A cloud's tear falls to my cold cheek
And my rock foundation trembles and wedges a crack between marble
Perhaps it was the leaves doing all along, as they fluttered about
Methought they were always green, how foolish and now
They rust away with autumn's touch
Crumbling at the breeze; too weak to brush
Or the sky, maybe, as it had always seem
You're A LiarYou're a liar. You're a liar.More Like This
You're the worst I've ever seen.
What you're saying's only true
in your dreams.
You say there's no one else like you.
You say your lover's always true.
You say you never met a man
you couldn't own
You say you've always been the one
to break it off. To cut and run.
You say you've shattered every heart
you've ever known.
For love of money, lust for fame
there's no accomplice you won't name.
You've done it all. You say you'll do it
You say I'll always see your face.
That you're the one I can't replace.
You say my new love won't compare
When all your youth and beauty's flown,
remember me when you're alone.
Remember me when your career
is at an end.
You'll know what's false and what is true.
And when you're bitter and you're blue,
I'll be with someone unlike you.
You'll need a friend.
You speak of murder. Suicide.
Tears and anguish in their eyes.
You say that life is not worth living
when you're gone.
Nothing is the way it seems.
trust me i'm making an effort.i smashed a plate today. the pieces went flying everywhere.More Like This
there is a point at which it doesn't make a difference anymore. i am better but better is not good enough and never ever will be.
i smashed a plate today. all the tempting big and little pieces had sharp edges.
there is a point at which i stop caring that i am bigger and better and stronger. this is the point where i can stop denying that i am beautiful because i don't even care anymore.
i didn't hurt myself because i would be letting too many people down.
it's a shame that they love me so much;
if they didn't, maybe this gut-wrenching fear wouldn't be so strong in the first place.
Carpe DiemThe Dawn Awaits the Misty DewMore Like This
Lost Here, Karmic Friction Ensues
The Slumbering Flowers Are Stomped Before They Wake
Jealous as the Moon Smiling, Break
Pieces Fall and Shadows Creep
Tomorrow May Not be so Bleak
Love meThrough silkyMore Like This
lily-white bones embrace
d e s p e r a t e l y
clawing at each other's
drunk with Isolation
lips blooming like
And they rot so fast!
Crushed by NEED
Blindly dig in flesh
looking for even the smallest
"Proof of Emotion"
But we know
Our blood stopped running
when we put our hearts to sleep.
Remembrance"I miss the way you fit comfortably in my arms. I miss how you fit perfectly in my hand. I miss how you came alive with just the right amount of pressure. I miss how your face lit up when I touched you. I miss you, my ipod."More Like This
This was an obituary in fond memory of a beloved iPod. In a coma for the past few months, repeated attempts to resuscitate it at the iPod emergency ward were unsuccessful.