the shade and the fire draped about my throat
like so many jewels.
I met the mist as an old lover,
let the dew paint my lips
with the scent of harvest.
In a white memory, you are still walking away,
down that same road.
Your hair was shining like the fall.
Your shape in the fog beckons;
ghost or vision, I care not.
I lose myself.
He holds me in the night when the only
other comfort I have is the warmth
of cotton sheets beneath my skin and
the residue of salt on my lips.
He weaves his arms around my shoulder
blades and lets me rest my head against
his neck. “There, there,” he says.
“Tell me everything.” And I do.
I first became acquainted with
Disappointment at age five
when my best friend surrendered to the renegade
cells waving war on her fragile body.
Disappointment abandoned her for me,
shaking my hand. “We’ll be seeing a lot
of each other,” he said. And we did.
Disappointment followed me down
school hallways and shadowed me
as I sat, innocent and hopeful,
in God’s house. He stood beside me
as the wheels of my dad’s truck rolled
away, leaving skid marks
in their wake, and hovered over me
as I read the scrawled goodbye note
from the boy I wanted to know.
I thought he abandoned me for my
grandmother once as she lay
When I was thirteen and four months old, and you were thirteen years younger, I decided to let you go. You squirmed in opposition beneath my ribcage, up against my pelvis, and I licked my lips and tried to smile while I leaned my forehead on the cool glass of the car, hellbound.
I remember sea weed insertion, dilation, cramps and bleeding. Orange smoothies from Dairy Queen that I threw up, and I hoped you were mingling in the remains of my summer day treat, so I could put this behind me. Pretend I was 'moving on'. I laid in the bathtub of a hotel room for six hours, trying to melt you away in scalding water from a rusty tap, yet you clung on, holding tightly to the walls of my pelvic region. Wiggling upwards, towards my throat. Past my teeth. You're trying to get out, but my family has decided you won't breathe when you're released from your bloody shackles; you may as well settle down now, sweet son, settle down.
The rest of this, to me, is a blur. Th
Your sister kept goldfish once. They didn't last long, didn't linger enough to become attached to your soul. Fish were fickle things. They never seemed driven to survive, content to float into oblivion if the water wasn't just right. They lived for simple things, and simple things went foul quickly. One goldfish nibbled at fish flake, morning after morning, until the day it decided t
while soft hands explore
for whats in store
A trail of kisses
Down the small of my back
My body reacts.
A brush of fingertips
Gently trace every outline
With love undefined
Heartbeats accelerate together
Racing at new speeds
Bodies embracing one another
A sharing of heart and soul
Making me whole
Sensuality ignited by every touch
Bonding through love and lust
An exchange of trust
Minds losing innocence
Trusting and loving the best we can
For who I am.
Embraces of more than flesh
in our romantic pantomime
this is to me
Making love for the first time
No trace of loving affection there
Trapped inside this rolling ball
Must escape to experience it all
Great big void, nothing within
Internal argument on filling it in
Is this a losing battle fought in vain?
If I give in, what will I gain?
symphonies of sweet surrender
from the smooth stretch
of her slender neck.
Bent beneath the bow,
she bows and begs for freedom
in stinging, staccato screams.
Weeping beneath his chin,
from her purfling breast.
Her fine gauge veins tremble
beneath a tender touch,
stoking the flame within her belly,
heavy, heated breaths
heaving from her ribs.
She sparkles in the spotlight,
the rhythm rippling
from back to bridge,
aching to set her sound free.
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
I beg to disagree, but then again, circumstances have dealt me a different hand.
I'm not saying that humans don't deserve to be free. I hate any repression to freedom. Human trafficking, for instance, makes me sick to the bone at the cruelty that humans can be so capable of. Being denied freedom of speech silences the hopes of future generations and reveals the cowardice ingrained in human psyche. But freedom, like love, has many different facets to it.
Freedom for me is the lightening of the soul, the inner peace within myself and with life, and the joy of knowing that burdens do not make me a shadow in the light. But for me, there is no freedom. There is onl
crossed pinkies like grade-schoolers,
I could only believe those words
lodged in your heart
like they did mine
because every time I think back
I can't help but remember the
under star lit constellations,
and study sessions where we
learned more about each other
than we did Biology
but now it's clear
that each beat of your heart
has made those words fade,
and you could care less
about crossed pinkies
but I'll still see you,
and hear your voice
and I'll still wish
the meaning hadn't changed-
"Oh, g-god! I'm sorry!" Mark uttered feeling flustered and rushed to pick his books up. Rolling his eyes, Jack dropped to the ground and helped, avoiding the same books that Mark was touching. He was sure his heart would stop if they both picked the same one and the situation become even more cheesy.
"I'm n-normally more careful, I'm sorry, Jack." Mark apologised awkwardly. Come on Mark, ask him out! It's the perfect opportunity! Shaking his head to himself, Mark stood up with a full pile of books in his hands.
"It's fine, don't worry about it." Jack assured him, putting a hand to the back of his neck. "Hey um, I was wondering..." he started, hesitating. Should he really try and hang out with popular nerd? Sure he was cute and adorable and his hair was gorgeous and his muscles... "Don't get me started on his muscles..." Jack muttered to himself, glancing up at Mark to make sure he hadn't heard. Now what sh
He squirmed in her grip, face growing redder with every passing moment that her chest rubbed against him. Prying himself free, he looked around the lunch room, making sure that all the other students were busy before quietly glaring at the girl. "I am not your sister," he announced, self-consciously combing a bit of hair out of his eyes. He glared at her to make his point, annoyed that she had pointed out his feminine looks, only to let it slide into a stare when he found her pouting.
"Um are you all right?" he asked, fidgeting a little as her lip trembled.
He shifted from foot to foot as he watched the girl cry, tears running silently down her cheeks as she whispered a petulant "No." She glared at him a little, poking her finger into his chest, makin
Brought to you by Super Editor
You've probably all read books or seen movies in which a character passes out. The heroine might swoon gracefully and collapse onto the floor or into the hero's arms. People rush to bring water, a doctor, or something to revive her. She then wakes up, rosy-cheeked and a bit distressed, and she fans herself for a while while insisting that she is fine.
Fainting in real life is not nearly so beautiful. Authors, especially ones with no experience, can sometimes fall for such idealized descriptions. I am (un)fortunate enough to have experience in this area, so I will share it here.
Quick Losses of Consciousness
Usually this involves an impact or a sudden pain. The character may have no idea what happened to him or her afterwards, and later results vary depending on the severity of any injuries sustained.
Real-life example: My mom used to work as a waitress during her teenage years, and Aunt Jennifer, her
red is stoplights, anger. rage.
red is my nose when i cry about my parents.
“women are more attractive to men
when they wear red,” he says once
so you cut yourself
because red is blood
and when he ignores the bandages, you say,
“no. look what i did.
look what i did for you.”
but he doesn’t fall in love with you
red is the scream that
comes out of your mouth.
blue is the veins under your skin and
blue is depression that tells you to slice them
blue is the weeks you spend after him
and blue is the great, wide sky above you,
trying to remind you that the rest of the world
is still waiting.
your brother says he’s looking for the light
at the end of the tunnel
but the world is full of light.
(you would know. we can hardly see the stars
because of it.)
the world is not full of you
so you try.
black is what surrounds him
and black is burns
and you’ve been burned, scalded
so you blend in.