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.
Things they don't tell you.Thngs they don’t tell you about losing your grandfather on a Tuesday night:When you wake the next morning, you stillneed to get out of bed in time for work, you stillhave to shower, dress yourself, eat breakfast, brushyour teeth and hair; and when your mother callsto check in, you have to comfort her because she losther dad last night; and when you call your grandmotheryour voice cannot waver lest you upset her, becauseshe lost a man she's known for seventy years and eventhough she would never hold it against you, you stillfeel obligated not to cry; and when you sit downto do your job, you will have to do it with all your heartbecause if you can
PastRevoke your “was”–Consign me not to “had” and “did”But rather “does.”I contain the infinite–”Contain,” not “contained”–And speak, soak, suffer, sitIn tongues newly-born that strainAfter mine and sense that my“Lives,” “breathes,” “dies,” “loves”Expand into multitudes greater than“Was.”
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
The DonorThe Doner 7/27/15I've had a good life.I have no regrets.It's time for me to die.What will be my legacy?These are things I wonder.How will I be remembered?Who will mourn me?Have I done enough?Did I appreciate the air I breathe?So I made a decision.A choice of the heart.When I die I will donateparts of me.Parts I hold dear.If in the future I can be helpfulto someone who is without - that willbe my purpose.My corneas, which helped me view beautyand ugliness in this world.I will give to someone who can't see.Maybe they have been blind all theirlife or maybe it's new and it kills them.If I can give them a glimpse of whatI saw then I will die with a grin on my face.My lungs ( although I had asthma and sufferedoccasionally when I was young ) couldbreathe new life into a child ora person with emphysema.Maybe they will be thankful for a second chance.And finally my heart. Which now beats fasterknowing my fate. I don't wish to die.But the cancer is coursing throug
Reasons We Love Homestuck“Reasons we love H O M E S T U C K.”[Free-style poem]Why do this love this web comic, you ask?Maybe it’s just the way the fandom rolls,or how mean Andrew Hussie trolls.It could possibly be Eridan’s accent (WWyeh?)or even Feferi’s keyboard trident. (---E)Some people say it’s Equius’ broken bows and arrows, ( D →)but what about Nepeta’s meows and roleplays? (:33 <)We really do love Sollux’s lisp,and also when Karkat’s pissed. (FUCKASS!)Including Kanaya's fabulous lipstick,it's also Rose's amazing magic.How about when Dave starts rappingand Jade Harley begins napping?We love Vriska’s eight-pupiled eye,and how John is such an adorable guy.Or maybe it’s with all the spritesor how prospit glows bright.Can’t forget about Derse’s darknessor Gamzee and all his soberness. (WHOOPS.)There’s also this thing with Tav and stairswhich he t
We are blood and earth, not theory and chalk.I will stitch my skin togetherwith thread of moons and starsto contain the joy of livingand suppress the sadness of deathand light will shine through the seamsblinding the nonbelieverswith beams of the cosmosyou look so goodbathed in the novas and galaxies
Is It Love?If I hugged you,would you never let go?If I kissed you,would you cherish that moment?If I reached for your hand,would you take mine gently?If I needed a shoulder,would you let me cry on yours?If I needed to talk,would you really listen?If I needed to scream,would you do it with me?If I needed to go,would you come with me?If I fell for you,would you catch me?or just let me hit the pavement?
The WandererMy life itself was like a thick haze,I recall barely living, simply moving,From place to place.So often I'd see myself in dreary corner,Watching others go by,Their shoes shuffling across the wooden floor.As I slipped deeper into a living coma.And then, I saw him,Like a nightmarish figure from my darkest dreams.When he spoke, it was in the quietest of voices,But I knew I had to follow...And wherever he went,Wherever he forced me to tread...I knew I would only step ever deeper,Into the burning pits of hell...
OC Meme*Copy this into your Meme..-Choose 10 of your OC's-Answer the questions-Then tag 3 people---18.104.22.168.22.214.171.124.9.10.---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
Writer's Block Is...When a writer is feeling blocked.Yeah, that's all I got. :/Hence the term, "writer's block."