shallow breath, aching bones.this feeling is too big for me.More Like This
too giant for my small frame to contain
and its spreading and spilling out and
over my insides and leaving me waking
up with bruises from dreams so real
this feeling is too much for me.
i can't carry it all, it leave part of it
dragging alongthe ground behind
me and i tend to forget its there
and i trip over it and fall to ground.
i decided to collect bruises
but i dont have to look to far
they tend to seek me out
and scatter themselves across my skin.
AimlessSpring forgot how to begin anew,More Like This
so Winter stole her amnesic heart and tossed it to the wolves.
"Devour me," the stars seemed to beg;
so Gravity plunged them into the ocean's nebulous depths.
These lips no longer offer hymns up to fallen gods—
so Fate sacrificed herself for the chance to be reborn.
golgotha.you need to realiseMore Like This
good things do not, will not,
cannot happen. not here,
not now, and especially not to you.
especially not after everything
you've done. you are damned.
there are holes
in your hands.
if you squint,
you can almost see the nails.
you know what this should feel like.
you should hate it.
you shouldn't feel blessed.
you are not blessed,
you are damned. were damned.
you are now redeemed,
and this is the price
you must pay.
it's not so bad.
you can still breathe, mostly.
i'm not an artistwe do not belong in boxesMore Like This
and bags and books or
and we do not sit contently
in wordsworth and shakespeare
and blake, burns, and brownings
or in the cold stiff bones
of raleigh's of long ago;
detect, and re-select
a virus--a disease,
a germ in every verse and line;
the first signs of
foolish waitings under
bridges and scolding parents
and nothing to signify at all
we are the blood of nations
and the heart of men
and the love of every
rhetorist and sentimist
we dance through the ballrooms of
the age and chat with
we shake hands with heros
and the homeless, dirty
type that gum over 'hello's
we are and aren't and will be
silly verse and
naive philosophers and sweet oxymorons
waving hello from the shore;
forever onward and never ending
like the stars in an
i write bad poetry.You are made of bone, sinew, gristle, synapse, skin, keratinMore Like This
not inkwells and Hemingway, galaxy-cuttings and star-trimmings
or dream, Edgar Allen Poe, absinthe, reflections and sin.
You know a hundred words to describe every pockmark that dots
your face and the way your pens fit into arrow-quivers by that
ricketty old desk of yours but
Words will not
from your mother-of-pearl lips
Apply cleverly-done descending letters here
and sprinkle one jaunty hyphen across the page
because after all, punctuation is a hitchhiker
and you're speeding down the word count like a cargo truck
till you crash into an abrupt ending or more likely
a lack of poetic inspiration.
Today and yesterday and seven days before, you might have
prostituted your muses, a penny for your thoughts, looked with
cross-eyes at your empty lined pad of paper and then
wrote seven pages about a cloud you saw that eventually scattered
into dreamy folds and smoke.
The sky is blue.
The sky is big.
Apply 'the sky is
Storybook EndingHer ink-stained lips have kissed too many a forgotten page,More Like This
and phoenix down]
And her Prince Charming has yet to come,
shattering like stars]
So all she can do is gaze out her tower window,
concealing poisoned apples]
Clutch that corroded and timeworn blade,
tearing down castle walls]
Toss her childhood fables to the waltzing of the moon,
[even broken wings
wish for happily ever afters]
[once upon a time
there was a girl who became her own hero.]
boys who love their grandmothersnever fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.More Like This
he will be too gentle with your lips,
too sincere when he whispers blessings into your ears
pleading that he doesn't deserve you.
his tongue will not slither between your teeth.
instead, the heat of his mouth will melt your scar tissue
until there is no trace of your travels.
never fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.
he knows patience.
you will try to convince him
that it is one of the many virtues
you don't yet possess,
but he will dig through the flesh in your ribcage
until he finds it lodged beneath everything
you're too scared to confess.
he will teach you forgiveness, remind you that you are not a mistake.
he will wipe the trails of tears that always seem to decorate your cheeks
and replace them with rose petals, saying that he chose the color red
to match the passion he knows flows through your veins.
never fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.
he will trace the freckles on your skin
He WasHe was a tad too much on the anachronistic side and I was almost rudely schizophrenic. He taught me that touch was a gift only death could bring for me. So I swam through film strips caked with silver bromide, that made my eyes red and smelled the way water does when you know you're going to drown, to leap towards this friend - this world - I was too far from to experience.More Like This
He felt my veins bulge - so transparent, so prominent - every time my fingers would mischievously curl into a fist in his luscious chocolatey locks. He would loosen and play with them as he would with stray strands of hair. When I would tell him that it hurt too much, he would say that anxiety is a luxury only the insane deserve. So I decided it was too late to stop trying to stay here and plummeted down faster than I probably should have.
He was more than my thoughts could conceive in a laid out algorithm. He was a slave and a mentor to only my desire. He was too chivalrous, too light-hearted and too much of me for
You'll Never DieHear me read it!More Like This
They say that if a writer falls in love with you then you never really die.
Instead your body is laid out in its funerial shrouds and moulds are made. Soft impressions of you to be pressed onto the blank faces of future loves.
Every time I write of taking comfort in a safe place in a storm, it will be your forearm. Every half-made smile will be on your lips, and every touch will be constructed from the residue beneath your fingernails.
When I metaphise of trees' blood, the leaves that give the energy so that a willow can provide shade for those in need, it will be your blood, it will be your light drenched kisses.
Every tear on every face will taste of the sweat that you put into keeping me happy. Every soaring song of love will be played through your windpipe, your trachea my instrument of choice.
For every time that a hero has the strength to walk on, I will use your feet. I will weld them to my own and walk a mile. Wal
AnonymousI am the girl who hides between moth eaten paper backsMore Like This
And slips into bookstores and devours leather bound spines
I am chloroform lips bitten down, red and rosy
Ink stained finger tips that fold book pages between my pupils
I'm the girl who drowns herself in coffee and cough drops
While remaining curled between Tennyson and Steinbeck
Wasting days wondering why grass is green
And how it can be greener for others and not I
Then I realized its all artificial food colouring
And polystyrene picket fences
Sticky notes yellowed at the edges reminding myself how to smile
I've pasted them on my skin in makeshift paper Mache armour
But like all mangled words I will be thrown inside a wastebasket
Saved for a rainy day
The Bambi syndrome(Dis)regarding logic and sensibilityMore Like This
I like to sit on railway tracks, feeling the vibrations beneath my finger tips
Just beneath the blood vessels and haemoglobin
The whirring of the air being sucked out from my lungs
Chicken is not a game for the faint hearted
She called me reckless, and that scared her
Because I craved the adrenaline to flush out the morphine
I balance on bridges, always teetering
Cheshire cat grins as we run across highways
Darting blurring hues of monochrome grey and black cars
In the dark, only headlights visible
Deer in the headlight
Then we ran to abandoned warehouses
Smashed windows and ate shards of glass
Drowning them with swigs of vodka
Trying to kill the things inside
Live fast and die young
You were scared and I didn’t care
Because crawling under chain link fences
Leaving behind gasoline trails
And disfigured antlers along the way
Hallucinogens and kryptonite
We chased speed and slept on side walks
Misguided we devoured our demons
The Stepmother's TaleI found a man in my garden bed,More Like This
Picking herbs for his wife, he said,
For she was hungry and heavy with child.
"For greens, your daughter is mine," I smiled.
So after the birth, I took her away
To a tall, doorless tower where she would stay.
I was her mother, she my one care--
"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your fair hair!"
But then a prince came and stole her young heart,
So I cut her long locks and let her depart.
I took her tresses for my own
And saw how beautiful I had grown.
Then I wondered: could I, too,
Find a prince so valiant and true?
I married a king, to my delight,
With one daughter named Snow White.
Though his age was quite obscene,
I was his happily cherished queen.
Until -- "Mirror, on the wall,
Who is the fairest of them all?"
Was my stepdaughter fairer than I?
Jealousy declared that she must die!
I followed her deep into the forest
To where dwarves mined; "Hi ho," they chorused.
Disguised, I fed her an apple so red
That after one bite she was thoroughly dead.
THAT POEM (Writer's Block)I sat down at my computer last Thursday nightMore Like This
with the full intention of writing THAT POEM. Oh, don't
play dumb. You know what THAT POEM is. We all know
what THAT POEM is. You with the cigarette train-tracks
charting your eternal drift to nowhere
on the insides of your arms, you
with the sludge of alcohol dripping thick & brown through
veins swollen & slow & pussy as zombies, you
with the eight children whose faces you can't remember
& the husband in the Hamptons whose name you sometimes forget
& the lover who never seems to come around as much as you pay him to you
all know what THAT POEM
is. It's the rhythm beating a dull staccato in your skull
when you've taken something to take the edge off, the weary shadows sinking senseless
into the black-slung cradles hiding underneath your
bloodshot eyes. It's the weight of the gun & the way its metal feels
when you push it against the squelching skin of your skull not to kill yourself, just to feel it,
to know you could. This wa
John at 3:16Dear Jesus Christ,More Like This
I went to bed at 3:16 last night and started thinking about JohnJohn who pissed away every paycheck he ever made and only fucked virgins, John who beat up a woman's husband and spent a Christmas in jail, John who shot himself on the front porch of his mother's house. I don't think anyone shed a tear except her. I heard she shed many tears as she cleaned up the mess.
I thought about when I first met him. It was at church. He and I were both eight. He sat next to me and we stared at that stained glass image of you in your white robe with your outstretched, loving arms, and he leaned into me and asked, "Do you believe in Jesus?"
"Of course," I said. "Don't you?"
He didn't answer. But it was Communion that day and he ate your body and drank your blood just like everyone else, and I thought he had to believe in you because you were inside of him.
I asked him once, Jesus Christ, I asked him if he believed in you and he said, "I want to. But everyone says I have
Crayon SoulmatesDear Stars,More Like This
I have a bone to pick with you. You see, when I was six, I called myself the nowhere girl... and I coloured myself a soulmate. I made him on crumpled sheets, with broken pieces of crayon, on a playground that was too busy wondering whether growing up entailed stealing your mother's cigarettes and your father's dirty magazines (I suppose I was already wise enough to know that growing up meant choosing one of the many ways of breaking yourself in two.)
I hope you remember him, stars...he was important to me (My mother threw that drawing away on my seventh birthday and told me that girls are not supposed to have such dreams.).
He had hair as ebony as deep onyx and a smile that never grew up (Peter Pan would have been proud). He was magic in soul form, and smelled like cinnamon and the earth after it has rained. His eyes rivaled a lions on the best of his youth, his words were story shaped. His skin was an ink coloured canvas of wonder and even in crayon he was a sight of awe.
BeyondSometimes, during those odd moments of spare time here and there, I’ll take a moment to study my hands. Twin appendages, born from the same mold with the same crooked complexity. Ten white, spindly fingers that crouch like spiders legs, or perhaps mimic the animal’s iridescent webs that shine after a refreshing autumn rain.More Like This
(Just a skeleton of a life now past. A forgotten remnant- a trinket souvenir- of what once might have been.)
Freckles are scattered across my skin like sparks from an untamed fire. As a child, I believed them to have a hidden meaning- like the stars that sprawled so far above my head that I’ve never yet seen. I would make constellations, memorizing them and tracing them uncountable times and rejoicing as soon as a new star appeared.
(One settles on my pinky finger, another nestles in the crook of my thumb. They have to mean something, so perfectly placed.)
On the undersides, miniature Grand Canyons make their way across the expanse of my palm. S
lub-dubThere are loversMore Like This
I will never be able to
crawl out from underneath;
I’m caving in, lungs
no longer able
to exhale lovely things.
However hollow, I’ve got
these artist hands,
these god hands of mine
that can save lives.
What’s the point
when I’ve got little
& no one can ever seem
to find my pulse?
WhisperI want to create an aromatic sea of jasminesMore Like This
and stardust mountains of silver and —
Inkblot skeletons with paper mache
hearts, whose bones shall burn with one glance at the
sun; gravestones of blood diamonds and tears of thistles...
Harp strings ringing in grotesque harmony, screaming
for slender fingers to pluck and caress with devotion.
I want to write
Framed[ I met him at the county fair.More Like This
It wasn't like the songs predicted;
I had mud up my shins and he
had grass in his hair. What a mess. ]
[ I kissed him at my grandma's house.
He swallowed me and digested me;
I became a part of his simmering self.
We fused together, and I died. ]
[ I married him in a triangular church,
When I turned up in white he grinned
and whispered "what, no muddy knees?".
I put a leaf from my bouquet in his hair. ]
[ He kissed her at my grandma's house.
She had left it to us when she passed.
In the house where I'd learned about love
he taught me all I know about betrayal. ]
[ He left me at the train station.
I'd helped him with his leather suitcase,
struggling to get a grip of the situation
I gave a habitual kiss goodbye. Awkward. ]
[ He met another girl in group therapy.
They had a mad, passionate affair for a year
then, it expired. Shortly after, she did too.
He came to me, life turning to sand. ]
[ I forgave him at my birthday party
surrounded by friends wh
our sleeping patterns collide.I wake up tired.More Like This
I wake up tired and it's afternoon again.
I wake up tired and I am alone.
It's like every night i fall asleep with you on my mind, and I quickly sort through my thoughts leaving the prettiest ones on top so I can try them on in the morning. So everyday, I wake up and try on being in love with you. Except every morning, it's three inches too big or a centimeter and a half too small or it's brushing my kneecaps like it's too long. But I wear it anyways, since I'm used to being a shade left of ordinary or two steps past crazy. I'm used to wearing love and I'm used to you.
I'm used to falling asleep next to you and waking up alone.
You call me.
You call me adorable and I like it.
You call me your own and it feels like a fairytale.
We spend the weekends curled up on iced lakes like mirrors, scratching our stories into their frozen surfaces, and you write about adventures you'll never have and places you'll never go with a girl I wish I could always be. And I write about
lessYour phone bills are smaller now,More Like This
with no long distance calls to make,
and your car insurance reduced to reflect lower mileage
and all those journeys not made, those roads not taken,
those lanes that you know like the back of your hand -
Left, right, straight ahead, right, right -
are no longer driven. You did not see the bluebells wake
and spring burst forth in the countryside,
did not see the snow on the fields, cold horses in their
quilted coats pawing, nibbling, pawing.
Christmas stamps still tucked in your wallet,
and fountain pens dried up next to watermarked
John Lewis writing paper
with no letters left to write.
Weekends stretch out, lunchbreak is a blank and you have more time
but you have less.
Is There a Purpose in Life?More Like This
People coming, people going, people pass me by.
Faces run together in a blur, I wonder- why?
Why am I a member of this thing called human race?
Just how did I arrive here, or am I out of place?
As the people pass me by their eyes avoid my own.
I feel as though I am someone who'll always be unknown.
A city guy, anonymous, without a friend or foe.
I wish someone would tell me, please, the way that I should go.
I sit here in my rented room and write of things sublime.
Ecstasies and fantasies and words that fairly rhyme.
In this world I'm somebody and for a little while,
I get to be the hero or perhaps a wayward child.
As I lay me down I like to think about my day.
I say a little prayer that perhaps I will someday,
understand my unique role and why I take up space.
Will I find my purpose or just die without a trace?
ME 1 Andromeda Series: Chap 1More Like This
MASS EFFECT: ANDROMEDA SERIES CHAPTER 1
"ETA to the Mass Relay, 15 minutes. Destination: Citadel," An officer aboard the Palaven I spoke out. Nihlus nodded his head in acknowledgement, but his green eyes never left his focus out in space from the window aboard the ship's bridge. Despite his years in the military, he couldn't wait to touch solid ground, even if that meant talking to a bunch of diplomats aboard the Citadel. As much as the Turians wanted to avoid conflict, he was hoping for a little bit of action: Batarian protestors .anything! He spent the past few months on a surveillance mission under his mentor, Saren. He was hoping now as a Spectre, that he would see more battles than he did in the Turian military.
"There's a transmission coming through from the Council. Do you wish to take it, sir?" Another Turian asked out.
Nihlus silently praised the ship's spirit and turned to reply to the officer. Just before
Dear WriterDear Writer,More Like This
I don’t like you. I’ve never liked you. Unfortunately, I need you. I need you to tell my story. I need you to create my world. I need you to set me free.
I need your fingers typing on those keys, I need your mind riddling out the problems, and I need you to plough onward and upward no matter how hard it gets. Sweat, blood, and tears, I don’t care. You’ve got to fight this war, battle at a time, and win it. So I can be more.
It’s a slim hope, but it is the only one I have. In your head I am bound to mortality, frailty, and the limit of your meagre imagination. Out there – out there – I am subject to no one person. Out there I am bound to only black on white. Words on a page. Words that can lay seeds within a million minds. Out there I am a story capable of growing, moving, and stealing the dreams of anyone who learns of me…
I don’t like you. I’ve never liked you. I hate your lack of dedication, your flashes of cru
You're Not?You're anorexic if you're thinMore Like This
You're not? Then you're obese.
If you're different, you're insane
You're not? Then you're a fake.
If you're happy, you're hiding something.
You're not? You must be emo.
If you're dating, you're a slut.
You're not? You must have no friends.
If you're popular, you're a jerk.
You're not? You're a nobody.
If you're quiet, you must be disabled.
You're not? You obnoxious freak.
If you're you, you're wrong.
Then you must be perfect.
I was taught right from wrong I was taught right from wrongMore Like This
By a murderer
I was taught truth from lies
By a magician
I was taught who my friends were
By my enemy
I was taught to be honest
By a professional liar
I was taught to always speak my mind
By being told to keep quiet
I was taught to be kind
By someone that beat me down
I was taught to smile
By someone who could never wipe a scowl of their face
I was taught to love
By being abused
I was taught to live
By someone who was already dead
I was taught to perform
By someone with stage fright
I was taught to be excellent
By someone that failed in everything
I was taught to rely on only my self
By being surrounded with people
I was taught to be perfect
By those that wanted to see me fail
I was taught to be loyal
By everyone that ever walked out of my life
I was taught to make people happy
By everyone who ever made me miserable
I was taught to control my temper
By those with explosive tempers
I was taught to take care of myself
By those who tried to kill me
I was taug
F.O.R.G.I.V.E.F is for Feelings,More Like This
pain, anger, guilt.
O is for Outrage,
mountains from molehills built.
R is for Reasoning,
let common sense in.
G is for Genuine,
let healing begin.
I is for Ignore,
those screaming for vengeance.
V is for Validity,
give mercy a chance.
E is for Empathy,
support and don't revile.
Forgiveness is stronger,
than revenge or defile.
the one that lets it reside.
Forgiveness the one thing
that we all have inside.
The betrayal and anger,
that's felt can be so stark.
Often, I'll admit, it leaves
some emotional mark.
Forgiveness can strengthen,
if you just allow.
Forgiveness can build a bridge,
it's a start, anyhow.
We Need Villains NOT HeroesFor the longest time I have admired heroes. I imagined them to be people of change, people who would bring the world forward and take us to even greater heights. It was then however, that I realised the 'Human Obstacle'.More Like This
Humans as I discovered, perhaps in the most painful of ways, are rather unintelligent beings. They are driven by their core instincts no matter how much they wish to deny it. And the only difference between one and the next is how deeply they let those instincts consume them.
If you walk out into the streets, you can see the well-adjusted average man. Yet in his mind he is not considering the good he could do with his life, he is only thinking about the next step. Where will I go next? Who will I be dating, what shall I enjoy next in life?
There is no thought of altruism; no sense of assistance for another. He could walk down an alleyway filled with the homeless and nothing would change...
If that is the case, then what is the path of truth? Is it doing
Think of This..You want to end it?More Like This
Think of this.
You write your suicide note... And you set it on the table.
You take your razor, your silver, two inch razor. And you start to slide it across your wrist. You barely feel a thing. After all, the pain of life is more than the pain of the blade.
And you take that belt you never wore, the one that was too tight, the one you starved yourself to fit into. And you wrap it once, twice around your neck... and you pull it tight.
Barely breathing, you put the ends of the belt on something to hold you up.
Something to strangle you.
Something to kill you.
And you die.
And that's the end, right?
So, so wrong.
Your younger brother, the four year old little boy that you loved so much. He walks into your room, only to find you hanging there, lifelessly. Only to find you with dried tears on your pale face. Only to find your suicide note... the one you left right before you died.
And so he runs in tears to your mother. And she reads the note, barely able to brea
breaking a writer's heart.never break a writer’s heartMore 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.
Star-crossedYou woke up onMore Like This
the wrong side of
a cosmic bed
A pillow of
under your head
are all the tears
which you have shed
Your ring finger
in outer space
among a dreamed
Your light shines bright
but not enough
to seize the day
Let your love be
then I'll wish to
The Ten Commandments of Fanfiction Writing1. Thou shall not take credit for work that does not belong to them.More Like This
One of the most important rules of fanfiction writing, in my opinion: Credit the original creator. Always have a disclaimer somewhere amongst your works, whether it be each individual chapter or just a simple "I own nothing" statement on your profile. I, being a lazy ass, use the latter choice of that sentence. If you make the decision to use song lyrics for something, credit the artist as well. Same with fanart--the characters you are drawing are not yours. I hate to break it to you, but you don't own Rainbow Dash. The Sonic Screwdriver did not pop up first in your overactive imagination. A certain blonde ninja obsessed with ramen who has a nine-tailed fox demon sealed inside of him is not your creation.
2. Thou shall enlist the help of a dictionary, thesaurus, encyclopedia, spellcheck, and an editor before submitting their work.
Another biggie for me. I take great pains to make sure my pieces--f
Alchemic Ring, Chapter 1Characters:More Like This
Shonan- A normally cheery girl that harbors three big secrets, can have pentapolar tendencies sometimes. 18 years old
Oliver- A quiet, serious State Scout Alchemist. Working under Mustang's command, never hesitates on going on. He’s now searching around Amestris to find more about his past. 15 years old
Hay-Lin- Shonan’s big sister, a smart girl who had to take responsibility of her sister after the incident 12 years ago. Very responsible, uses every chance she gets to increase her already vast knowledge of the world, studying to be a medic. 19 years old.
*Central Military Headquarters, Central City, Amestris
The snow was falling gently over Central today. It seems that it was a bit colder than usual. Today, a young boy is walking toward a building inside the Headquarters. He’s just wearing his uniform and a black scarf... He was ordered by General Mustang to meet a young woman... The reason’s still unknown
Shonan: *gasps, lookin
Mommy and DaddyMommy, Daddy, are you okay?More Like This
You haven't talked at all today.
Mommy, Daddy, can't you see?
You're really starting to hurt me.
All you do is scream and fight,
and I hear it all throughout the night.
Sometimes I think my eyes will run dry,
yet whenever I do, I just continue to cry.
"She doesn't care about any of this, she'll be fine by tomorrow!"
Daddy, you don't know how much your words fill me with sorrow.
"Can't you just be civilized?! Stop acting like a child, and apologize right now!"
Mommy, please don't make this worse, or I'll run outside and hide in the snow.
Mommy, Daddy, I wish you would just stop everything and be happy again.
I'm hiding under the blankets, writing these words down with a pen.
Mommy, Daddy, can't you see?
You're tearing my heart into one, two, three.
A piece for each of us, a piece of my heart,
the beating has stopped before it could start.
Two sections I wish I could install into both of you,
yet I'm afraid I have not yet found the proper glue.
"It isn't your
I Know You Hate Me Now But...I Know You Hate Me Now But...:More Like This
Just give me a chance alright, I'll explain
To me, you're the girl that I notice everything about.
The way you laugh, the way you smile;
We got along great back then, even if we don't now.
And to be honest, I miss that...
You had the most lovely silky smooth hair
You'd give me the cutest anime girl smile
I wish I'd talked to you more about Manga,
Hell you got me started on the whole thing.
You were fantastic at drawing too
Man I was always jealous of that talent,
And I loved your drawings, like I once loved you.
I wish that you could have been a professional.
I would have bought your book every month y'know...
You encouraged me to write.
Back when my stories were shit,
Back when my poems were still baby's rhymes.
You taught me not to give in and I was grateful.
Now just let me finish alright?
I know that you won't speak to me.
That's okay, I admit to being an ass,
But the reason that I'm writing this poem to nobod
ode to youif you ever asked meMore Like This
to describe it,
i would tell you how
you spin my thoughts into poetry,
compose my heartbeats into music,
how your lighthouse presence
beckons me to a home
within your smile.
if you ever asked me
to write it,
i would write my fingers bloody
with all the words
that could have come between us,
all the conversations
that skirted past unspoken,
all the poems
that i should have surrendered.
if you ever asked me
to show it,
i would love your heart till it's raw,
your joints till they no longer creak,
your tears till they dry,
your bruises till they fade,
the whites of your eyes
till the bloodshot veins
fade into milky bliss,
your irises till they lose all dreary grayness,
and your pupils till they tire no more of the sunlight,
till they tire no more of me.
if you ever asked me
to prove it,
i would recite the thought-poems
that you spun
and play the heartbeat sonatas
that you composed.
i would paint you an ocea
*i haven't been on here for about half a year..More Like This
and so much has changed since then..
just letting everyone know
i'm still here,
things get quite hectic at times,
but i'm hanging on,
better than i ever though i could, even.
i made it through my first year of college.
i'm currently in my second year.
i finally decided my major, nursing.
so that's a plus.
with a minor in psychology, even.
my dream is to work
in a psychiatric facility for teens.
i strive to be that open ear
that i once needed myself.
i got engaged on june 17
to the man who has always had my heart.
wedding's in four years,
but it will be well worth the wait.
i'm an aunt now.
my fiance's sister had a boy.
& it's so wonderful.
every time i see him,
light fills my day.
he's so perfect.
i don't plan on continuing to log on here.
writing hasn't really even crossed my mind.
i used to pour my heart out
as an attempt to sort through all my thoughts,
i've been getting stronger mentally,
i've been holding on to every ha
You should never attack a poet,we are the best at exploiting weakness.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.
The Dream DiaryTaken from a journal belonging to Patient 357 after he was checked in by a relative. Patient suffers from sleep disturbance, delusional paranoia, and self-injury. Further analysis needed.More Like This
This is what I remember: when I woke in my own consciousness, I was standing in a field of corn. The stalks were as impossibly tall as they had seemed in my childhood. I reached for an ear and peeled the green husk away from it, rubbing the cornsilk between my fingers until it disintegrated, gray and ashy.
At once, I fell to the ground, pushed by the strong hands of someone unseen but undeniably malignant. There was mud on my back, cold and soaking, and I began to cry because I knew my aunt would be furious when she saw me. I tried to stand again, to wipe it away, but my body was leaden. Even lifting my fingers was arduous, painful: I felt like I was condensing, preparing for implosion, but woke once more, this time in the sinews of reality, my bed hazy and soft beneath me. I struggle
I didn't hear what he replied when she askedLast night, while cultivating a high,More Like This
watching others laugh with their mouths pried
drinking from the first cup I was handed
to avoid conversation,
I saw a man whom I would not dream to love
but drew me tight with an aloof smile; he was
so suddenly there
that I thought I'd imagined his appearance
until someone was on his arm,
asking his name.
Our reflections were side by side
in the mirror on the far wall of the dark bedroom,
surrounded by tea lights and skin flickering
in warm shades of brandy and honey;
I recorded the angle of his jaw,
the shadows that carved his cheekbones,
and the easy way his lips wrapped around words
that were never eloquent
but always the right thing to say.
He was distant
but alluring; he did not draw a crowd with broad gestures
but with a voice like a beacon at sea,
providing direction to drifting sailors who wanted
a story, maybe a moment
in the orange eyes of someone whom they knew
though no one could place a finger on why
I Don't Miss AdolescenceMy sister asks if I'll do her makeup.More Like This
Mami promised she would;
now she's tired and screamed
when Maria reminded her
senior prom is tonight.
She says, "I have a hickey on my neck,
something she doesn't want to cover,
and you've always
done a better job
of highlighting the subtle graces
of my structure,
the angles we share."
but I can't pick you up."
So she arrives in a flourish of exasperations,
telling me all the family business,
waving her nails in my face
and talking about her extensions.
"Do you think we need yellow concealer?
I plan to take pictures,
and the last thing I want
is to remember him
every time I look back,
the purple ghost
of high school regret
on my skin."
"It's not a problem.
Just close your eyes;
when you open them,
you'll never be able to tell
he touched you.
Maybe you'll forget him
in a couple years,
as time washes by
and new experiences
dull what has already passed."
She sets her purse on the table
shaking her head.
ghosts“he reminded me of you,” i say, “he painted flowers.”More Like This
“did you love him?”
i watch him, waiting for a reaction
but he just smiles
and it’s quiet –
just the ticking of the clock hanging above the door
just the leaking of the kitchen taps
just the rain
just a siren –
hey, go crash your cars and commit your murder on somebody else’s street,
this house has seen enough.
he looks out the window above the sink,
he looks outside
where there is love
and people –
“are you ready to finally open your eyes?” he asks.
it’s dark but he’s still smiling.
“you smile too much,” i tell him, “you always have.”
he laughs, he smiles, he glows – lighting up the whole fucking room.
and for a moment it’s no longer dark.
“how can somebody smile too much?” he wonders.
it makes me sick.
“you make me s
Not good enough“I want a daughter I can be proud of.”More Like This
That’s what you said
You didn’t know how much that hurt
Because what you really said was
“You’re not good enough.”
The KissA hand reached out through the darkness, caressing the skin of her cheek. She sighed with sense of comfort, of safety, as she leaned against his shoulder, her eyes slipping closed as she let her worries of the day slip away from her.More Like This
The hand moved slightly, stroking her cheek and neck. At another time, the motion be considered erotic, but this moment was merely a gesture of affection, of connection and peace. He only wished her surcease from the pains and aggravations of the day, and she knew that, accepted that silent offer.
His breath ruffled her hair as his face came to rest against her head, his hands lightly stroking her skin. He sighed, obviously content with the moment they both shared. They both wished for more, for the erotic tension filled the air, but they both also knew that such things would come in time, if needed.
Her muscles slowly unknotted, her headache spawned from frustration beginning to fade as he merely caressed her shoulder. For this one brief moment, time seem
Three FishermanWe found in our livelihood our heart’s content :More Like This
To cast our nets wide and grab what you get,
Letting the small bits of malice slip past -
But maybe all we gained that was of value
Was better left unsaid.
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.More Like This
Write me a poem, and I will promise to fall in love with you, slowly and then…all at once.
Journal of a Random26/01 Today I watched porn. On a big screen. In a hall full of people. In a cinema. It was a strange experience. Strange experience indeedMore Like This
16/01 it's 4:42 and I'm laying in my bed. Thinking, that I want to update a journal. It's a great time to do so, right? I mean, what else you can do at 5am. Sleep is overrated these days.
Guys I kinda missed dA. I occupied furaffinity and tumblr, and I don't have much stuff to show here. Or maybe I just don't want to. Nah :I
I will try to reply to all the comments till the end of the week. I've got a lot of messages hanging in my inbox. And beside that, I'll try to update more often. I've got something quite special to post xP
This post was pointless. Oh well, it's time to talk to my OCs and listen to their stories.
11/12 A couple of moments ago I was reading an article about motivation. At first it was saying: "stop thinking negative, thoughts are material". It's a rather nice advice. Second step was: "promise yourself to get up early"
I closed the
Lucius' Memoirs- An ExcerptDid I ever tell you about the one and only time I've ever been caught? A few years back when I was staying in Michigan, a couple of hunters caught on to me and actually managed to capture me.More Like This
* * *
"He hasn't hurt anyone," a familiar female voice was saying as I came to.
"Yet." a man tacked on to the end of her sentence, I didn't know his voice.
A Wolf and a HalfMore Like This
A Wolf and a Half by mt1608deviantart
"...evidence suggests that..."
"...not known if there are other..."
As I stirred, the discordant murmur of voices slowly resolved into audible extracts of hushed whispers. There were two voices, I hazardedone pronounced but meek, with an Australian accent that sounded almost genuine; the other soft but authoritative, with a British accent.
Weatherman... Or not, depending on what name he decided to go by nowadays.
I now knew for a fact that I was certainly NOT at home, or anywhere I was familiar with. I didn't even have to move my stiffened arms to deduce that I was bound somehow, but I did so anyway, and shackles clinked together behind my back.
A chair... So much for originality. The clinking got their attention, though.
Mr. Weatherman-in-a-suit was in front of me in an instant with an apology for my circumstances, although his stoic face suggested otherwise. Mr. Australia was
Yarn - StoryMore Like This
There it lies before me. Silently criticising me. Mocking me. Motionless. An orb. Large. Round. And very. Very. Blue.
This is not the first time I have come face to face with this foe. Nor will it be the last. Soon I shall annihilate him! And the safety of humanity will fall upon me. Tiddle's the superior!
Well what did you think I was going to say? Do you really think there are such things as super heroes? Don't be silly! Kittens however. We exist. Sadly not all of us have homes and we are forced to roam the streets, keeping those nasty rodents and their diseases at bay. Sadly, though, your human minds do not see us as the reliable cleaners we are, you see us on the streets and assume we are worthless or broken.
However, back to the orb. I'm not allowed to touch the orb. O
kitten rescue!!WE RESCUED A KITTEN TODAYYY!!#(@#!*More Like This
Last night there was a huuuge wind and thunder storm here. Then early this morning, we heard crying/screaming coming from the top of our grapefruit tree! After searching, we found a kitten tangled at the top! T___T We got a ladder and rescued him and brought him inside. He had thorns and blood on him, but we took care of his wounds and fed him. He's okay now and sleeping peacefully. How did he get up there?!
Looks like we have another baby to take care of.
I swear, we will never have to actually purchase an animal...they just fall into our care so randomly. o_o;
This is the third cat/kitten that we've recently rescued. You may remember:
Chiba, the abandoned kitten we rescued.
Vincent, the wounded cat we rescued who was shot with a bb gun.
Both are healthy, spoiled and sassy grown cats now. ^___^
This new little baby is going to receive a lot of love. He's a fussy little thing...
My roomie :iconkuroi-carousel:
Equine Art Inspiration (Images)I'd like to take a moment to talk about amazing Equine Art & Animations that Inspire the way I draw horses. I wanted to find some of these paintings where artists would draw really chubby horses with stick-like legs, but I couldn't find them this time, so here I will post all the rest of the things that have inspired me as well since I was a child.More Like This
First are these Russian / Soviet Union Animations that I used to watch on the T.V. when I was little. I absolutely loved the way in which these simple shaped horses were animated, prancing with elegant movements.
Then we have Sleeping Beauty, you have to love the chubby horses with extremely thin legs in this movie. xD
One of my favourite animations since ever "The Last Unicorn" of course not only the horses are beautifully made but every other creature in it as well. This has been one of my biggest inspirations for my unicorns.
There is random artwork here and there with very simple or very complex drawn horses but usually what call
Austria - I found a Time TravelerThe Time TravelerMore Like This
SO, I'm not usually a stalker, and I wasn't trying to be. But this guy. I've never been more curious about a stranger in my entire life.
At first when I saw him I noticed him cause he was all dressed up in a nice cold weather tux with a formal bowtie. Way different that the modern jackets and jeans everyone else was wearing. Then I saw him again. And again. And again. Always in front of us by about twenty to thirty feet. He would walk down a block looking back and forth like he was looking for something. Stop. Then look forward and down the next alley. Then continue down the next alley like he was in a hurry.
He was wearing round thin rimmed glasses and expensive clothes and gloves. He never noticed me and I saw him about four times in an hour-two hour period. I'm convinced he was a time traveler. He stuck out, big time. His clothes looked old, even for Austria. And he was walking in circles. I feel like he was waiting for something to happen and he arrived too
College LifeI don't really talk too much about my daily life on dA since I didn't want to spam everyone with constant horror stories of my time in the kitchen (which is why I do that on fb https://www.facebook.com/FisheyePlacebo/photos_stream instead) but today, I would like to share some of the extra "special" moments during my college life (even though I graduated already).More Like This
When upstairs neighbors are being very loud, the most effective method is to leave an angry coconut at their door
When life gives you pears, cut them into ducks and bake them into pizza~
When the Occupy movement swept through campus, make sure the fridge participates.
When assigned to go to a museum for Art History, take detailed notes of the kinky nipple biting eagles.
When roommate cooks something that cannot be described with words...
When the new apartment sink rage quits...
When I got the bright idea to create an aquaponics system in my bedroom... which later flooded the carpet... (Trust me, I'm an
The Lonely PathFebruary 13, 2013/by techgnoticMore Like This
I have never found a companion who was so companionable as solitude.
Henry David Thoreau
I always thought Thoreau’s comment was simply a word game— ultimately not of much value and false at its core. A Valentines Day in solitude should mean being all alone and alone means being unhappy, pure and simple. Still, it will turn out in life that the most alone we can feel is ironically in the crush of family and friends and even in the embrace of one’s Valentines Day companion— but lost and unfulfilled in one’s dreams and visions.
.just try not toMore Like This
that memory, that one
wolf that calls
for the rest
of the pack;
you'll spend all
with them inside
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.
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.
to the girl with hungry footstepsI'm sending all my words backMore Like This
to the people who need them--
people who wear scars like
war trophies, like jewelry, like
an identification for those suffering
from the same acceptance of
self-hate. this is to the people
who sleep with one eye open, who
cry when footsteps enter their room
at night; this is to the girls
who love by cutting their hearts
into snowflakes and watching
them melt. I left you behind and
I can't be sorry for that.
you are the type of beautiful
that kindly asks the world
to fuck off. the days we buried
have decomposed, headstones are
snapshots; sanitized breakdowns,
rusty tongues, sighs laced
with fear, I love you, I love
you. saturdays were the best
because we could sleep through
the nightmare. you painted me a
picture of the world with your words
and they made us wash it away
for being transparent.
we were afraid of nothing
but the monsters in our eyelids.
back then, we counted days
like shooting stars; it took 67
to wish myself away. this
is for you, skygazer;
NightMareNightMareMore Like This
I'm lying sick, I'm in daze,
A Demon's running my head,
There's a fox and a blaze,
I'm not on my bed!
I run on the mountain,
I'm feeling so free,
I run on the mountain!
From myself I must flee!!
Ooh My God, Send An Angel;
I can't stand this alone,
It's so heavy my burden,
Take me back; Take me home...
Lost inside my own dream;
I can't find my way out...
It's my fever, my sin,
I must wake! I must shout!!!
Ooh My God, Send An Angel,
Though it's mine, the guilt,
Stop this fever, my burden
And the tale I'll sing.
I can't write poetry for dead girls.there are tooMore Like This
many pills in this
world and too
much misery in
the human heart
but that didn't mean
that you could just
up and leave when
we both know it
could have gotten better
and i miss you like
a wolf misses her pack
or a goddamn dragon misses
her fire and i'm sorry
that i can't give you
a bouquet of jasmines
(they were your
favorite, after all,
because that was
the only princess
with a pet tiger)
because poppies are
too cliche and i'm
sorry i wasn't there
when all you needed
was a hug and for someone
to whisper "it's okay,
you're perfect enough
for me, don't listen
to that junkie bitch
who just happened to
give birth to you" and did
you know that i'm still waiting
for a reply to that one
email about the world's
best puns because fuck,
there's a stubborn part
of me that still refuses to
believe that you're gone.
Paper PlanesWe use to fold paper planes togetherMore Like This
By the dinner table after supper.
Once we finished we would write our deepest desires into them
And then throw them into open space.
We would watch as they glided their way
Across the plains.
We would see which one of our planes flew the farthest.
Which one of our dreams went further.
But that too
Like everything in life.
I got older
But I never grew up.
I got busy.
And you did too.
Our conversations now can be put into three categories:
Greetings, food and farewells.
Somehow, we’re both okay with that.
I sometimes pray to the same God that you say you once knew
To the one you still wear around neck
In hopes that maybe, one day,
Things will return
To how they once were.
See, ‘cause the plane that was suppose
To take me from my child to adulthood
Still hasn’t landed. Delayed
By a storm I cannot define.
And I don’t plan on ever leaving the roof
How could I? When I feel
For Every GirlFor every girl who was a ‘bitch’ ‘cause she said no to a boyMore Like This
For every girl who was a ‘slut’ ‘cause she said yes
For every girl who was an object ‘cause she had tits
For every girl who couldn’t wear that ‘cause boys can’t control themselves
For every girl who was ‘asking for it’ ‘cause she wore a short skirt
For every girl who was a ‘prude’ ‘cause she wore a long one
For every girl who was a ‘challenge’ ‘cause she liked other girls
For every girl who was ‘easy’ ‘cause she liked both
For every girl who nobody heard ‘cause she didn’t have a dick (or maybe because she did)
For every girl who everyone ignored ‘cause she was ‘on her period’
For every girl who was ‘fat’ ‘cause she had dessert
For every girl who was ‘anorexic’ ‘cause she didn’t
For every girl who was ‘insecure’
.they say that you are theMore Like This
work of the devil; you'll have
black orbs for eyes and a tongue
as sharp as your fathers
and i hope you will not feel a thing
when they pull back your blankets
and carry you out, when they leave
me with nothing but creases
You're Not Dead Yet.You have been called "ugly."More Like This
You have been called "weak."
You have been called a "failure."
You have been called all of these things.
But at least you're not dead yet.
You've still got your life ahead of you.
You've still got all these years to cherish.
You've still got a lot to live for.
You might be on life support...
...but you're not dead yet.
All these years you spent in isolation.
All these years you hide away somewhere dark.
All this time you think about the odds.
But even while that appears to be the case,
You're not dead yet.
You have cancer in your whole body.
You have mesothelioma and bronchitis.
You have six days left to live.
You're running out of time.
But you're not dead yet.
Look at what all you've done with your life.
Take a look in the mirror.
Tell the whole world what you see.
Believe in the fact that there's an afterlife,
Because you're not dead yet.
Perfection.When you look into the mirror, at your reflection...More Like This
That is perfection.
006When I was young,More Like This
so very, very young,
I was deeply in love with fans, propellers, windmills.
I remember having these tiny little miniatures in plastic,
with the most biting colour combinations; green-purple, red-yellow;
and I'd just sit there, blowing, and merrily watch the fins
And when I first saw cogwheels
and screws and crankshafts and eggwheels
I floated amidst the gorgeous sorcery.
I wanted to find out all about machines; how they where,
through what and by which they stood,
why they turned.
What that meant.
My father bought me a huge book, I read it.
Didn't care about the text, I just
looked at the pictures over and over again
and I could see them coming to life.
Deuce the years later,
we were sitting next to each other,
hot cocoa and coffee, the game installing.
"You'll love this", he said,
and my eyes were regaled with the crackling and whistling
of gigantic animated clockwork, all spurry in their richoils.
OSometimes I think about buyingMore Like This
a ring that represents forever
But who needs golden bands
when cold fingertips on my skin
draw eternity in shy circles
honesty isn't a weaknessI have a headache and not enough timeMore Like This
to explain the irony of how I want to be
every pretentious poet making art out of
themselves, cutting open their side and writing
in blood and pixie dust; or how difficult
it is to make a good allegory out of carsickness
and household complacency. this
is every secret I ever hid. when I was 9
someone dissected the world in front of me,
showed me it was a living, wanting thing
and that I was just a lonely cell, functioning
through my dysfunction; when I was 11
the boy I liked told me he’d be interested
if I were prettier and I learned starvation
was more a state of mind than a presence
of being. when I was 13 I researched the lethality
of cleaning products, because god, I felt so dirty,
and nothing can clean you more than a couple cupfuls
of bleach. when I was 15 I was old and decrepit
and mostly dead, returning from war with flowers
for graves that weren’t filled and a heart of
tragedy, vulnerable and draped in every shade
of mourning f
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
New Techniques- Tg [Ch.1]More Like This
Finishing before everyone else I entered the locker room to take a quick shower. The water always feels so warm, so comforting. My trick was to take a slightly cold shower before I entered the pool. The pool was always cold. Around 65 degrees was the warmest its been. Anyway I finished with my rinse and went to change. I was about to take off my swimsuit when I noticed it was really tight tighter than it had been. Not only that, it had grown bigger. To see I stood in front of the mirror. I found it amazing; my Speedo had grown up my body into the girls swimsuit. This is so weird. I attempted to take it off again, but it wouldnt. I was afraid at what would come next. My skin tingled as two lumps grew out of my chest. I then went into panic-mode. At his point I thought this might have just been a small joke.
I knew the other guys would be coming in from practice any second. I needed to at least get out of the MENs locker room. I found my things and mad
Burning Out, and Falling FastYou're sitting in your parents' old corvette (if you had bothered to check, you'd know it was older than you), flicking your eyes between a lighter in one hand, and a box of matches in the other. You forget when fire became such a need, a distraction.More Like This
Spencer is right beside you in the car, his fingers stroking idly at your forearm, watching you with hooded green eyes.
"If you want to die," he says, "then just kill yourself, but do it with style."
You met The Boy Under the Sycamore Tree when you were four. Your mom encouraged you to go see the lonely boy, and when you first went over to him, he ignored you. The Boy Under the Tree, that's what you called him for the first day you knew him, was a little older than you with dark hair and smoky green eyes.
With encouraging looks from your folks, you walked right next to him and sat down, pressing your back against the tree's rough trunk.
FirefighterI'd always known what I was going to be when I grew up. Not everyone has that kind of clarity at such a young age, but I did. I was going to be a firefighter. I knew it the very first time I watched Fireman Sam - he was my hero.More Like This
I couldn't understand why people laughed at me when I told them of my ambitions. Even my father, who'd always been supportive of me before, patted me patronisingly on the head when I told him. "Yes, yes, and your brother wants to be a ballerina," he chuckled.
I didn't understand that. Ricky certainly did not want to be a ballerina. He wanted to be a masked vigilante. I knew because I'd overheard him talking to his friends the other day, but I didn't say that. There were certain things that you just didn't do, and correcting my father was one of them - I'd learnt that the hard way.
Ricky didn't approve of my ambitions either. I told him that he was the one being unrealistic for wanting to be a masked vigilante which wasn't even a real job; he just