Don't ask my name
The world can see us
As the same.
This wasn't planned
I'd not impose
If I could stand
I hid from you again today
Mind numb, heart cold and freezing
I'll never have the strength to say,
It hurts when it's so easy
It's quiet in this shadow life
I lead beneath the floor
My wit's grown like a broken knife
Not useful anymore
But cutting still, despite its wear
And dangerous to handle:
The universe I carve with care,
A double-edged warm candle
The time I bought to write this out
Was stole from other tasks
Is what you'd say, without a doubt
"...We love you," if I asked
You love me: truth so granite-set
But -- please forgive -- it's hard
When all you see's my silhouette
Not each component shard
I still believe that better days
Are waiting 'round the bend
For now, hello there, Internet! *waves*
*closes eyes, hits send*
DecisionsI taught myself to buy bologna because I like it. There was too much of it for one person to eat over the week it could survive after being opened, so I took out half and put it in the freezer, so I don't have to throw it out like I did the salami. I don't know if once-frozen bologna is as good as fresh, but I know for sure I can't enjoy it at all if it's spoiled and in the trash.
I taught myself to snap at the man at the door when he wanted to quickly convince a signature out of me, promising secret freedom from utility rates unnecessarily high. And we live in a time where you can look up anything at all on the internet at your own convenience. For shame. I could have closed the door in his face, but I wanted to settle our differences with words. He gave me a lot of differences, so he got a lot of words. He told me, coldly, to have a nice day right before he finally left, and I did.
I've been teaching myself to wear skirts and scarves and put flowers in my hair because life is
Childhood Myths"The Easter Bunny is really your parents"
hears a child of seven
"He's not real. He's a myth.
Your parents put those gifts there
because they love you
and you are very special to them."
"Your parents are really the Easter Bunny,"
No one tells the child of nineteen,
who could have figured it out years ago, perhaps,
but didn't want to believe it.
"All these years you saw a superhuman quality
to the way they did exactly everything you couldn't do but needed most
it made you feel safe
but the way you saw your parents,
that's a myth too,
and you only ever believed it
because you were young."
There were only ever two
who are fallible,
who love you.
A child of twenty-one prepares an egg hunt, while the exhausted family sleeps
desperate to prove
that love was always stronger than magic anyway
SNOWPEAK--Ch. 1, BetrayalA Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess fanfiction. See description for summary.
Chapter 1: Betrayal
It looked like a gentle mass of furry evergreen branches, rapidly welcoming Link's careening sled, but his terrified mind processed only the hidden trunks. Over and over within the span of a few seconds, he imagined violently striking cold, hard wood, a scratching host of needles the least of his worries, and was almost surprised when the actual impact occurred.
"Link!" Midna yelled, jumping out of his shadow as the sled went its merry way into an unforgiving cliff face. "Are you alright?"
"Urrk," Link said softly. With the arm he could move, he felt the arm he could not and was immediately sorry he had.
"You're going to be fine," Midna said quickly. "Just fine, Link. It looks like you've broken your arm, but that's about all. The fairy you caught can fix that easilysee, there it is now. You're going to be fin
The Caged Bird's LullabySit and stay a spell,
Before life takes you
I am going to write a love story
Across your lungs
So you can exhale
When you can't
Find the words.
Sing to me
Tragic little song.
The one about how
She broke your name
And took your bones.
I will find each fragmented piece
And clean out
All the maggots.
Your windows are broken,
Cracked and tear-streaked.
Allow me to mend you;
Is far more beautiful
That just a pair of
And we will dance
In the freezing rain.
We can help each other
Wash off all the poisons
To the backs of our minds
And the insides
Of our mouths.
Flying in circles.
I will take you past
The farthest horizons,
Where no cages will
Keep you again.
This, I knowI know that breakfast isn't necessary
and I am not an echo of my sister nor am I confused,
I know that culture is stupid
in thinking that poetry has no life of its
own, that unicorns and dragonflies don't live in our hearts,
and that orange juice and chocolate
taste exactly the same.
I know that life has endless mysteries and insane parallels.
Rage is a lot like passion and passion is a lot like rage.
That and an orange and gray striped sock somehow matches
the blue and pink polka-dotted one.
I know that pianos and violins sound a lot like music
but are really a sign that not everything is black and white.
That and trumpets and clarinets are best friends.
I know that there is only one doctor
that I would let cure me.
And there's only one set of parents
I would let help me.
That and spiral notebooks are the devil's handiwork.
Above everything else,
I know that it's all
very, very, complicated.
A poet's broken words.Most people don't even know
what a poet is nowadays.
It's not someone who writes poetry,
but someone with the ability
to create beautiful things
with pain and hate them.
I traded my soul for letters,
that I later transformed to words,
together they wrote out all my pain
but I'm starting to miss my soul.
All I have left is these broken w o r d s
and I wish I could call myself a poet
but to hate something beautiful,
before you have to create it.
How can you write when your words are broken
and your soul is missing?
Not That DayNo one wants to remember their worst nightmare.
No one wants to relive the pain.
No one wants to go back to a time without joy.
No one may want to, but the memories remain.
There was a time when I trusted people.
There was a time when I let others inside.
There was a time when every bruise was accidental.
There was a time, but that time is long past.
Maybe some day I'll have the will to live.
Maybe some day I'll learn to love again.
Maybe some day my scars will heal.
Maybe some day, but today is not that day.
To eat is to die.The aroma is so inviting.
It is mouthwatering.
It's presented so fine.
All is not as it seems.
Its aroma invites self-hatred.
The mouth waters with blood,
Presented as the witch's apple.
Those five syllables,
So controlling as they utter:
Look at you.
So weak and thin.
But as long as you're beautiful,
Then who will care what's within?
So put that fork down.
Tell them you're not hungry.
Stay in your room and allow,
Your vitality to fall from your eyes.
To eat is to die.
the want, lackingyour smile is impoverished
slack, I think,
with some kind of pain.
perhaps a memory.
you used to be charming,
deft and bashful and
oh, so sweet.
now you are something
much stranger, wilder.
now you are beautiful.
complicated mechanismsthe disjointed pounding wide-eyed
wonder that you are,
i'll always remember how it twisted my heart
when i realized you had dimples.
i pull up the straps of my dress as
we play cat-and-mouse on the floor
it doesn't fit me quite right
oh, please don't call me by my name
the sound of it on your voice
a little raspy from the sleep you didn't get -
will dilute my blood and thin it out with happiness
and hum inside my brain
i don't think i'll ever know you;
you have gears inside your head
and they are not visible to me.
i would pry inside but it's so delicate
and you don't mess around with complicated
mechanisms that you don't understand.
i am just a sick little girl
weakened by myself
and you and your mysteries hurt me
and of course i cry, do i ever do anything else?
don't let it go to your head.
i will dance
whether you are beside me or not.
CloudyThere is something worse
than writer's block;
it's when the words come in
through the heat,
through the loneliness,
or the sheets with
It's when the words are right
in your head
for paper or someone else,
and all I can mutter is that
my head hurts-
and I need to go to sleep.
the clockwork liari. we dusted dreams off people like the first snowflakes of the season. you'd take one and rest it on the center of your tongue because you hated the taste of ice cream and wanted to reset what cold tasted like to you.
you taught me that the cold could be bitter, and so could people's dreams.
you drank out of out-of-order wells because you believed they still worked and that the government was keeping it all to itself.
i never realized how insane you made me before i wrote this all down.
ii. i wished on the sun because i ran out of shooting stars.
and just to spite me, you began wishing on raindrops because you believed that they were so many, one of them was bound to remember you.
but we both ended up laughing hysterically with protruding knives on a bloodstained floor, didn't we?
iii. i talked to clockwork towers and told them to lie because if they stopped for just a while, all the time in the world would seize.
one human, two human
The CaptureYou are comparable.
I could compare you to the dirt under my fingernails,
the veins in my hand,
the way snow doesn't quite fall but floats and whistles and drifts.
I could tell you about the crackling of leaves,
the downy softness of your breath,
the way it feels to be held-
tighter and tighter and tighter still.
I could try to capture you in oil pastels
marble or acrylics
I could entomb you in my words
but you would always
The Lives of Petty ThievesJust like you, I couldn't wait to leave this place.
We drew lines across the map from point A to
anywhere we'd rather be but here.
We kept bags packed in the backseat, ready
To leave at a moment's notice, if we decided
Memphis called our names louder than
our worried mothers and fathers could scream.
You and I put ten thousand miles on that car;
We knew we were getting nowhere, but
we couldn't get there fast enough.
You told me we were born with gypsy blood,
ready to run.
I almost thought we were scared to stay in this damn town,
with the cobweb legacies and long-standing rivalries.
We weren't a tragic Romeo and Juliet, we could have been
together forever in a white house with a picket fence.
We could have had a family here, two kids and a hound dog,
beer on Friday nights with our friends
who swore they knew we were meant to be from the moment we met
when I was in love with your best friend and you
were scared to touch me.
I was a hurricane.
You were colder weather.
We had a whirlwind