To the InferiorTo the inferior,I know how you feel. The thought of being "less." The notion that you have little to gain. The idea that you don't quite meet the world's standards. It's like you're stuck. Forever dreaming for something better. Forever wishing upon a star. At night, you sit up and wonder when the pieces of your puzzle-like life will fall into place. But isn't that just so cliche? All we do is wait...then wait some more. Yet, we're not far from the mountaintop. Someday, it will be our turn. Someday, we will see our long-awaited desires floating before our eyes, like satellites. And those who've never left cloud nine will finally understand. It just takes a bit of time, and a smidge of faith. Though it's easy to become vulnerable. Remember, even the "lowest of the low" have found their way. Some have even taken on the role as king or queen. And just know, that I am for you. Totally and completely for you. You never have to question your significance again.Sincerely,Everlasting Hope
Obsolete BeachThe lighthouse is catching fire tonight;the infrastructure is caving in.For several bottles of keroseneremain exposed, unattended.And the matches, ten years old,rub against the cardboard lid.Sorcery, or so it seems,taking course of foul revenge.Then fear falls fast on tired hearts;the angels have refused their part.So goes our love, our brick-built home,our oil, and our lamp.Still, we once felt angst before,the monsters piling on the shore.We'll reconstruct our secret placein the ocean's crib.
Tribute to the KingI had once dreamed of being queen. But not the one you might expect. Not the one to turn her back, so ignorant to flee. For you have seen their solemn eyes - the hunger beckoning demise. Still, you raise the cathedral spires, callous to their pleas. Then death takes hold of sweltering skin; guilt takes form of russet hands. Your ego, status as a man, is but an ancient thing. And purple banners start to fall, for the king who thought he had it all. Erect the tables for the feast! We're not disheartened - not in the least.Not in the very least.
Natural RestorationCucumbers like iceconcealing somber eyes.Pigment of chlorophyll -fluorescent green, divine.Capturing the light,conquering the night.Act of photosynthesis,soothing, sublime.
Spatial SerenityBathing in streams of coconut milk,I embrace my inner sense of youth -how calm, how mellow-minded,distinct of the Earth's mantle.A moment spent upon the moon.
Bobby PinConsider a bobby pin.How easy one could snap.Yet it tussles with gravity -leaves an atmospheric gap'tween your hair and your faceand your dimples like stars.I would be a bobby pin,just to unveil who you are.
MarigoldsYou call yourself a man,yet shamelessly crushmy pile of marigoldsbeneath your feet -your old rubber solesgrinding the petalslike mortar and pestle.Those apricot leaves.But you never knew lovein the form of a flower;how vibrant, how gallantlike the sun it could be.And you never knew thatthe true secret to manhoodis boldness with a touchof sensitivity.
PrisonerI hold the gauze against my lips,embrace the snow white fibers of its being -embrace the cotton candy-like tressesready to catch each speck of bloodthat will fall from my stitched mouth.Tonight, I'll break my vow of silence -my long-contained ghostly manner,no matter how much my mouth bleeds.For words weren't meant to be confinedbehind slithers of rusted wire;phrases weren't meant to run drybehind tired, parched tongues.Tonight, the clock will cease to tick,the rosebuds - cease to bloom.And my voice - cease to be mutedbehind the once ivory bandage.
Regarding BrowniesThere's a differencebetween gooey and chewy.
I'll Wait by the WaterThis is the place where our memories began.A creek at the bottom of a canyon,red cliffs on either side and a giantpond dam to the north that wildflowers grow on.Paths that we created through the woodsand up and down those copper canyon wallswhile we pretended to be wild Injunsor wanted outlaws being hunted by a posse.You were on your knees,in the middle of the creek,when I found you.A neighbor girl, trespassing.I had a mind to chase you offuntil I asked what you were doing.You looked at me, smiled, and said,"Catching crawdads. Come help!"After that day, we spent Springs and Summersbuilding fort walls and chasing frogs,skipping stones and arguing baseball,sharing comic books and trading punches.You could hit as hard as any boy I knew.We had our own bridge to Terabithia,our own kingdoms of knights and castles,won the World Series with back to back homeruns,settled the Wild West and discovered gold in the mountains.My parents thought you were imaginaryuntil I bro
How to Live in 2015Be born. That’s the easy part.Beg for new toys or take someone else’s.It doesn’t matter. Being selfish as a child is normal.Being selfish as an adult is normal. Get dirty. Stop taking everythingso seriously. You’re going to die.Don’t worry, everybody does it.Don’t fall in love, love is not a holeto fall into. Run into love, headfirst.Bite your tongue untilyou can taste the word no.Give away your secrets under a pseudonymfor someone else to sell.Chop off your arms and legs to pay for college,realize tuition rates doubled.Get a degree. Find a job. Hate your job.Find a vice. Keep it closer than your breath.Find God in an alleyway.Lose God like a set of keys. Die and be reborn as a memory.Die and be reborn as an afterthought.Die and be forgotten.Repeat.
an atheist's prayerdear god,i planted no tulips in autumnand no tulips came in spring.how silly of me, thento mourn the empty garden,to long for fields of amsterdam,to kneel at night in cold dirt,hands folded.i’ve learned there isa certain ache in lackinga thing never had, that small itchwhose relief is two seasons past –so god, if you can hear me,know that i am homesickfor amsterdam,whose name, like yours, i knowbut whose flowers i cannot see.
DownfallAnd in this dark harvest of seasonMy life has completely lost reason,For which or against to decide.All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tideIn sadness and in kindnessIn light and in darkness.In a boat made of hopeI shall sail to tomorrow,In a winding hurricaneMade of treachery and sorrow.There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...Piercing, slashing though my head.Starting somewhere in heaven,Ending somewhere in hell.Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.Are the armies within.In my head they are all thrashing.On the heaven's and hell's whim.To be light or to be darkness.A perpetual array.It's not merely my choice,But the choice of the way.It's an option of the voice,It's a thin line of gray.Is it a choice forced by fate,Is it a pre-set time and date?Or a choice to which I myself sway?But here's our story anyway
."Nothing that I do will matter.As all things will merely shatter!"All my hopes thus darkness scatter,As it shoves me a decree.As it si
TapestryThe morning is a tapestry...tripping over last night's grace,I watch you weave your skinand shake out your hair -soft teal and jonquilshadowing your cheekas the curtains part between your hands.Threads tangle as you turn,telling medawn is a gentle lover,and the tumble of birdsplaiting their soft noteslingers on the pillowswhere your smile is my undoing.
OC Meme*Copy this into your Meme..-Choose 10 of your OC's-Answer the questions-Then tag 3 people---126.96.36.199.188.8.131.52.9.10.---1.) 3, 7, 4, and 9 go ice skating. What happens?2.) Its Christmas!!! 5 throws a christmas party and invites three people of choice. Who does he/she invite? What happens?3.) 6 catches 2 dancing/singing to the 'spice girls'. What's 6's reaction?4.) 1 and 10 are stuck in a janitor's closet. How the crap did they get in there?5.) 4 confesses his/her love for 8. What happens?6.) 3 walks in to see 6 and 7 making out in 3's closet.. What is their reactions?7.) 9 and 5 have an argument that soon turns into a fist fight. How did it start? And How does 2 try to break it up?8.) 6 and 7 are getting married! But 8 is in love with 7. What does 8 do?9.) You here a knock on your door. You open it to see every one of your OC's bursting in to your home. What do you do?10.) 2 admits to you that he/she killed 9. What do you do?11.) Everyone gat
not grief, but something like itmy grandmother's tartan bag sits on an upside-down bucket in the basement,full to the brim with little liquor bottles and cardboard boxesI go to do the laundry,pass it twice an hourand every time, just for a moment, I think she's visiting
AnimeAs soon as i saw Anime on Tv I was happy to see it played,I Like inuyasha, FMA, Naruto and many others but why?At 34 years old loving anime, isn't this strange?Loving Anime is loving someoneYou cherish it foreverUntil You die but Anime is Amazing what they can do today..Its in 2-D, 3-D and CG's But no matter what,Anime to me will always cherish me into my heart and soulWhen i was younger Anime never existed,Why?Anime will stay into the younger kids today,Anime Rocks,Anime will rule the world maybe someday?What can you do not without a pencil today?You Can draw Anime,You Can always give you're best shot to draw even if you're not good enough,True isn't it?You can put Anime on Tv, on a website about everything,Anime Kick Butt.
A Hostage to HerTRIGGER WARNING. EDI was crying so hard that the tears were pooling in my ears as she held my chin back. My eyes and nose streamed and meant I choked for breath around each new handful. I'd like to say she was methodical, orderly. But she was not. She had a surgical tray of containers and ripped heartfuls out of them at random. Pressing her hand down over my mouth so that mashed potato filled it and I had to swallow it to breathe. I gagged and writhed under her hands. She'd hold me down until my mouth was clear enough for oxygen and then, as I inhaled and coughed on a potato trying to get into my lungs, she'd press down a handful of something else. It wasn't always like that. Sometimes she'd hold my nose and press my tongue down, tipping vodka directly over my tonsils. Sometimes she'd let me have little pauses to cry. Most of the time though she would go too fast, force too much into my small, convulsing throat, and I would vomit. My body rejecting her attack. It wasn't i
Writer's Block Is...When a writer is feeling blocked.Yeah, that's all I got. :/Hence the term, "writer's block."