X equals O
I equals YOU
Why can't they be there too?
DustDusty fingers move quickly,
When they are sickly.
Clean Fingers make haste,
because they don't have the time to waste.
Lopsided FeelingTears run down my face, I cry
Inside and out but you dont know why
It because of your skull of steel
That my thoughts dont turn your wheel
Im weakened and starved by your words
But that doesnt meant Ill allow my flesh to be eaten by the birds
I amI am the child that waits
I am the child that fears
I am the child that worries you'll never be here.
I am the teen that hits
I am the teen that cries
I am the teen who is always asking 'Why?'.
I am the adult that works
I am the adult that fears
I am the adult of the child that waits for me to be there.
Excerpt From FB Fan-FictionThree hundred sixty two days, Kyou reminded himself with an indifferent voice.
The cat couldnt figure out that out of everyone that he could never see again, why did she have to go. Why did she have to leave him in the shadows. Why couldnt she stay? Within his mind he kept replaying the scenario constantly over and over again in his brain even though he knew the answer. The carrot top shook his head fervently trying to shake the images of her delicate kind face from his head. He was foolish to love her, to care for her, and to try to protect her.
To try and defy God...
The wind blew solemnly tossing hair in his face. Closing his eyes he let stray strands of hair tickle his furrowed brow. Fat puffy grey beasts rolled around the sky soaking up its moisture, they growled with pleasure as they began to approach the Sohma residence. Just as the young man stood up and began to file out curses towards the clouds he heard the petite slam of a d
In my dream Grandpa My stands in the veranda
across from my apartment—as always, in the shade,
and his linen shirt shows no perspiration from the heat.
I believe we are in dry Madrid where I have not been
for years. He has been dead twice as long, yet here he is:
no death mask and his smile calm. Grandpa! I call.
From my window our eyes meet. Grandpa! It's me!
He remains smiling, but won't return my wave.
In the next dream Grandma Suzy comes to visit,
maneuvers herself through the door of my Piso.
Grandma, I say, hurry! Grandpa's here.
She gives a girlish laugh and comes to my window.
She is seventeen, as she was in Chicago, celebrating VJ
and sipping her first beer. She has no eyes for me.
Grandma, I whisper, why won't he say anything?
He's shy, she whispers back; he's so tall, isn't he?
is it really that bad?
you cant accept the fact
that i get a little sad?
that i am a little mad?
so i favor black
and i dont like pink
you use those as reasons
to make my soul sink
so some of us cut
and some of us dont
we can smile
laugh love and live
we're just not like the rest
sure we cry
we want to die
but none of you understand
its not like we had planned
to live life like this
to spend our days
depressed and amiss
we're not bad people
we dont worship satan
we're not out to kill anyone
we just dont like the world
as much as everyone else
and we dont like ourselves
as much as we could
but we're ok with that
you can call us ugly
you can call us fat
but you cant change who we are
we are emo
whats so wrong with that?
A Leaf, Fallen (trigger warning)there is no manual for loss
not one that fits in human hands
just programs, policies
and symbols for the staff,
unassuming, visual reminders
to execute the sensitivities
outlined in their training
grief is a symbol, nicely-printed
on quality cardstock,
grief is placed strategically
in and outside the room,
its scene stands out
as darker than it actually is
since its placard
hosts the only real colors
on a ward of pastel pinks,
blues and yellows
and there, within the four sides
of its cleanly cut cardstock,
a leaf floats, too light
to break the surface tension
of a still stream
i'm sure a marketing study was performed
various walks of life, assembled
into panels of votes taken
and consensus reached
as to what image
would stand out enough
but not too much,
as to what could shift the mind
toward peace and reflection,
but, more importantly,
away from what just happened
and i didn't bother
remembering the room number
because, within that pastel cellblock,
ours was the only door
Child AbuseMy name is sarah
I am but three,
My eyes are swollen
I cannot see,
I must be stupid
I must be bad,
What else could have made
My daddy so mad?
I wish I were better
I wish I weren't ugly,
Then maybe my mommy
Would still want to hug me.
I can't speak at all
I can't do a wrong
Or else I'm locked up
All the day long
When I awake I'm all alone
The house is dark
My folks aren't home.
When my mommy does come
I'll try and be nice,
So maybe I'll get just
One whipping tonight
Don't make a sound!
I just heard a car
My daddy is back
From Charlie's Bar.
I hear him curse
My name he calls
I press myself
Against the wall.
I try and hide
From his evil eyes
I'm so afraid now
I'm starting to cry.
He finds me weeping
He shouts ugly words,
He says its my fault
That he suffers at work.
He slaps me and hits me
And yells at me more,
I finally get free
And I run for the door.
He's already locked it
And I start to bawl,
He takes me and throws me
Against the hard wall.
I fall to the floor
With my bones nearly bro
Be strongThe white rooms filled with sorrow,
Here they left him, his family.
Yet, they would never be apple to follow,
The dead path he was going to walk alone,
Cold and heavy.
In the darkness when it falls,
Only some light can be seen, glowing from the hospital.
Footsteps heard from the halls.
Whom you might wonder was it in general?
He peeks from his bed.
The silence is making the painful night worse.
The sight he saw, will the boy never forget.
The dark cape he saw that night, reminded of the doom,
Days went, weeks longer, months painful,
The boy grew weaker and weaker.
Death now grabbed his soul,
The boy wanted his life. He was eager
To keep it.
A laughter heard, the boy peeked,
There, standing for the first time,
This was what he seeked.
His little happy 1-year-old sister stood with a smile.
Her first steps, in front of his very eyes,
It lighted the darkness of his world
His sorrow, away they flies.
Tear dripping from his cheek as he curled.
His bloody eyes and thin body,
The Gay AgendaThe Gay Agenda
we unpacked the car in hundred-and-ten degree heat
home after our three-months, big-haul supermarket run
stared at the late season watermelon
we grabbed on an impulse
I got the cutting board and a bowl for rinds
you got the never-dull, wedding-gift ceramic knife
we tore into our pieces at the same time
swamping desert thirst in southern fruit
pretending we were comfortably cool
believing it during each bite
I opened a new paper towel roll (we had been out)
you gave me the next slice, cut yourself another
we ate the whole damn thing in one sitting, not talking
just munching one icy wedge after another
until I mumbled a joke you made me repeat
(had to slurp-swallow to do it)
I said, “I said, I think this makes us—”
you, with a fresh juice smile, finished: “—a couple of fruits.”
things you think about as a womanThings you think about as a woman approaching 30 and childless:
My father has no grandchildren.
Am I selfish to put this off? Am I stealing a birthright
of the greatest generation? Have I deprived the man
I most admire of the holy grail? Am I a horrible person?
If I had a child, would I hit him?
Would I make him go hungry
if all I had was water chestnuts
and he hated them? Would I tell him
as my mother told me
to be thankful for the bounty
of strangers who despise them, too?
Would I baptize him in neediness?
Would I be humble enough
to admit I need help?
Would the man I trust love me
if I loved someone more than him?