Slightly Moody
TiredI wish a hole would just...open up in the ground and - swallow her up!
Newest
Teacher and PupilYou cannot cry.Teacher and Pupil
You cannot cry. How dare you cry? How dare you?! How dare...
Please, love, don't cry.
Let me wipe away your tears. Let my finger trace the curve of your cheekbone, the silky hollow beneath your eye until your face is dry.
I remember so much.
In out of the rain Your hair dark and heavy Shirt clinging to your small shoulders I worry at the cold but you smile Wide and cheshire and joyful Braced against the world and for it "Here - my jacket - dry off. We still have work to do." You bury
by ~ourformerselves
AddendumAnd when you say you are proud of me as I sit before you, I break. The whisper of denial, of disappointment becomes A shrill shriek of rushing anger. Your eyes gaze steadily into The nothing of my own until I blink furtively and look away.Addendum
I reflect beneath the dusky sunset as I practice stilling the
Rebellious muscles of my face. The gold at my throat truly belongs To you; I dream I rip it away and it splashes upwards. I consider speaking But the words shine and dart away like small pale fish.
by ~ourformerselves
SuperiorThere are certain things you should know:Superior
When you open your mouth and speak in a voice loud or low, I am jealous. "Do you think...?" you ask, half-serious; of myself I answer no. The answer lies in the open hand of your voice -
But I heard you in the dark and you spoke with a bowed head.
When you tilt up your chin and ask me bluntly how I feel, I will reply with an eternity of fine. I know what is required -
Variations on the theme - the proud melody echoing into infinity; There exists no other option. Do not wait for me to confide otherwise.
When you look me in the
by ~ourformerselves
Coded MiracleSouls, there it is again, so familiar that it seems strange: a whisper in the bones, the sweet song in the flesh. The deepness of these sensations and these sounds tremble in the body and about the body and far, far from the body – eons away among the stars.Coded Miracle
What do you think when the earth you collect on your skin and behind your ears vibrates with music? You think how we think – in ever widening circles; in a yo-yo oscillating on a diaphanous string made of what would be real but is not; in waves sucking out and blowing in - effulgent and sacred in their unknowing, bloated light - never washing any closer to the heart
by ~ourformerselves
Favourites
SonnyNinety-cent cameras click and the family smiles, grinding out one syllable, long 'e.'Sonny
Sonny pretends
the railing is her tightrope, arms stretched wide, laughing.
Momma
snatches her away from danger, chastising the dream gently,
"Don't be silly, darling. Little girls can't fly."
Thirty-two years old, and Sonny's an eighth grade teacher in Arizona, married to a lawyer named Jack.
She went to see the grand canyon last week. It made her feel like a cockroach, hardy and worthless.
She traces th
by ~Oddlyangelic
heartbreakhave you ever thought to notice how songs never sound the same, andheartbreak
while the metronomes and whispers hold their own, the first time will always be the best, or
have i got it wrong?
sitting in my self-contained container, you brush beside my troubled thoughts and once more it is over.
a million thousand glances and
a thousand million tears but, as they say,
the first cut is the deepest, and you would be happy to hear this poem is not about you.
more so, it is about the way a bee looks from outside the jar, and the way your
by ~hippykilt
OC: Sarielby ~foreversea
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"Pain is inevitable: suffering is optional"
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They say everyone has a calling, can you still hear it?
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Love isn't blind
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"Flying is learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss." - Douglas Adams
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I fear nothing other than myself for nothing and no one can do unto me the harm I can.
La Vie est une chanson et le destin est la musique sur laquelle
nous écrivons les paroles à chaque instant.
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"There is a time to stop reading, there is a time to stop trying to write, there is a time to kick the whole bloated sensation of art out on its whore-ass..."
Charles Bukowski
Thank you for that.
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I fear nothing other than myself for nothing and no one can do unto me the harm I can.
La Vie est une chanson et le destin est la musique sur laquelle
nous écrivons les paroles à chaque instant.
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Dum spiro spero.
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