It's hard to believe that we've gone through the entire year, but it's true. A lot has happened this year – on deviantART, within #
theWrittenRevolution and out in the real world. As we embrace the new year, many people are reflecting on the events and changes that 2011 brought. As a group, on of the ways we're celebrating 2011 is by looking back at our Featured Members from the past year. Each week, a different admin chose and featured a different deviant that stood out both as a member of the group and as a talented writer. We've seen an enormous variety of people who all have a unifying passion for the written word. Kind of like the group itself, no?
We're planning a chat event in the next couple of weeks in which we will invite all of our past Featured Members to share their techniques and advice with other writers. We'll write another blog when that's ready to go.
Without further ado, we are thrilled to present to you
some of the best writers on deviantART in 2011!
~
Only-Another-Wraith (featured
here)
~
adalaine (featured
here)
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humpheth (featured
here)
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Alleyana (featured
here)
gluttonyi am starving
a little bit more
with your every glance
and grimace
and your every swaying step.
you are cutting
off my airways with your
eyes and slitting my throat
with the
tap,
tap,
tap
of your tongue as it
hums offbeat harmonies in my heart.
i am watching you recede
and wandering in the wasteland
of want, wondering when you
will lend a morsel to a
lame beggar.
please provide me
with some substance,
because you are starving me.
i dream in lovei felt your hand on me last night
it was just below my rib cage, right below
the subtle bottom rib, your fingers interlaced
around the bone and gripping as if
i would turn to dust
without you.
your breath caressed my heart last night
fluttering at the nape of my neck, i could
truly feel a single strand of hair, unruly in the wind
of your exhales, unable to rest
with you so near.
i longed for the freedom to taste you
to chase you and put my hand into the cavity of your
skeleton, hold your bones and let my breath flutter across your pulsing heart.
i turned to tell you this,
but found only an imprint in my lonely sheets.
of selfi play the duplicitous role
of self and seeker;
always searching
for new ground
to stand my self upon.
Night's fatal waveOur souls do not hibernate
when our eyes are laid to rest
at the rising of night's fatal tide.
They continue to make
their voices heard in the walls
of our darkened minds, enlightened
by the chill of rest's embrace.
I roam the halls of my thought
searching for you, pining
for the embrace of night to be broken
by the clutch of your rough hands,
pulling me out of my slumber
and my misleading dreams
that I cannot control--
dreams of you, here
with my withering being
as I am remade into another,
so glowing and shiny,
so beautiful and pure, tainted
by those unspeakable waves of thought
traveling into my slumber.
~
CyneNoir (featured
here)
Our Discontent Made Gloriousin winter days, mother wakes heavy-lidded
as her skeleton recollects itself
and stumbles
in a half-thought arrangement of curious limbs,
trying to teach the ribcage
how to sew back together its columns of rough-hewn teeth
so her swelling light does not spill through open slits,
a heart anchored firmly in her chest and pushing fire
through tangled veins.
tender bones shake off lakes of snow
from where they drifted into the craters that hide
behind her knees
while the thickened night presses forests of gentle bruises into an aching spine
and counts all the ways dead trees could blossom. white-winged larks
are the first to flock to
and if she could makeif she could make the early mornings with her eyes
that swallow the wings of straggling stars and
recede into themselves to become churning salt-lakes
that lap at the insides of her irises
with moonshine-crusted crescent waves--
with her fingers
that trace the paths of roller pigeons
plummeting through the pale mist
and cutting arcs of blooming dawn across the sky
like scars, sunlight falling from the horizon in spades
to wound the freshly-turned earth--
if she could make heaven with all the things
cradled inside her heart:
the brittle arms of
sycamore trees drumming lullabies against
her lungs, the river reeds shaped like
t
RisenDearheart,
you are the shadow-specter painted upon these white-washed walls, the phantasm inked on maple scrolls grown dank with hope that aged amidst the dust, the ghost that haunts the stargazer lilies blooming in the depths of the mud. Belladonna crawls along the woodwork of weeping willows, their roots reaching for the sky as they strangle the morning glories that crumble in the pre-rain gloom. Skylarks lull crabapple trees to sleep and sing as the dawn arises from behind a veiled fog.
There is a balcony carved from rowan in the front yard, where we shall sit in the dying half-light of dusk and sip at gently-steaming jasmine, and I will
UraniaSometimes she thinks she only looks like the sun
when she's smiling at the crooked moon,
one eye half-open
and the other fixed upon the trailing light
of twin twining celestial bodies
that set the world ablaze as they climb
to the zenith of their revolution.
The push-pin stars that press into her skin
form scattered braille hieroglyphics
that stretch from one side of infinity
to another, etching parabolic light-years
that never converge
and the universe is just virgin plaster
that can't stop bleeding as it flies apart
~
RighttotheCore (featured
here)
sacrifices.hello world,
i was diagnosed with depression at the young age of nine. and the day i saved my first writing piece of your not-so-presumptuous cat and dog story was november eighteenth, two thousand and two. my writing was of the astronomy of our stars that we see after the sunset falls to create a pool of blackness. every word was strung together, even back then when i was "happy". but maybe i was wrong, maybe i wasn't so happy after all. maybe i was just a broken adolescent waiting for her chance to escape from a living hell. and so when i read of the stars not making my wishes come true, i began to believe that everything wasn't true. i l
five haiku. little heart.
everyone called me crazy
because i thought you were beautiful.
and sometimes i believed i was.
you ripped out my heart
like it was a clean sock
from the drawer by your bed.
and you told me the truth
like you bought chocolate hearts;
never.
so when her world crashed,
the scars became suddenly visible.
and you wouldn't believe how badly
she wanted to burn the east coast.
you can catch me, i'm the girl whose smile is believed each and every day.
even though it takes all i've got to not break
at the sound of your voice, or the look on your face.
optimistic depression. i. when i see something i want more
than to be a bird, i go for it. i'll walk, not
fly to the destination, and make the most
of it. i live out my dreams.
ii. people tell me i'm absolutely stunning,
beautiful, and all that bull shit. but i don't
see it. i see something no one would call
breathtaking. i see a monster mirror reflection.
ii. i love watching the eyeliner and mascara
run down my face in globs of goop as i cry
a million crystal clear tears. if you'd see my
eyes after i burst into tears, they're like
a million dollars in the love bank.
tears are my obsession.
iv. my pens are dried from all the ink
being slapped
~
MissSarah15 (featured
here)
Chopsticks and EssaysHer bedroom is white white white. Maps are plastered to
her walls, and furniture clings to the outskirts of her room for dear life.
She never goes in there, though.
There are: 147 DVD's on the shelf above her head, all of which
came with the room.
She has watched 138 out of them.
When she walks outside, all of the black thoughts in her head are
no longer lingering, no longer living inside their brain view apartment.
The pills she takes every morning have sucked them out like a good vacuum fairy.
Navigating the streets of her town, she prays she won't run into any school mates.
Trees and bushes shield her body from the strong wind
we could've had each other. i stare at the sun too long
because no one else does it. my
parents don't want me to get
mixed in with "the wrong crowd"
but who are they
exactly?
the wrong crowd.
my fingers slide between the gaps
and hug yours as we drive.
drive drive drive, please don't
take me home.
the redundant sound of the broken
air conditioner clanking and the boy
in the back seat snoring keeps my
heart racing even after we stop.
even after he's gone.
i want to be able to tell you ever
you kill everything. on thursday, my spine broke through
my skin and popped out for all the world
to see.
on friday, i sat alone on a window seat
and watched as a little boy got run over
by a semi. i didn't cry, only observed.
on saturday, i smoked while i took a bath
and fell asleep floating on bubbles.
on sunday, i took my day off, thinking i'd
go to church, but of course i didn't.
on monday, i did school just like i was
told and read everything i was instructed
to read.
on tuesday, i called you and listened to
the sound of your voice, thinking that would
be enough.
on wednesday, we hung out for three hours
and when you left you took my he
dicey. i don't really even know
where i'm going with this life.
my shoulder bones are broken
and the old woman who brings
me bread has died. what do you
say to that?
the car keys keep dropping to
the asphalt and my snow globe
has hit a thunderstorm.
i wear my necklaces backwards
so the children behind me can
proclaim that the lady in front
is wearing diamonds. no, i'm
wearing memories.
the pond out back has frozen
and i walked onto it with the
caution i have obtained over
the years. i waltzed in the middle
until my arms started to ache
from hugging an invisible being.
what would you say if told you
i didn't miss you, i missed
*
meldickinson (featured
here)
WiredShe’s always tired. With heavy eyes and sick stomachs.
Constant debate inside her head and shuffle is the best way to move on
She has dreams about her friends
The ones she left. It’s nauseating. Get me a wastebasket
I think I’m about to blow. She’s a monster and a fraud
Barbie fingernails and all she wants to do is get high
Sleep forever and never wake up.
But he wants her anyway
But she doesn’t even want to be alive.
Something isn’t right about these walls
I might just leave them empty
Instead of all wrong
Madonna. Wow. That’s just odd.
I’m sick of needing things. I want things.
I want a
Unknownas a poet, i sit down on this fine evening
to write you a story about love.
a fairytale about a prince and his maid.
a love story
full of hope, happiness, and dreams.
but as i wrote. i began to realize
love has never existed nor have i ever felt it.
i put down my pen and pull on my coat.
the chill of the wind and the sound of a carriage
rings silently in my ear.
for it is 1887
and my mind is no older than eleven.
the clock chimes to the haunting hour.
tonight a stranger comes up to me
cloaked in black, a hat shielding his eyes.
at first, fear and misery fill me.
the scent of death in the air.
i plead to an unknown god in my h
SleepI wonder at night where you are.
If you're asleep, unlike me,
Or if you're staring up into the velvet sky
At the same lost star as me.
Or if you're happy,
Filled with so much love and hope,
You can't breathe
And you pass out into a deep slumber.
Will you wake thinking of me?
Am I in your dreams?
I won't know if you are in mine.
I don't sleep,
Because I can't stop thinking about you.
And how much I love and care for you.
Is your bed warm where you lie?
Cozy, home to your soul?
Or is it wet, cold, lonely due to your tears.
Do you cry silently,
Thinking about me before you drift away?
Do I make you happy?
Or am I just a bad d
~
IceFarie (featured
here)
:thumb187950096:
Why I Am a Horrible PersonLet me break it down for you
In a way you're bound to understand
Let me explain why the world turns
And why the children laugh
And why I am a horrible, terrible person
The glass shards on the floor-watch your step
That is my heart you're stepping on
But don't worry, it wasn't some boy that broke it
I broke it myself, to see how it would feel
The fire that surrounds you-don't touch
That is my anger getting ready to burn you
But don't worry, I can keep it at bay most of the time
I keep it in a little black stove of a soul
And I feed the fire coals and kerosene-trying to put it out
The weariness pulling at your eye lids-don't slee
Dead EpiphaniesThinking always leads to epiphanies
So I think I'll turn my brain off
And listen to the nothingness
There once was a man who could only say three things
One day this got him into trouble
And because he couldn't defend himself
He died an innocent man
Without a thought on his mind.
Very happily, might I add.
I once caught a Fly
And I cut off its wings and it no longer flies
Does that mean I can call it a Walk?
A Crawl?
A Hopelessly Desperate Dash to Freedom?
Well, it's a Dead now.
Someone once told me
Without speaking
That words were the sharpest tools one can possess
I laughed because I doubt she knew.
Because she can't hav
Wednesday's ChildIt's Wednesday. It's Wednesday and I'm hurting and you're hurting and we're all hurting so much and why won't it just stop, stop, stop? Stop and stay stopped so the pain stays far far away behind glass doors and blacked-out windows that are clear but not clear and you think no one can see past but they can and they do and they just don't care. They don't care, and they can't possibly care, because even if the windows are blacked-out they certainly aren't sound proof and they can hear because they have ears and they whisper and point at yellowing bruises and there is whispering behind hands that are pointing and there are hands that exchange g
*
snow-angels (featured
here)
search forever.we search for beauty,
because we believe we are not beautiful.
we search for perfection,
because we believe that we are not perfect.
we search for another,
because we believe that we are alone.
we search for ourself,
because we believe we have lost sight.
we search for truth,
because we believe truth can be blinding.
we search for belief,
because we do not know what is right.
we search for acceptance,
because we believe we are not accepted.
but you are
car crash.i. she sits in silence with only the rain to keep her company, only the dull yellow glow of the streetlamps and the ash-filled embers of her cigarette to light her way. she cannot move forward or back, stuck in a car with no motor, no way out. she puts her feet on the dashboard, accepting defeat. tears roll down her cheeks in a silent plea for mercy, calling to no one but herself.
ii. her tears flow harder than the rain around her, daring to drown her in everything she's been running from her entire life. every sorrow, every lost love, every "i don't" comes back to haunt her. the doors are locked, no matter how hard she tries she can't get
faith in the new.i'm slowly falling down
to be picked back up again
by someone new
and learning to walk again
is not as easy as it seems;
and my walls are crumbling down
to be put back up again
built with something new
and learning to love again
is not as easy as it seems;
only to be let down?
feeling that warm grass again
that has grown so new
covering pasts up again
is not as easy as it seems.
~
LadyKylin (featured
here)
The DancerA sweet wind played with her auburn hair as she released a sigh beneath her captive audience of stars. Here, across her moon lit stage of gleaming grass she could dance.
She took the smallest of steps; the gritty touch of the cool ground brought her feet delight as she hesitated for a moment. Enticed to the whims of an unforgotten song, every gliding step fading the world to a metronome's tock. Beneath her slowly moving audience she took sweeping spin after tight twirl to unheard crescendos and minuets. Until their pin prick lights departed beneath the sky scraper horizon.
She faltered as the red rising sun drew close her blue curtain, her
HopeHope, a string around my finger
So I don't forget
That tomorrow will come
Hope, a word written on the mirror
So I don't forget
That the sun will rise
Hope, kept up by a magnet
So I don't forget
That the moon will set
Hope, within a numbered square
So I don't forget
That dreams come true
AverageAverage
A spiteful word
A call to reform
An impossible ideal
One best rejected
Not even contemplated
A taking of extremes
And stealing their bluster
Knocking their purpose askew
I wish I had knownI wish I had known
Just how much it would hurt
Or how long it would take
Because then
I would have been stronger
I would have pushed
Pushed past my limits
I wish I had known
Just how strong I would get
Just how high I would climb
Because then
I wouldn't have waited
Waited so long to climb
Climb beyond my own limitations
I wish I had known
Just how much it was worth
To push for all that I was worth
So that I could Fly
~
xthe-eleanorx (featured
here)
Across the TableI sat on the other side of the table. You were physically present, but you weren't there; your eyes were empty and your voice was flat. We were sitting in the McDonald's by the park; we didn't order anything, we never did. It was a mid-January day, the joy from Christmas had worn off and now it was just cold.
Do you remember when we came here for my birthday?" I asked. "We brought a cake and everything and didn't buy a thing from the menu, they didn't even care.
You had a ghost of a smile on your face as you managed to say one word;
Yeah…
I looked outside to the pitch-black night and suggested that we go home. We stepped outside and
That NightThe moment before a performance on stage, when the silence is louder than any noise imaginable. The conductor stands there; watching to make sure you are ready. You can't take your eyes off him. You feel everyone looking at you, but if you look back, you lose focus, you lose concentration. And as he raises his hand, the silence grows louder. You take a breath, and go.
I felt that silence from the minute he walked out the door. That was the last time I saw him. He walked out that door and didn't even look back.
I dreamt of saying goodbye. I rehearsed the words I would say. The way he would smile. He always had a beautiful smile; that much I
Puzzle PiecesYour mother got annoyed with us, so she sent us to the playroom with a puzzle. I dumped all the glossy pieces out while you watched intently.
How are you going to put this together? You asked. The pieces are all circles!
I was perplexed. The pieces were clearly not circles, so I began to put the pieces together.
I don't understand! You exclaimed. How can we do this?
I figured you were just being silly like always. I ignored your moans and put together all the outside pieces.
You huffed and puffed the way disgruntled children do and crossed your arms across your chest as you plopped down on the floor.
I pushed the last piece into pla
There Was a Flower in the RoomThere was a flower in the room,
Never mind what sort.
Each day, a petal would fall off the flower.
I didn't notice at first,
One day, there were 5 petals left
(I was still oblivious to the flower at this point)
There was a note on the desk
Five Days.
And there was nothing I could do,
Except to watch the petals fall.
=
Vigilo (featured
here)
VaingloryI watched Daedalus cradle his ivory child,
melted, winged bronze crowned in seaweed:
he released his reckless child,
threw him to the winds in hopeless abandon
watched as the sea ruined him.
Decadent in ripped seashells,
he escapes into obscurity,
exalts the lamented to the point of notoriety -
Tell him I saw his face again
...in Picasso in art in war in despair,
lo, Daedalus:
he hid his face, a disgraced Eros
(still winged, still winged,
these wings bind flesh from stone,
from sea-besieged rock)
but still so naked in his shame.
"So desolate, o desolate,
O, so desolate, Daedalus?"
croons the wicked wind,
and the crooked man's back hunches
Hades and PersephoneSilhouette, silhouette,
the grace of his and hers,
when Love and her son play their mighty duet,
what hath you a choice but to obey?
When love strikes with a mighty blow,
when enemy turn lover, friend to foe,
when Eros returns with his arrow to flay,
what hath you a choice but to obey?
When the gold poison never thwarted,
Pierces you deep, who dare keep hatred
to himself but as a foe? What fool dare?
By Love's whimsy he will be laid bare.
Silhouette, silhouette,
shadow-play, a reflection,
when Love and her son dance a mad minuet,
what hath lovers a choice, to not follow?
And when Love and her son to mortals strike,
such troub
Three SinsTreachery: the act of betraying.
Jealousy: the feeling of envy.
Disloyalty: to break faith.
Tell me, tell me, which is the greater sin?
For he spoke of treachery so sharp,
And she told of jealousy, grass-green,
And he sang of disloyalty of the worst type.
And he said:
You think I do not know? Treachery so violent,
A thousand rose thorns would have stung less.
I close my eyes, and two faces appear behind my eyelids,
O! Beautiful face, gallant heart: why have you conspired against me?
Tell me! What have I done to deserve such unfaithfulness?
If it is truly my fault, say the word and Excalibur will turn against me.
Tell me! What ha
DisharmonyIn Lethe's silver waters
I drown; unheeding,
sweet sublime I find
you, the happy prince
swallow, swallow, little swallow,
will you not stay with me one night longer?
O what sin these sweet lips
have tasted; leaving,
broken demons smiling
the angel chorus in disharmony
the steps to a dream burn
Death is the brother of Sleep, is he not?
Echo me, as I walk to Paradise
echo me; do not follow,
never follow me as I walk
towards the sinner's end
you must kiss me on the lips, for I love you.
And he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips, and fell down dead at his feet.
~
SugarCoveredDreams (featured
here)
Home-Schooleddo not teach me
do not stand in front of a
chalk dusty black board and
expect me to listen
do not bombard me with
long phrases and dreary
speeches and expect me to
hang on to every word that
falls out of your drooling
mouth
do not show me diagrams
and pictures and expect me
to tear apart the symbols
and reach a deeper, more
meaningful conclusion
do not teach me, for i have
already been taught
i learned my arithmetic by
counting each star in the sky
every night until i knew my
multiplication table forwards
and backwards
i learned history by listening
to the stories whispered to
me on windy days by trees
that have lived
Like I'm Never Going to Diei wear my bruises like one hundred dollar
accessories
they sparkle more than any diamond necklace
ever could as i lace them around my thighs
and shins, the blues matching my eyes and
the black my personality.
i carry my scabs like children carry strawberries
berries may stain rumpled shirts and small
fingers and the shade of red painting my
knees and elbows may be messy too, but it
is one thousand times brighter than anything
a child's hand could carry.
i collect grass stains like most girls collect
makeup
no powder can ever capture the color of grass,
but my jeans have accomplished this over and
over again in limb flailing
Spilled PaintA blank piece of paper
Is staring at me
It only wants to be written on
A pen with no ink
Is glaring at me
"Write" it commands
But my chair is spinning in circles
And my thoughts are flying out of my head
And the words I want to write
Are staining the floor
Like spilled paint
The trashcan in the corner
Of this dirty room
Is overflowing
With crinkled papers
With half-written poems
And half-expresses feelings
That are dripping down the sides
And the color of pain and hate
Of love and joy
Are staining the floor
Like spilled paint
My tears of frustration
Are falling on my blank piece of paper
And the lines start to run
O
Truthit whispers small realities
in the quiet pauses for breath
you take every time you lie
it crawls out from the noisy
raspy sound of heartbeats
speeding up to match
the falseness of your words
it's the message read
in between the lines
and all along the margins
that your unblinking eyes
refuse to be able to see
it runs it's dirty claws
along the bottom of your soul
digging up insecurities
and doubt and vulnerability
and it leaves you in a crumbled heat
alone on your bathroom floor
disturbed by the pain of truth
~
scarletbird (featured
here)
Searching for the SunI.
The day everything ended, she was standing in a parking lot, weary from a long day of departures and destinations, staring up at the sky. Clouds strolled west, their armfuls of grey dripping out of their grasp and spattering onto the asphalt, onto her upturned face. They rolled and crashed into one another, piling up high in the stratosphere like mountains of cottony stone. Once, they had been at war, and their arguments had sliced across the countryside with the recklessness of a summer fire. Now, though, something had calmed them. Perhaps they were tired from their travel like her, or perhaps it was the sun, gently wedging them apart wi
The Scarlet Bird "Len?"
"What now?" I asked, distracted by my struggle to dig the spare water gourd out of my pack.
"How much farther do you think it is?" My sister tried to sound nonchalant, but I could hear the whiny note in her voice. She was tired. So was I, truth be told. We had been traveling for a long time now.
"I don't know, Siska. A few days, maybe. See those mountains?" I pointed to the jagged peaks gracing the skyline that had been growing larger day by day. "Mother said her family summers at the base of those before traveling to spend the wet season farther south, where it's drier. It can't be that much farther—you'll see."
"But what if
l'homme qui a vuHis breath escapes in empty gasps, and the thin air strips the fire from his lungs. His chest burns and his thighs ache, but he never stops climbing.
Her song spins through the cool night air. Look how her dress shines in the light, they tell him. Look how her face glows, they tell him. Look how she curves perfectly beneath the red satin, they tell him. Blind, he can do none of these things. He can only listen, but that is enough.
The stones beneath his feet are cool and rough. How long has it been since he wore shoes? How long has he been walking?
She straightens his collar, humming to herself. He knows the song, though he remembers few
PanophobiaIf I close my eyes, I can hear them, scrabbling under the floorboards, chuckling to themselves. They know it's only a matter of time. You do everything you can, but eventually you must succumb to exhaustion. That's when they come for you, slipping through the tiny cracks in the wooden floor like melted licorice, except they smell more like tar. They grab you by your hair and your toes and they drag you back with them to their home, a boiling sea that has no beginning or end, just an incessant shriek of torment. Whether it's your own or theirs you can't tell—all is smeared into one, down there in the dark. I've tried anything I can to kee
~
ElaineRose (featured
here)
BeaumainsSince the AI Liberation Movement, almost all forms of artificial sentience had been given the option of self-definition. This met with cries of "foul!" in a few divisions of the United Confederation of Worlds' military branches. One of the most lenient branches was the CASED—Confederate Administration for Space Exploration and Defense. These men, women, and others among the service welcomed their AIs as partners and neighbors. Most of the ships chose Fabricated Interaction Units that were ideal for working with their crews. The androids usually had pleasant, well-sculpted faces with superior physiques and were almost universal
Lady Killer, ExNora wished she could have said that the retrieval went off without a hitch, but nothing ever went off without a hitch when her ex-husband was involved. Oh, certainly the "retrieval" part of the retrieval had gone well—and she could hardly (justifiably) blame him for the emergency landing not halfway to home. Hardly. But, ex-husband and his personality failings aside, underneath her arm was a treasure, safely contained and pristine for the education and adoration the people of the future. Nothing was going to ruin the enjoyment of this vaunted artifact. Not even…
"You know Nora, if I didn't know you so well I would hazard to sugges
New Life Foundation"I can't take this anymore, Rob. I've tried to be strong—you know I have—but…" Tammy's voice broke and she began crying. Rob tried to blink code for "I love you," "I'm sorry," or whatever else she might take it for.
Tammy sat down on the couch near his chair. "Rob, I-I'm signing you up for the New Life Foundation. They have lots of different packages—packages for people who want to switch lives, for people who—" Her voice, that voice Rob remembered singing and laughing and speaking so sweetly, broke again. It broke all the time now. And it broke his heart what his mistake was doing to her. "—who just want a new
Outside the Continuity"You want an army of dinosaurs added to the canon," Tabitha said slowly, staring at me over the slew of insurance forms that the narrative had seen fit to give her. "How would dinosaurs make any kind of sense?"
"This is an urban-fantasy satire about averting the apocalypse," I said. I drew my elbows in a bit tighter—as her writer, I knew just how infested with spiders Tabitha's apartment was, whether they were visible for this little conversation or not. "It can stretch."
"Dinosaurs puts it directly into scifi," said Tabitha. I wondered if she'd noticed that there wasn't really any writing on the forms—just implied legal hokum bec
=
angelStained (featured
here)
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~
blackfire3 (featured
here)
Ignore the SailorIgnore the Sailor,
who was wrong before,
as he recounts
his times of yore.
He nurses a glass
of ale gone warm;
his eyes dart about
for signs of harm.
His voice is low,
his manner, dramatic
as he speaks to no one
but still goes at it.
He cannot shut up,
as the newcomers beg,
for he must explain
how he lost his leg.
The veterans hear a line
and, when he is gone,
put together the story
they can't remember alone.
So they leave him be,
let him tell his tale,
clap him on the back,
and buy him more ale.
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The One Time I StudiedSo Mr. Green: not the cool one whom everyone liked because he told amazing stories and came up with the most immature jokes and actually made science fun; no the other Mr. Green, RN, the one who taught Pre-Nursing to middle schoolers as if we were med school students who stayed up until the early hours of the morning because we just HAD to get that degree!
The only problem was that we middle schoolers were just that: middle schoolers. We had no intention of staying up late to study for anyone's tests because we had more important things to do like go on AIM and MySpace and Facebook and Twitter (if it was around back then) and talk and text a
The Puppet Plays The PartIt is true that the puppeteers pull the strings through the show. They yank and jerk and pull and tug and glide and direct. They remain hidden in the shadows of an invisible canopy far above the stage.
Yet it is the puppet who plays the part. The puppet, be it a sad clown or a friendly dragon, must respond, unquestioning, to the every command it is given. It must anticipate the moves and motions the hands above it will make and react accordingly. It must place its fate into hands it cannot see, for no one but itself is responsible for the knots and tangles of its restraints.
In the end, it is the puppet who pays most dearly. The audience do
=
SilverInkblot (featured
here)
Sensationali. a person of vision
I could stare forever into your blue abyss, but I have to blink sometimes.
The world is so beautiful to me, ever changing and never changing, simultaneously. I see it all through a filter of a greenish - gold iris and short brown lashes and I wonder if the world looks different through blue eyes, your eyes. Or through black eyes and a fringe of chopped hair, or brown eyes watching through coke bottle glasses. I intend to see the entire world, with every set of eyes imaginable, and I want see you from every angle in every place. Is it all so beautiful to you as well?
They say you only see about ten percent of the world
Hollow SuicideI love this world.
I love it even when it's so beautifully achingly lonely that I can feel the drum of my pulse throbbing just under my skin, a constant reminder of the hollow center the veins connect back to.
Sometimes I think I want to build my future in the forest because the trees are so lovely – but then I realize that I would be missing out on the vast, limitless blue expanses of oceanwater and the sound of the waves lapping at the shoreline. And then I think of the view from the mountains, or the honey-golden tones of the desert at sunset, the neon lights of the great cities, all the beautiful places in the world I have to choos
RainDear Friend,
I love these grey overcast days, when the sky is dark but somehow everything on the ground looks a shade brighter, sharper. It's so beautiful to me, like a visual paradox.
You're so beautiful to me,
all sharp edges and dull curls under tight skin that barely contains your
oh-so-gentle smile.
Dear Friend,
The thunder is crashing just outside my window, but the rain won't fall.
It's so disappointing.
So, so disappointing.
You'll never know your own loveliness and I –
I'll never be brave enough to tell you.
Dear Friend,
Now the rain is running and the lightning has come to join the fun. I can see the drip drip dro
Tangential AsymptotesI think about falling in math class.
The boy in front of me is writing diligently, noting each and every word as though he forgot it was all in the textbook. He has dark hair all tangled up in the back like a bramble of thornbushes and his green hoodie looks like it could use a good washing.
The professor is rattling on about asymptotes, about two lines that go on forever, getting closer and closer but never touching. He tells us about the Greek roots of the word; asymptotos, that it means "not falling together," and he scribbles nonsense equations on the board and hopes that we understand them better than he does because tenure is the onl
~
Vlavisfaults (featured
here)
perpetual decemberwould you give me your december?
i am holding out my frail plywood wrists
and begging you for something
too heavy for either of us to hold
[though you are somehow cradling it
in your fractured celestial mind].
would you sing december to me?
would you play it in thirds
and mold it into something i can see?
i would give the dying bamboo
on my window sill to feel you again
[like when you cut your hands on raw selenite
but they don't bleed].
december is slipping out of our reach.
she is slipping quietly out the door
and i have my hands held high
like sentinels of the sky
and my eyes closed in patient rapture.
but you
crystalline opiatesometimes your face is so clearly engraved
in my memory that i can almost feel
the butterflies make their way to my eyes
as you look at me through yours.
in an out-of-focus world i could not
ask for a view more crisp than this - standing
at the chandellier peak of the new ground
we have softly broken.
your coldplay-lyric tongue sillhouetted
against my fingertips of charcoal blurs
and smudges and creases and scratches on
the curves in your name,
i can't remember when last i craved to
etch a word so deeply on my lips - do
you recall the last time blood tasted like
something surreal?
it's in the glow of the surface of the
wate
~
little-swift (featured
here)
and it's just like,i'd tell you i love you but honey, actions speak louder than words,
and this broken mirror isn't big enough for the two of us,
and
i said i didn't miss you but mentally, if not physically, my fingers were crossed,
and just like i know the exact number of pi, i know what's wrong with you
[that is to say i have no idea]
and i could write pages and pages from this maths lesson on a cold-ish friday afternoon, but i wouldn't know what to say, and i could fill this homework diary with emotion in every pointless word, but it wouldn't mean a thing because i didn't say it to you.
and i sing sad songs under my breath, and write remembering sund
trouble with loveFor millennia, this competition rages on.
Two men in a fight for the crown.
They fight for the girl.
But not for her heart.
Her body.
I've always been a hopeless romantic,
always falling for the cute, good looking guys with a way with words.
The devil was good looking; floppy hair and a smile to dazzle and pianist hands and hummingbird lips.
He was constantly moving, continually in motion.
The god was more relaxed; sunny day
Oh Lord,i. Oh Lord, the girl's at breaking point.
She wants to run away, far away,
because of the woman who gave birth to her
{she's nowhere near attached enough to call her a mother}
and she wants to
screambut she's a kitten not a tiger.
~~~
ii. Oh Lord, the girl's a fighter, but
there are times when she's so weak, she's almost dying. Sure,
she can be selfish, and sure, she can be a bitch,
but I suppose that's acceptable when selfishness and bitchiness
are all she's ever
known.
~~~
iii. Oh Lord, she needs help,
but there are starving children in Africa and
kids with AIDS and
orphans,
and anyway, the innocent girl with the
As Strong As You Were,She looks so small, nestled amongst the starched linen and various needles poking through her veins. Her hairless head looks so petite, her eyes so large. Yet she smiles. We sit there, in silence, two best friends till the end. Quite literally BFFs. She's such a fighter, this one. So fierce. A song, quiet at first, begins to play on her little personal radio. I recognise it instantly; it's old but beautiful.
~~
As strong as you were, tender you go,
~~
We sing along, the two of us alone in a silence-ridden hospital ward surrounded by empty beds and broken promises.
~~
I'm watching you breathing for the last time,
~~
She stops singing;
=
AzizrianDaoXrak (featured
here)
All FatherI feel creaky today,
dressed in a bark exoskeleton -
I keep scratching at my skin
hoping it will peel away
and I won't have to explain myself
to anyone.
My limbs stretch,
gnarled and skeletal,
earthward.
Cicadas trill ceaselessly in my hair.
Peel the lid back from my eye,
and I might tell you who I really am,
briefly, before I am gone again.
I cannot answer the question that is myself.
Not within the limitations of words.
WarriorThe day you would create yourself
dawned with flax-gold clouds.
You rode a swan upon the water,
White foam horses racing the prow,
Spear and shield crying their silent, sunlight calls.
That night the great oak beams of the hall
creaked their agitation. You could not sleep.
Were you afraid? The hurricane that came
met you with
The Dream-Makers The clouds are beautiful today.
I watch them from behind someone’s eyelids as she sleeps beneath a tree with a book in her lap. For a while I imagine the way the trees must feel as the breeze sways them; I have not felt a true breeze in so long. And then I turn back to the depths of the girl’s mind and carry on with my work. After all, dreams do not create themselves.
I don my black shawl and turn to the little dream form of the girl. Falling into my character, I cluck my tongue and point at the forest that materializes in her subconscious. “Beware the monsters that live within the woods, my dear.”
“But
Meditation on ThoughtBegin the quiet storm of fidgeting,
metronome-pen beating—
a drum, a drum:
Tempestuous—tearing
fingers through hair,
black eyes
crawling along
the insides of my lids.
My mind grows scrublands.
"What do you mean?" and,
"What do I mean?"
I tend slowly toward the abstract.
Pine trees sprout from my hair,
a forest of church steeples.
Whippoorwill am I,
chestnut-child Evangeline,
and my fingers stretch
architectonic
to build me bridges of stone,
a whole cathedral of bone archways.
My Michelangelo eyes sit restless
in a face of white and green marble.
The smallest drop of rain
against the window
and my thoughts co
~
KeanuWantRoomService (featured
here)
last flowers to hospital the watermark above the pale carnations grew, as if the rain knew that there was death and starvation waiting underneath.
"we're going to waterside," the man in the suit mumbled. the mousy woman next to him in the starched pink dress squeaked a bit at the last word and fumbled with her purse in a futile attempt to avoid the boy's deadened gaze. "we were wondering if you would like a ride up there."
a small shining drop fell from above and landed on the grey vase and its grey flowers, a shimmering impact leaving nothing.
the boy opened his mouth, but no sound came.
the man in the pressed brown suit adjusted hi
i've left myselfyou know what's funny?
they tell me to keep going,
to not give up,
as if i haven't listened
to all of the sad songs
ten times over
in the dead of chilled starless nights.
as if i haven't written
love on a thousand burning pages,
only to watch the misty remnants
die out in harsh electric streetlight.
as if the festering dejected wounds
i've left myself
would ever heal.
but the sun still rises.
nights slow burn into days.
days achromatise into nights.
the trains still pass by my window lazily
and nothing really changes.
the moon is my friend.
i talk to it in the rain.
tell it all of my secrets.
my hopes and dreams
~
cogongrass (featured
here)
:thumb207926924::thumb208329338:
ValedictionI put my palm
to the spine of the knife,
the knife to the thorns
of the artichoke.
You and I
will not miss these,
not much; we will not
bring the petals to mind
after we have eaten their meat
or think of the body
as it could have been:
the indelible, inedible forms,
colossus or flower,
anemone or husk;—
our history approaches us
gauntly, on three legs,
doggish, galled behind the ears.
It confides in me.
Shyly, it says, You can remove
nothing from yourself
that will not miss
what has been removed from you.
It says, You are here too,
and that is kindness,
&
How to Start a RevolutionThe glow of the first message: AT APPROX. 1AM
RESIDENT ASST. FOUND SEAN [LAST NAME]
DRINKING A BEER, ASKED "IS THAT A BEER?"
SEAN [LAST NAME]: "NO." IT WAS. HOW TO PROCEED?
Will there be guts, I think, and then make them: REPLY TO ALL:
AT APPROX. 10AM I SUGGEST WE PROCEED AS FOLLOWS:
DRAW AND QUARTER. THE SINS ARE CARDINAL.
HIGH TREASON, GODLESSNESS, ETC. AMEN. SIGNED,
You're no older than you were as an infant, by the grit of it.
~
PaperDart (featured
here)
Three Act Structure
The three act structure is a common and effective method of plotting a story. This tutorial aims to serve as a straightforward and practical introduction to that structure, avoiding excessive detail and technicalities. For those interested in a more extensive overview, I recommend reading Alexandra Sokoloff's posts on the topic at The Dark Salon. (See the links in her sidebar.)
If you've heard a story described as a beginning, a middle and an end, you've already encountered the three act structure. The first act is the beginning, where characters and ideas are introduced. It's the first quarter of the story and ends with the first climax. Th
The Knife's SpeechIn the early eighteen hundreds, a sixteen year old girl decides to leave her hard home life and go out to seek her fortune. She takes with her a blanket, some food and her father's old knife. On the road to London, the knife speaks to her.
I left the forge in years long gone by,
with blades of great renown and greater strength,
but none of them has done so much as I,
though they may be recalled whilst I am not.
It was with them that men waged cruel war,
displaying awesome power before the world.
I'm agent of small deeds which no one saw,
but which will have effect until Earth's end.
There's little in those youths who name me beautifu
MonstersI once sat in an orphanage, pouring make-believe tea. The little girl I was playing with told me to add milk and sugela. I suppose I should have corrected her; should have told her that I would stir in the sugar and ignored the isiZulu word. The orphanage teaches the children to speak English, because English speaking children have a much better chance of finding new parents. I suppose I should have done that, but I couldn't bring myself to take away one of the last few words of her mother tongue. I put usugela into the tea.
I've visited homes that I wouldn't call houses. I stood outside an abandoned garage with a broken door. A young man &#
2010 May Haikuthon |-:-|
-31-
tree-shaped
hole in the sky:
silhouette
-30-
guard
at the pondside:
sapling
-29-
forgotten jewels
darkly gleaming
night sky
-28-
yellow roses and
soft white feathers
for a coward
-27-
cactus'
gnarled fingers
reach for a drink
-26-
deep red
~
Willowshine (featured
here)
mediums life begins as a blank sheet of paper
it is clear, snowy white, pure as glass
it is yearning to be written on, waiting for shades of color, tiny pointless doodles and words to embellish its page
and so time passes.
if evil decides to show its presence, then the page is shaded in with black sharpie, starting from the center, where it plots until it finally, slowly, carefully yet with a certain sort of recklessness with it, reaches out to the edges and poisons the paper with its dark shades of impenetrable ink.
if a person is full of wishes and dreams that will never happen, then pencil is what writes them in. they can easily b
collision
Jane's hair turns into some kind of personal tornado around her as she turns her head to yell something. She and I are biking home from the library, because no high school student can possibly ace their finals without studying. "Callie!" she calls, "Watch out for the bump ahead."
"Got it," I reply as I coast over the gap. "Hey, after the last finals tomorrow, do you want to bake cookies at my house?"
Even though she's biking in front of me, I can sense the smile on her face as she replies with a "Sure. Snickerdoodle?"
"Of course. What else?" I say in a scandalized vo
don't don't forget to dot your 'i's and cross your 't's.
don't forget to make a wish at 11:11.
don't forget to pick up a penny if you see one.
don't forget to fulfill everything everyone asks you for.
don't forget to be perfect.
girlscoutsi.
there's a girlscout meeting tonight
during meetings, the leading moms always focus on the fact
that girlscouts is for teamwork, cooperation, and friendship
but what kind of friendship is organized weekly?
ii.
it's wednesday night again--girlscout meeting again
as usual, we have to pay dues
dues never made sense to me
why should you have to pay for friendship?
iii.
5:58. girlscouts starts at 6:00. i should go now.
when i get there, the girls are all in a dark room, a mirror, and bag of mint life savers
as we chewed them in front of a mirror, sparks would fly from our teeth like miniature polaroid flashes
when did friendship
=
secretly-broken (featured
here)
Paper BoatsSpent my childhood with
the paper boats in the rain
and returned home
soaked to my bare bones,
chilled to my fragile core.
Some days I shouted
'achoo' into the empty halls
and sat by the window to
watch the rain wash
away my paper boats.
Last night I sobbed into
my pillow and tasted
salt and pain,
remembered the pretty rain
and forgotten paper boats.
The RiddlerYou speak riddles like daggers
and look through me
with piercing eyes,
clear and concise.
I understand
Your riddles
are not riddles at all.
Second meanings are your
second nature, dear.
I understand them like black and white.
Your tongue is sharper
than your 'riddles'.
Your mind is sharper
than your bloody riddles.
I can almost call you out, 'bitch'
because the word rolls around on my tongue
and I can taste its bitterness,
Autumn LeavesDid you know I fell in love with you under those leaves? Yellowed and frayed by the late autumn breeze, they'd float to the ground in a peaceful flurry and underneath you shiny, black shoes they crunched loudly. You looked up at the almost bare tree branches and, tossing aside the brown fringe that covered part of your face, you told me that your favourite season was spring because autumn reminded you too much of emptiness. Then you smiled at me.
I didn't ask you why. I didn't speak at all until you felt the need to introduce yourself, your smile never faltering. I smiled back. That was the start.
From then on, we had regular meetings under
What Are We To Do?What are we to do for the rest of our lives?
Sitting lonesome in dark rooms,
recording lies on mere post-it notes,
tracing tea-rings on see-through glass tables.
watching the rain descend, day after day,
finding rhymes for disconnected lines of sonnets.
(too scared to notice)
Hell, I'm almost Shakespeare
because the yellow wallpapers of my wall
are love couplets
and
if I put everything together
I have an epic for you.
(too afraid to remember)
But no,
I am no poet so
my sonnet, my epic,
shall never see the light of day
(but too afraid to forget)
as I shall never see
for I must sit here, lonesome,
trying to forget, trying t
*
JassieMaam (featured
here)
The Duck PondI was going to his house after school. It'd been a while since I had. The whole day I couldn't stop smiling, and my heart was pounding in my chest so loud I had to walk at just the right beat so my footsteps would drown it out. I was so nervous and excited and, above all, happy.
I was nine years old and my best friend, Jake, was here, in town, back from Australia.
At that point in time Australia was so far I couldn't even wrap my mind around it. It was just gone. Other things were easily used to cover it up, but things felt less vivid when he wasn't there. Half of the year was a bit more dull, less distracting, slightly slower. Time passed
Dear Love,I don't know if you'll ever know quite what you mean to me. The way you embody that emotion I've found so elusive until now. The way all I need is your voice to make me forget what's wrong. The way I know I would forgive anything you did, accept anything you are.
You're the first thought when I wake up.
You're the reason I get out of bed, do something with myself. You're the reason I try to be better, to see myself as something worth your time. The reason I want to be perfect by your standards, not the ones society sets. You're the reason I try to take everything I am and condense it, impossibly, into a few words. To take how I feel and set
Friday AfternoonAnother day to walk. A trip to the store with my mom. My dad's gone again. Surprise. Until Monday. And he has the car. Another surprise. Out of my back pocket comes a pack of Take 5. 'Cobalt'. A peppermint so intense I can smell it before I've even pulled this flimsy paper cover back. By the time it's in my mouth I'm drowning in the mint, comfortable in the vision of the sunlight. My hopes aren't up, though. Here it's never as warm as it looks. Sighs held in check and smiles pushed into place I head outside with my mom. Without the car every stop is an adventure, whether we want it or not.
Shoes on gravel, steps on the sidewalk. Nothing exci
I Pop These Like Cracker Jacks"What is it, Dani?" Her voice was quiet, intentionally so. It could barely be heard over the sound of their music, bass covering up the most important words to anyone outside the small room. With indifference in her eyes the girl's friend looks over at her and shrugs before turning back to her mirror, last checks on her hair and makeup on her mind.
"I know what it is. Don't worry, Samantha, it's safe. If you only take those two." Dani's words were offhand and had a final note to them. She was Samantha's best friend, so there was nothing in her to deny them, but she still worried a bit. Sensing this, Danielle turned around again to look at he
~
PrettyThings9 (featured
here)
The Piano The voice you hear is not mine. It forms words, but it's not me. I can no more speak than I could fly; not if you begged me, if you tortured me.
Once, a lifetime time ago, I could sing, and I lived for my song. Once she sang with me, and oh, how beautiful we were.
I sing no more.
I don't know where she went; far away, I believe. Perhaps she replaced me with another who sang more beautifully than I ever could. Though she tried, I give her that, she tried to take me with her; brought me all the way down to the sea shore, onto the very sands, but that's as far as I could go; the end of our life together.
Do you think me foolish, allowing my
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AvicultureWe are seven years old, you and I.
In the back of the car, yawning, blurry round the edges
From a lack of sleep; too much sea and sky
So early in life, too much scrabbling on ledges
After our papa, as he fumbles for the meaning of life.
Seven years old, my darling, my bird.
Dragged from sleep and into the car, another bleak dawning,
When the sky and ocean merge and the world
Lacks reality. Birds fall from the sky, the sea lost in mourning,
For our papa, as he fumbles for the meaning of life.
We are an unbroken egg, a perfect hoop,
But we are not what our papa searches for at this hour.
It was never enough for him to simply look
H
*
xlntwtch (featured
here)
Her Necklace Now It began as a very small thing.
Junior and his dad disagreed on an item made in their silversmithing shop.
That shop was kept away from the family's houses, set up in an old outbuilding because of noise.
Silversmithing was always too noisy for the dozen homes on the family's half-section of wood and meadow land.
The lapidary equipment alone made a terrible sound.
Allie, Junior's wife, used that equipment to smooth rough turquoise and coral into stones ready for silverwork. She used a spinning grinder of damp and charcoal gray stone for her main work. When Allie put a stone against that, it sounded just
How Vast It IsI can't write a poem for you.
I can't sing a song for you.
I can't be you.
I once wished I could take your place and told you I would in a heartbeat.
You said "Yes, please do!" but we know I can't even do that.
We both know you're strong and have weathered many things.
But some things won't change.
This disease you have now won't change. You'll change with it.
You sent a text message, "I felt a tiny feeling in my left foot! Woot!"
I sent one back to help you celebrate.
I wished again I had what you have. Such a small thing you felt against the looming.
I can't linger on woe.
I can't linger on "can't."
I can't linger here without you.
B
Fight in a Hospital They said she was too old to have a baby.
Doctors said she'd die if she had a second one.
Lettie thought different about that. Lettie thought different about a lot of things other folks said and thought.
Doctors said she'd die when she had her girl Jaycee ten years ago too, but Lettie was still very much alive.
Well, she almost died, but 'almost' didn't count with Lettie.
She did as she pleased and she had since a young age. That didn't do a world of wonder
One Way Eyes You hate that old woman. Not the least because she's your sister. You might be called "my old man" by your first son, but you're not as old as that old woman. She doesn't look particularly old and neither do you. Except for her eyes. Her eyes look way too old. Yours don't. You don't think they do.
Your eyes are bright because you focus on beautiful things. Your second wife is a beautiful young woman. She has what you call russet hair, cut in an expensive style. She has bright eyes too. They're like yours because you both adore your youngest son, the one she had with you. This s
~
elidragon96 (featured
here)
EarthFire kills and water saves; peace.
Love For Every Living Thing. A simple poem can hold magnificent meaning. For this was the first poem I ever learned. It was my first lesson in life to respect anything and everything that lives. My Father made my sister and I say it every night before going to sleep. And it never got old, and whenever I say it to this day, I find I go to sleep more peacefully. Plus, I don't think I'll ever be able to forget it, I'm not sure how, but I think it really had an impact on who I am today.
I don't know who the poem is by, but I bow down to who ever did write it. Dad said that he found at a library one day when he was a kid and looking for a poem to do a project on. He said
The Simple Way.I can feel the blood rising
Anger boils up with it
heat flushes my cheeks
I push it down
Betrayal cuts down
My beloved friend
thoughts of revenger curtle my mind
I push it down
Loss of a loved one
Befalls my family in horror
Needing to stay stong, I feel tears
I push it down
Back to the real world
My mind wonders
not knowing what to do, I get anxious
I push it down
A black, grudging spot on my heart
tightly condenced, akin to cancer
threatens to poison my personality
I push it down
I'm almost at breaking point
a little thing could set me off
I feel ignited and vicious
I push it down
Unable to cater to these feelings
To My Grandma.Many tears will fall
Lightly and sorrowfully
All minds wondering
Where did you go?
But your words
Honest, beautiful words
Still ring in my ears
"To cry would be selfish"
:iconscareambitious: ~
ScaredAmbitious (featured
here)
the air i breathei never thought it would be you, but more and more i want to tangle you up in my brain like swirls of smoke from an exotic pipe. you're the drug i'm not addicted to, but keep going back to for more, more, more. okay, i lied. i am addicted to you. you're my gateway drug to love, and you'll linger in the bottom of my lungs forever.
it all started when we were children. we didn't know back then that putting up with each other because we had to would turn into slipping off alone together. we didn't know that arguing heatedly in our shrill kid's voices would become whispers in the dark. we didn't know back when we were young, like brilliant stars
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empty seashellsi'm the boy--
no, i'm a boy.
you're the boy
who's just an
empty seashell
but convinces all
that you hold
oceans inside.
(even though you're
not really a boy.)
i'm a boy who
hates peeling off
his shirt because it
reminds him that
he's just dancing
bones (and that
the skeletons in
his closet are bad,
even if he also
uses them as
coat-hangers.)
i'm a famous boy
who no one knows.
i coined the phrase
"air, air everywhere
but not a gasp to
breathe," but no one
heard. all i am was
anyway is just an
empty seashell.
then
you came along
and told me that
i am me, and slowly
i came to believe it.
the shock widened
my e
Grandeur's Feei'm drunk on inspiration;
my brain has been
barfing up brilliant
ideas all day.
my ego isn't just a bubble,
it's an atmosphere and
you can't pop it
without causing me
asphyxiation. i'll fly high,
swimming in the sky
until you can cut my
puppet strings and
tear me crashing down.
playing whack-a-mole with
problems that keep bouncing
back like clockwork zombies
pops that bubble anyway.
with choking fear i
realize,
what seemed like flight yesterday
may now be my wax wings
melting out from under me.
~
MidnightSun16 (featured
here)
Forever and a Day
"If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?"
His dark eyes flicker from the summer sky to your rosy lips before he answers.
"You."
Your mouth drops slightly. There had been no hesitation in his reply, and before you get the chance to string together some sarcastic remark, he caresses your cheek. Warmth trickles from his soft palm into your body, forcing you to close your eyes as you experience a sweet light-headedness, unlike any other.
He leans in and his breath tickles your ear as he mumbles, "I want everything from you."
Everything…? You shiver at the word.
Could someone like you give someone like him…ev
Catching Stars
Let's catch stars straight from the skies,
await their arrivals, as day turns to night.
Hold my hand, and I'll hold yours.
Neither of us will get swept away,
even when shooting stars blaze our way.
Let's catch stars straight from the skies,
so the only stars I'm surrounded by
twinkle at me from your be-mine-eyes.
After the Storm.
I'm trying to forget you.
I make all my thoughts,
dreams, words, tears,
laughs about you.
And I'll make them pour out of me,
a surging flood after the storm,
to convince myself how much
brighter
the rainbow is without you.
Brother.When I was younger, maybe about 5 or 6,
I asked God for a brother for me to play with.
Sadly though, I got a sister instead.
But along the way I've realized
that God had sent me my brothers,
through you crazy guys.
~
Jupiter-shines (featured
here)
The PuppeteerHer lips slit apart at the taste of purest freedom, and the girl in the white night dress runs faster. Every so often the moonlight catches the hook of her chin through the gap in the net of branches. A quivering lip. A tear of sweat. An eye, pupil swollen with fear. Every glimpse of light reminds her, frightens her, and she runs faster.
Imploring claws sprout from tombstones of bark and the acrid stench of rotting flesh stains the forest air. It is among the deathly silence that the first note is birthed; the sigh of a spectre, the kind of sigh that breathes ice along your bones. Before long, the beetles reply, discordant shrills blending w
Miles of Silence"I wish you'd never come back."
Silence. Suffocating silence smothers the house. My fingers trace the shape of the bathroom tiles. Twenty-one blue; nineteen white, counting that broken one in the corner. I reach out to stroke it, my friend.
The words are still fresh on my ears, the reaction of thought to heart, heart to salty syrup instantaneous. And the burden of self-loathing and guilt weighs heavy on my cracking bones, wedges itself between the future and me. Like a rat in some horror, I am trapped as the blackness of the trees liquifies into molten shadows and eyes - red, accusing eyes seize me in their glare.
~
"I wish you'd never co
Plea to the DyingOur light, our precious light is vanishing into the horizon. Though it's hard to believe - somewhere beneath the thick padding of grey lies the bashful sun. He is giving up. He is succumbing to the speedy darkness. I want to yell out my rage, to beg him to persist. But deep down, I too know it. It is all in vain. The wall of clouds is simply too sturdy. It is just not possible. Pathetic, useless sun.
She sits there by the window, watching the raindrops dive across the glass. Maybe she wants to be like them. Maybe she just likes the cool against her brittle palm. Or maybe like me, she is wishing that those magic raindrops would rinse all the
An Eye For An EyeMurder. Murder. Murder.
It's inside me. Right there, brooding beneath my heaving abdomen. I can feel its skeletal fingers coil around the branches of my veins. I can feel it call out; low and deep, an aimless howl that echoes through my bones' barren valleys and crevices. Though I slam my palms against my ears, on it wails, mercilessly, endlessly. I let out the scream that has been trapped within my sticky throat for too long, desperate to silence that painful song.
"I feel it, it's there, Mother!" I sob to the watchful darkness. Her hand's warmth is there in an instant, always.
"Shh," she whispers and her age-sculpted fingers trace the de
*
Carmalain7 (featured
here)
ours is the age of...
ours is the age of looking through straws
gloved fingers bring to the eye a cage
the mind receives the numbing sting
and wakes to the churning of the seas
something is not right in the structure of law
for the bubble is the extent of our sight
at the edges stalks destruction so subtle
but no heads swivel during swaying night walks
and the books burn as frenzied fingers tear out favorite pages
and the grounds churn as culture names the golden apple's crooks
and slowly all the children are coming to learn
why gaze upon humanity's numerous flaws
when you can look at the world
through the hole of a straw
The Thralls of WarWe keep drudgin' through the moist laden jungles
Hearin' all them voices around us,
vapid hallucinations?
The fleetin' apparitions hardly an aberration ta anyone anymore.
Still, won't speak up myself, won't never break the silence:
Not fer this, not fer the tricks a that blue mist
Pertenden' it's leadin' me to that bluer heaven;
Hell's demons'll find ya that way, wouldn't never jaw if given the choice.
Plus, I don' wanna interrupt the fuckin' forced funeral
A Firm Grasp He told me,
Through words that hands
Had carved into monolithic stones and
A voice that could carry over mountains,
Though instead reverberated against
Hallow walls of being,
"The world will end
Neither with a bang,
The felling of trees and men
i'm the designeri want to suture up my future
to sharpen a knife with stone
then cut till bone makes it dull
i want to separate sublime from stain
to asphyxiate away arraign
i want to suture up my future
i want to create my own escape
'cause it's so enthrallingly complicated
to keep attempting to integrate it
and gaze upon tracings of fresh incisions
where i recently placed my new decisions
i want to create my own escape
i want to feature my new features
and see if they still say i'm insane
when the blood in my veins is now pure
and now, with perfection achieved,
see if they still believe
that i am less than perceived
and short of all th
*
williamszm (featured
here)
A WelcomingShe needs no dusty pink and powdered blush
To lightly brush across her youthful cheek,
Already rises there a vivid flush
As she raises her joyful voice to speak,
There now appears a glimmer in her eyes
Eyes shuttered by dull lashes, never meek
But springing free as one trapped in disguise
Tears off a mask, and reunites with joy
With some forgotten friend, and sheds the lies
That thus has shaped the life of such a boy
Who took a borrowed cloak and did not know
That he could lose so much in such a ploy.
But now the young girl's smile seems to grow
In greeting as she welcomes a young man
He sheds his sodden cloak and say hello.
Hi
Sonnet VILike land worn down around the weary shore,
Like creased and tarnished leaves, like fading trees,
Like air unstirred by the once sweeping breeze
That wound about my heart and asked for more,
I am worn down by this ceaseless labor.
The restiveness I feel is not reprise;
The wind ignores my ever-vainer pleas,
And I begin to think we've lost the war--
These thoughts often entrap me in despair.
But like the trees that leaf still as they may
And like the rocks that ne'er wear quite away
I think I might have some strength left to bear
This charge my heart has bid me love and keep.
For I would not forsake it, though I weep.
I am Young StillI love the smile of your eyes—
You don't know how my heart
Quivers in a start, starts to rise
With a sudden wrenching stop
Caught by this beautiful surprise
That tears my veins apart
While I smile into your eyes.
Untitled 7One day soon now I will be
Something more like me—
The wind upon a new-formed leaf,
The leaf upon the breeze.
And then it will be spring,
And I will be the song
That every bird will sing
Flung from the sheltering trees
And in the drowsy buzz of bees
And in the flowers barely bloomed,
When pollen's swelling shut the air
I will be there.
No season exists quite like this
Each spot of sun a lover's kiss
Full of life and sweeping bliss—
So gladly will I linger on
Through the trees and joyful sounds
The river echoes all throughout
Within the earth and water there
Gleaming in the shining air,
Without a worry or a care
~
nyogu (featured
here)
~
520romeo (featured
here)
the truth about evolution.the television no longer speaks with static and fuzzy voices in the slow rhythm of evenings. i miss that.
§
they all say it began going downhill for grandpa when he fell back on his head and lost most of his hearing. i say it started largely far before that. the first foreshadows took place in the infant mind of a brilliant orthopedic surgeon and professor to-be. one stubborn strand in the brain deemed itself not so willful. unfortunately, it was quite thick.
one fresh spring morning following a long agonizing night of back pains and leg muscle spasms, grandpa's stubborn strand decided that he would come on our suburban excursion with
freeze those apple faces.november means the start of a new year because that's when the frost settles in and it sort of numbs everything away. i don't have red cheeks because the genes for that apple face disorder runs in me, but rather cuz i like that tingly feeling you get when you've been out in the cold for a bit too long.
so by the time thanksgiving passes by, i'm not so awake anymore and neither is my cerebral cortex which presumably {noun ( pl. -bra |-brə|) Anatomy- is responsible for the higher brain functions, as voluntary movement, coordination of sensory information, learning and memory, and the expression of individuality.} i get plenty of sleep bu
six things.[i.]
you are my sun,
so let's keep on smiling,
keep on shining.
you're one of a kind,
so don't let them twist you all up.
darling, you can see from the rooftops
that we're dying out there.
we share that dream,
so let's make the change together.
[ii.]
we're finally finished with our story of false love
that was hopeless from the very beginning.
no more never-ending circles of
trying to love but i'm tired of this
and can't live without you's.
the ocean's gotten tired of heaving
and it's just a stretched-out lake now.
[iii.]
they say love is blind.
i think I'll have to tell you
love is not
butterflyfree.Dear Diary,
When I grow up, I'm going to be a butterfly.
That's what I told my teacher when she asked us what kind of job we wanted to have when we grew up.
At first, I didn't know what to tell my teacher. I didn't know what kind of work I wanted to do. I don't like to work, not really. When I was thinking, I saw a white butterfly fly into the classroom from outside the window. Then it flew into the closet that was open. I couldn't see the butterfly anymore. i wondered if it would ever get out and go home, wherever home is.
But I told the teacher i wanted to be a butterfly. the class laughed at me. it was really embarrassing. the teac
~
tearsfadewithyou (featured
here)
empty galaxiesi.
we'll meet again in five years,
and i'll have that same flustered look
on my face i always do when i'm late
because i've wasted all my time staring
at the stars again and comparing them
to the empty galaxies inside my heart.
you'll notice i cut my waist long hair
that i've been in love with for years
and you'll wonder why, although
deep down you'll know if you asked
me i'd only respond with my infamous
"because change is good" line.
but still, i cut it. i cut it short,
so short it hardly covers the back
of my neck and suddenly you're
thinking if i came home after
destroying so much beauty like
that you'd kiss my over expo
beautiful disastersi want to write something
beautiful for you, because
beautiful was the thing i could
never quite be.
just a small town girlshe's the girl weaving poetry
into paper and love into words, curling
tears into her letters and music into
syllables because she's never been perfect
and her heart beating like a metronome
is the closest she'll ever get.
she's the girl curled up on the bathroom
floor crying because she just doesn't
understand how the world can be so cruel,
and no matter how many times she hears it
she'll never believe she's as beautiful
as all those shooting stars.
she's the girl flushing pills and
prescriptions down the toilet because
she just can't stand the way people label
her like medication and make her see
the world a little less bl
all the lost onesi.
we met on a sunday.
and i'd love to say it was some total out of this world, love at first site, butterflies in my stomach moment, but it wasn't. it wasn't because maybe that sounds just a little too cliché, and well, we were never the type for happy endings. maybe it was that, and the fact that i had no clue what i was doing that day, never mind going.
so here i was, gripping onto my leather shoulder bag for dear life and dragging my frail body through ten feet of snow. i never knew where i was going to be honest, i just knew i had to get away.
i had to get away from this town, these people, here. i just had to get away.
ii.
he
~
BittersweetObsession (featured
here)
When She WiltsShe remembers the petals, creased, as fine as the work of a blacksmith; coated in the thick luster of a resplendent red:
But now it has all become blood.
In the textures of red snow, she imagines the roses. If once a fire of warmth and serenity melted her flowered dreams away, the only evidence would be the ashes. Sprinkled across the ground in a haze of blushing snow. Illusions of velvet roses litter the glistening frost.
And with eerie suddenness, the slashes across her heart are drenched not in blood, but in petals.
Decades of StillnessA pelican thrusts itself across the evening sky. A swollen sun hangs over the ocean, as I observe in admiration. These are my final moments.
A thick transparency surrounds me. Rapid winds rouse scraps of paper, and in velocity they travel with the ocean breezes, gliding. Stories never written and pens never used begin to sprawl across my memory, as a cluster of papers swarm and disappear in a swift suddenness. Confusion perfumes the air, mixing with the aromas of sea salt.
Waves come crashing over me. I am drenched in a horrific realization. This is a truth I cannot evade, a world I cannot escape. Decades of stillness are unwound across my
The Corrupt Butterflies Emerge.
Wings of ivory flutter stiffly. Silence bruises the window pane, where I am a spectator for the winged children - of pastels, golds, and tinted reds; queens of the sky. They are adorned in vibrant graffiti. Suited in their cloaks of vivid colors, they leave me skeptical. You watch me from a distance, as I observe the butterflies.
They are aspiring pilots, navigating through the sighs of forceful winds and the simmering of solar streaks.
They smile at me from the flowers. Strange glimpses of enthusiasm.
Fueled by the thrill of flying, they tread the air. Everything is beneath them. Hovering above the brevity and insignificance of
~
alexiscaitlinking (featured
here)
Second-Long ThoughtI watched scarlet honey-drop fronds unfurl slowly,
its particles of time visible through lace sheaths.
I wanted to love you immensely; to trap you in my
sticky-sweet fingertips and suck the life right out
of you, sip-by-sip.
(There wasn't much there.)
Instead, you sped up my pulse, with your
amphetamine rush of concocted chemicals;
stopped me mid-stride and stole my heart.
(But grew thoughts like wildflower.)
Lacking all physicality of passion-painted particulars,
and chewing apart my newly manifested mind;
A Tribute to MomI kept the stovetop too hot, I think.
The sink was laughing in my ear,
and the vent was coughing from smoke.
I quickly apologized to the microwave,
now shrouded in thick black tar.
I don't think he cared all too much.
I could hear the little onions
screaming in the fiery cauldron,
smothered by hot oil, hissing.
I couldn't think. They were blackened
and crispy, tasting of coal.
I looked at my daughter and whispered,
"You cook next time."
ChairFor years you praised my good posture;
my comfortable soul, my simple elegance.
You needed me when she was born,
to hold your heart so you could relax
if only for a moment.
I watched her grow; fit snugly in your arm
as you within mine.
I was a jungle gym, in constant need
of professional upholstering
which I never received; yet I didn't complain.
My limbs wore slowly, until eventual break;
but I was ever-present. I could not budge
until I was beyond repair.
Just trash;
I was but a chair.
ArabelleIt was on the shores of the sweet Louisiana bayou that I met Arabelle.
It was a thick night, the heat and moisture was seeping in my cells when she came into view. I watched the moon cast shadows across her delicate features, making her milky white skin glow more brilliantly than in sunlight. She wore a blush pink dress that fell elegantly to the middle of her shins. Her legs were long and slender, and she walked like a swan swimming across the moonlight.
All of her features lead to her pure white hair, loose and wavy- slightly frizzy from the humidity of the night. Beads of sweat swelled on her collarbone, glistening like morning dew on gr
~
SocraticSynapses (featured
here)
distinctionThis is what I cannot understand.
There is an understanding that nothing is ever black and white. Good can be achieved through bad means, what's wrong can sometimes be right, and if you turn right for long enough, you eventually go left. Boys can be girls who fall in love with girls who sometimes think they are boys and the lines between everything end up irreversibly blurred.
Or so I've always thought.
But this is a line that cannot be blurred. This is the only remaining clear-cut line that separates black from white as perfectly as a color wheel. And that is the fact that everything is until it isn't. We are until we aren't. We breathe u
the science of usacceleration = gravitational pull / mass
You didn’t 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 weren’t 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 a
mes luttesi.
and i am afraid i will not be able to breathe in
anything but shuddered gasps until these words
fall from my chest; the pressure of your smile is
heart -breaking and -aching in bittersweet infatuation
ii.
yet i believe i will not think clearly until the
image of your face is burned into my retina as
clearly as my mind's eye; i want to see the blush
creep over your smile when i whisper in your ear
iii.
so i know that no words will fall from lips nor
pen until these lines are spread before you; i
will strip my soul naked to iambic pentameter
choruses if you will admit you feel this too
iv.
but i promise nothing will move me u
the opposite of a love letterSometimes, I think you forgot me.
To admit it, most days I've forgotten you, too. But sometimes a moment comes along that feels like you in my bones, and suddenly you're crashing through my veins, riding my pulse straight to my heart. And you sit in my chest, heavy and unwelcome, and it's hard to breathe because I cannot shut off the reel of memories playing in my head. So I close my eyes and count to ten, breathe evenly and steadily, tell myself that you are miles and years away. But I wake up the next morning with a dry taste in my mouth and a hollowness somewhere in the pit of my stomach and you're hanging onto me like a shadow even thoug
~
baretoedgirl (featured
here)
Zebra Girl"It's interesting the way people present their plumage," she says,
jealousy in her eyes as she watches the girl in the
killer heels, killer dress,
lavender and fuchsia peonies printed across silk
moving with her every shimmer, leaving her
naked to the hungry eyes
of the men, husbands included.
"Perhaps she needs it to feel secure" I say
quietly, knowing it's the wrong thing, though
really, nothing could be right.
She's determined to be angry,
trying to pretend it doesn't scare her
underneath it all, underneath the scorn,
veil ripped aside:
white skin flashing, the girl walks,
x-rated dreams in the men's gazes,
youth so far awa
No Run ZoneA
no
run
zone
makes
me kick
my heels
off and go
dancing go
singing hey
where is it
a must run
zone and
why do I
need a
zone
why
do
I
Coffee Shop RomanceYoung man
You asked me to watch your
Things and
I said sure and
Looked up and
My god you were cute
When you came back you said thanks and
We smiled at one another and
Our gazes lingered
Just a bit
I don't think it was my imagination
We spent the next half hour or so
Jiggling our legs and
Shifting our bodies and
Sneaking glimpses
Of one another out of the corners of our
Eyes
You watched me type and
I watched you read and
We both pretended we were just as alone
As we had been before
You spoke
But of course now there was
You and
Now there was
Me and
I know you wanted to say something
But didn't know how to
Start
Childhood's SummerSweet and dark the memories
rise up, suffused with
sound, color, heat.
Heat of a child's summer
when the green runs out
with the early rain
and all that's left is
dry yellow grass
with all the subtle threat
that I remember.
Smooth-rough wood under my feet
and my hands full of
rocks/shells/leaves,
ice cream that
drips
drips
drips
down my clean white shirt.
The sorrow of summer;
the stained clothing,
new cuts/scrapes/scars;
trying to fill up the time
that slides by so slow-quick.
One can never catch it
as one would like.
Salt-sweet on my tongue,
licking my lips for the taste
of childhood long-remembered
*
aprilwednesday (featured
here)
stuck like glue it started with lightbulbs, and it ended with jail.
and when she looked back on it it seemed suitable, like the lightbulb he dropped on her desk was the universe's way of saying that this [whatever this was] was a great idea.
but it wasn't just lightbulbs. every day there was something new, a perfectly random little something dropped on her desk without a word of acknowledgment, like a cat bringing home dead things as gifts [but much cuter, of course] and every day she would tap her fingers with anticipation, just waiting for him to arrive with something new.
and they were always silent in class, barely speaking more than a few words to e
locked outbefore she died, my mother told me
[in her strange little way]
that my heart was beautiful like the stars.
the stars are cold tonight.
and i don't have gloves
or a scarf
or a hat
or a place to go
so i smoke cancer sticks
from a crumpled box
and make wishes on the ashes.
mornings sunday.
the croissant crumbles in my fingers
buttery flakes drift towards mismatched
china
and your lips are stained with
strawberry jam.
monday.
sleep clings to your eyes
like a shadow
and i watch you breathe, while
i trace your collarbone with
tired fingers.
tuesday.
we wake before the alarm
and count how many times the
neighbor's dog barks
before she finally lets him in.
your soft laugh blends perfectly into
the early morning sun.
wednesday.
your fingers trace the curve
of my spine
the old window rattles
in the wind
and i press my cold toes against your leg.
thursday.
half asleep
i mumble how the faded, flower
tea colored eyes and worried hands you took my soul with you when you left, but you forgot to tell me what i should do without it.
but that's okay, my dearest, i can forgive you for that. you were always so forgetful with your tea colored eyes and your worried hands, and you took off in such a hurry that no one could blame you for neglecting such a small little detail.
you were beautiful. did you know that? you had a crooked smile and you were too skinny and your feet were too big, but you owned your imperfections with such confidence, such assuredness, that people would look twice and wonder if they were really imperfections after all. you made yourself perfect through she
~
Hi-I-Am-Rom (featured
here)
The WriterTo my mentor.
"I can't write about myself," the writer said, resting his quill on the table. To him, the book of his life was firmly sealed behind the doors of his mind. He sat, staring at the photo frames that surrounded his desk, each one turned face down, eyes buried into the ebony. The wind outside caused his thick drapes to flap backwards and forwards, almost hypnotically. The writer spun on his swivel chair in frustration, as if he was searching for a click that signalled the point to crack open a safe. He stopped once vertigo overcame him and laid, head on his desk, thoroughly beaten. "I can only write about characters," h
The Flood -tWR chat contest-The heat is the evacuation centre was stifling; a teenage boy was leaning against a railing, his shirt open and eyes half closed. He was surrounded by other people, old, young and of all races. The dull buzz of thousands of human voices filled the air like a swarm of flies. This thick buzzing atmosphere was only pieced sharp shouts and cries of distress. The boy just lay there against his railing, unfazed by the sounds.
He'd lay there ever since he arrived here, dressed in hiking gear with mud on his face. He hadn't spoken or eaten and only accepted a small amount of water. One of the doctors had checked him out on arrival, he diagnosed no
Dear x** for official reasons these people do don't do don't maybe exist**
Dear x
You are my savior and my destroyer. So many times you've kicked me into the bottomless pit and laughed as I fell from view. Only a few hours later to send a paper aeroplane tied with some ambiguous message, for me to misinterpret and ride back out again. Still, you make my heart run marathons and bright words dance in front of my eyes. With you I want to break all the rules in the book, I want to smash the sky to pieces and just stare in to oblivion with you.
youmakemewanttowritewithoutpuntuationjustbecauseican
love -r
Dear Shado
I Tried...I tried to break open the sky for you, just so you could see the swirling iridescent ripples of the sea of time, spiralling behind its curtain. So your eyes could light up like fireworks as you gazed all the way to the beginning and sailed all the way to the end in one blink of an eye. But I've been picking away at it like chipping paint for weeks now, my fingers are bleeding sunspots into the sky and still no light is shining through.
I tried to write you a song but the words just won't line up. I've been barking at them to make formation and march in regal regiments across the page, but all they seem to want to do is amble after each other
~
MoonlightWillow6 (featured
here)
appassionato g l i d e
sail across the ice, dragging one foot after the next
stop for no one
your tempo is yours alone
then pause, bend your knees, and
J U M P
extend your legs and reach for the moon
let your breath disappear for a moment and come back as a hurricane
s p i r a l out of control
clutch sanity like a safety blanket
then s l i p and remember what it was like to glide
take a deep breath
close your eyes
and keep them shut
there is no repeat sign at the end of this song
PoemI could write a poem.
It would be about love's winter-crested kiss and its summer-spiked heart. I'd be the girl peppered in stolen kisses, brushed with destiny, and sautéed with bright yellow petals of luck. You'd be the boy served with late night naps and furrowed eyebrows on the side.
It would be about autumn's grim posture and death's spindly fingers. The digits would wrap around your wrist and twist your arm until your compassion caved. I'd cry silver tears because gold can only be found on trees during the dying season.
It would be about innocence's guilt and the recent eclipse of my shattered soul. Children would run to the door
Sankyour love, titanic
your heart, frozen
Where were you?Where were you on 9/11?
I wish I could say something meaningful. I wish I could I say I was in school and I saw someone rush in with a horrified look on their face. I wish I could say I remembered my mom frantically talking on the phone while watching a TV screen in horror. I wish I could say that this day changed me forever.
But I can't.
Where was I on 9/11?
I was asleep.
I was peacefully lying in bed while the world fell apart around me.
I didn't know what had happened until years later. And when I did find out, I didn't really get the big deal about it.
So what if two towers collapsed? It's not like that changed anything. It's not l
~
celery-soda (featured
here)
bulletsOur handshake was
a Chekhov's gun,
fully loaded at
conception--
it fired
oh, it
fired:
and that crack of hate,
hell and three Furies
propelled me from you
false friend,
you speak poison
and spit thistles
and one day
I will be too far
to bleed.
![]()
friends rolling stoneswith you three,
street lamps and slush
have an appeal
we could move boulders
together
my heart was warm
though the streets
were touched with ice
because:
you three, so many
years together
but you brought a chair
for me -- for my awkward
smiles nervous breaths
we could move stones
because you listen
i remembered how to laugh,
until my eyes crinkle:
I am a sun-girl again
could we roll stones?
together
you always have a chair for me
and I know we will have
so much time together
we will roll stones
Seats and Leaves Today I realized that I had missed autumn. To my memory, summer had chilled itself directly into winter without the help of brisk autumn winds. It was February, spring was warmly worming its way through Jack Frost's ice wall, and I had missed autumn. Autumn is where I fit – red and gold, russet and vibrant orange. My heart stung a little at this gloomy epiphany, then froze as winter slashed at spring with a knife of frosty wind. After adjusting the strap of my messenger bag, I forced my hands deeper into the pockets of my grey trench coat and trudged the remaining block and a half to a tightly loc
~
greenleo94 (featured
here)
the day we diedIt started when space imploded
you pulled me back, landed me on the moon,
so we could sit in the vacuum silence
and watch suns spiral down to hell.
You radiated, my minuscule flare,
your worn heat baked my bones brittle,
but it somehow made me stronger.
-
It ended when your eyes slid lateral,
fractured feelings leaking out in tears;
it was the first and last thing
I ever saw again.
This ridiculous happenstance,
simple in its impossibility,
was what broke us apart:
While solar light is beautiful,
it blinds when reflected by
automobile metal.
Gallows Tea Party You drink lightly from a chipped mug, the steam curling around your fingers and forming nearly translucent rings around your knuckles. The clear smoke continues up creamy skin, until around your neck it forms a noose. The illusion snaps as you lean forward and laugh. Something unknown tickles your fancy, and right then I have no clue why your breezy giggles are warmer than my coffee.
This thoughtful gap in time is bridged around you, but still I can't seem to shake the cobweb shadows. They form rose-tinted glasses that distort the world into something neat and tidy, something people can comprehen
thoughts on an artistyou sit on your bed
across the room from the computer
and, for once, it's not the only thing
illuminating the iris of your eyes
you turn to glance at me,
looking at my features
so you can put them down on paper
but laugh whisperingly
because i could never be
quite serious enough to model
back to your paper,
it seems it's the only thing
stringing us together at this point
there is a tense moment
knocking at the door
your pencil curves lightly,
but your shoulders hunch
i know we're both thinking
miles past the speed of light
a million words that never
gain enough momentum
to break from the lips
i try speaking, something,
RegressThe words she spews,
at once and fully,
strip me naked,
and throw me down,
and let me bleed.
Progress is marked by joyful synapses firing in my brain.
Stability is not their role,
Since under tearful strain they snap.
"Nail it to the sticking post."
I wish it were a real place.
No matter how hard I try to find,
The wooden sight does elude.
Life's intentions pass by
For time is better spent
Not hiding in my dungeon cell,
Yet hide I do, nonetheless.
~
wish-sticks (featured
here)
snowbonesholding my hands over the kettle
the skin on my fingertips peels back,
like dated wallpaper,
like flowers blooming.
they're burning from the inside out,
nails turning to varnish, turning to steam,
bones click-clacking their way out;
spreading like wildfire.
the whistling stops, and
blink
and my fingers are just fingers,
ink stained, bitten nails.
sunlight streams across the kitchen,
my fingers warm and
slightly damp, i trace patterns on
steamed-up windows.
celtic knots on my finger topsthe sun is shining on my feet and i am thinking
about the curls of my hair and reflections and water.
the washing machine grumbles away,
and i hide from the fresh breaths of newborn season
behind these flimsy walls of bricks and duty.
how i long to steal some bread from the bread bin
and find a lake somewhere. to walk in the light, of my own vocation.
water ripples and dances and catches the light
to and fro, back and forth -
can you catch the light without sinking?
i can. my heart was born to beat in the summer,
with muddy feet and green stained joints
(grassburn is the coolest flame you can touch)
quenched with dew and the wi
the year that never happenedi. it is lunchtime and the oven is beeping and she wakes up to an empty house
the cat is there, curled around the end of her bed but that's it, that's all
she waits all day for someone to come home, but the window she's watching from
might as well be a poster, a still, because there is nobody there
ii. he watches the sun come up and as he does the world changes
and he doesn't notice because it's four in the morning and of course, of course
nobody else would seem to be alive. the milkman doesn't come, or the post, or
when he sneaks into his parents' room and finds it empty he realizes
iii. there are two people left in the world, now.
something bigi)you curl your knees like a seashell,
a hermit crab wrapped in human skin, you drag yourself
from place to place searching
for a better home than these rags
waiting for someone with the suns in their eyes to catch you
and change you and press their
fingerprints into the wet clay of you
ii)cannibal, your teeth are worn
you hunt over your shoulder for something
a puzzle piece like you, with holes and gaps where you have
spears and thoughts that don't fit
to plug yourself into the raw electricity of them
and short them out
not with a whimper, but a bang
fireworks, or maybe just fires.
iii)the party lights are scattered like star
~
pseudometry (featured
here)
Red BoatRed boat in the harbour,
commercial trawler amidst the blue
like a gunshot-wound
on a cop's patrol shirt
Drown MondaysThe best way I found
to catch my seven-twenty train
is to miss the seven-o-five, be late
and grow a glut of yin
from the corpses of yangs
drown mondays to breathe tuesdays
but I nibbled cake and kept it too;
I caught the seven-o-five
and the hands fell off the clock,
fell off my wristwatch
![]()
7.34mmA simple measurement
can make a man
lose himself; a blurring, no more
than a grainy smudge
a scant 7.34mm long
this rice-grain, seven weeks old
with one hundred and twenty nine
heartbeats per minute
—all this, from a mere sesame-seed of a heart
~
Rieal-Dragonsbane (featured
here)
Ink VoiceWhile the other children spilled into the playground, Ren stayed inside. She sat in her beanbag and leafed through a book. Ren loved stories as much as she hated talking. This late into the year, she had read and reread every child-battered book on the shelf several times. And she loved them all.
They smelled like . . . magic.
Stories were doors and Ren used them to fall into other worlds.
Except, not really. She only pretended to do so, and it was hard to pretend when grownups decide to interrupt her quiet reading.
"Which book are you reading today, Ren?" Miss Payper asked.
Don't say a word.
Ren did not look up at her teacher. She cont
Too Many Clever BuggersThere were too many university applicants.
A theory for the clever bugger influx was that previous generations of university graduates went forth and multiplied. Another was the rise in opportunities for the peasant classes. Whatever the reason, there were now legions of heartbroken students feeling quite miffed. Touched by their suffering, the government voted to triple tuition fees so that many of the peasants wouldn't even try to apply.
Apparently that didn't work so well, making all the politicians very sad. They consoled themselves by claiming second homes with taxpayers' money, because even if you lived less than twenty minutes from t
The Dragon and the LibrarianShe suspected thievery from the beginning.
The first clue was the amount of ash. Too little.
The second clue was that she saw the local dragon tear apart the roof of her library, enter her library, leave the library with a substantially large sack and then set fire to her library.
Question: Why?
No knight, hero or travelling adventurer would touch the case. Apparently, as the dragon in question had not killed any livestock or kidnapped any princesses in recent history, he was classed as a friendly dragon. And to slay a friendly dragon would be, well . . . uncivil.
No one cared about how she felt. Not one. Who needs books anyway, they sai
Stars and CigarettesDear You,
No one writes letters anymore, which is a pity because you can't burn an email from the ex. I might have told you that last night. Or maybe in a dream. Lying next to you, I dreamt of stars and smoke.
The world is ending like you said it would. It's choking.
I can't believe you weren't lying.
When we met, I was drunk (something I regret). But intuition tells me that you wouldn't have said hello otherwise and I hate that. I hate you too. You told me all your secrets because you knew I wouldn't remember, but did you know I would remember just enough to want to beg for more? I remembered enough to crave the taste of stars.
I hate y
~
ClioStorm (featured
here)
petrichor by ~
ClioStormendymion dreaming by ~
ClioStormon the shores of the sea by ~
ClioStormThe Cartographer's Daughter by ~
ClioStorm
*
Miss-S-Bird (featured
here)
Thankyou for the Smile by *
Miss-S-BirdSpaces by *
Miss-S-Bird Misunderstandings by *
Miss-S-Bird The Wrong Face by *
Miss-S-Bird
We 
our Featured Members
#theWrittenRevolution
2011 was a wild year that showed some incredible diversity in writing. Scrolling through all these reminds me of how talented all these writers are, with their own voices and styles. A wonderful feature! 
Definitely! 
I'm pretty sure (maybe ask Kerri?).
`ChewedKandi has certainly gone out of her way to keep the vector community on the right path. Always making sure that her talents are infinitely scalable, Sharon has put her bezier curves to excellent use, and firmly anchored herself as an inspirational leader. We're absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for June 2013 to `ChewedKandi. Congratulations, Sharon! Read More
Sta.sh
send a note.
The contest consisted of a set of themes and vignettes that we asked you, the writers, to use as inspiration for your own written work (they're pretty sweet prompts, check out the contest article).
So let's get down to it!
), but we did it! And here are the results.
First Place 
This month we will be taking a look at =DailyLitDeviations! 
$wreckling is now a Literture CV go welcome him and give him some love!
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Featured Members of 2011by #theWrittenRevolution