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
Abortion - Dead Before BornToday, I will face my indelible death
My life will be silenced, though I am still unborn
My Mommas eyes, stained with sorrow
As she wipes away the tears, her cheeks have worn
But she promises to herself, that she wont mourn
For I am a product of her illegitimate mistake
A consequence of a love, forbidden and torn
And eradicating me is her only route of escape
Though there is no glimpse of light where I am hidden
I know the world beyond this womb is filled with colour
That there is transcendental beauty my eyes will never see
And a life I will never have the chance to savour
Defenselessly I will descend to ashes
By a remorseless choice made from shame
My loveless existence will be aborted
And my fathomless dreams, buried in a grave
Never will I consume my first breath of air
Or experience the effervescence of laughter
Never will I know the meaning of love
Or envision my future from hereafter
If only at this moment, I was given a voice
To speak to Momma and comfort her woes
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?
Let the Sparrows InI.
Blackbirds rest on the power lines,
their silhouettes form the notation
to a dawn song set on the sheet music
of telephone poles contrasted by the sun.
Curled leaves are land mines littered
on the lawn where imprints of twigs
and a nurturing robin's tracks collect.
Branchlets and leaflets stem from
porch step railings and mailboxes;
the numbers read odd on the east,
even on the west side of the asphalt:
The engraved letters on
the siding reads, "Davis."
This house is home to family
so let the sparrows in.
with its branching hallways
furniture rooted to the floor
family, friends, the occasional
out from home.
Let the sparrows in; let
Let the door's
loosen—let the door stand ajar
be let open
the night owls and
let the doves
in pairs in the iridescent
Let the sparrows in.
Framed on either side
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?
you secretly want her faults so
you can have something to say
you were like her, you have
something of hers. only
i think her faults skipped you
and went straight to me. i
like to collect things i'll
never touch again, collect thoughts
and collect pasts only to
stash them in the cupboard
so i dont open the doors.
its the silences in between
that makes me think of her. and
i think of her everyday
i do i do. i even started
wearing her pocket watch
again because it makes me
feel like im doing something
i know you deserved
half of me
remember the days i was
lonely and i was terrible and
i was mean and i was.
i was not your
i was not i was not and im
sorry, so so sorry.
you dont need to shout for
me to listen. i'll listen
even if you
whisper. even if you
say nothing at all.
i like to keep secrets and i
guess im like my grandma, li
august's skeleton.Sunburnt freedom of July
we come tumbling in the auburn joy of boredom
down the spine of summer.
And spelled in the scabs on your knees
is the innocent insolence
scuffing the corners of your memory:
all hyperbole, grinning toothless bravery
swallowed in your father's coat,
whipping around corners and slipping
out of a chiaroscuro childhood.