Feeling like you don't belong,
Having everyone stare at you for being different.
Not caring what the world thinks of you.
They whisper about you and you can feel them staring.
The magick within you stirs around wanting to be unleashed,
Scared on what may come when the day comes for your fate to be chosen.
Having Light or Darkness over well you,
Not knowing which will take over and over power you is the scary part.
Fate will claim you as its own in seven days,
Will it make you light and you are good, or will it pull you to the dark and make you evil.
Chosen to be the one who will make or destroy the family,
Fate and Dest
I am a pianist
And you are my piano, dear.
I play minuets along your ribcage,
Write love songs on your arms,
And press your vertebrae like keys
To let soft chords fill the empty space.
Your hairs are the resounding strings,
Your lips are polished brass pedals
That make everything loud and soft at the same time.
Kissing you makes the whole world shift up an octave.
I am a pianist
And you are my piano, dear
So let's write a duet in the dark.
I keep expectations
in my back jean pocket
and i tuck disappointment
into the folds of my shirts
they stay with me always
while confidence makes friends
with the dust bunnies under my bed
I store empty promises
under the weight of my spine
crushed by back bone shoulder blades
turned from fragile bones to wings that will never fly
and there is always anger
hidden beneath my fingernails
flooding my lungs until I can no longer breathe
while pleasure and pride
become the lost love child
of closets and old shoe boxes
frustration sleeps in my veins
accumulating like blood clots
incompetence makes itself at home
in the spaces bet
Alexa is a small woman, but that doesn't stop her from jutting out her chin as she smirks and crossing her arms. Hey, look! she can call out - without speaking -from under miles of parka. They're evident words in the confident flip of her hair. Pay attention! She will sometimes straighten herself imperceptibly, nothing but a sudden rising-falling motion in the shoulders indicating that she can listen to stares. She leans back and crosses her legs, taking up too much space, and waves casually.
Marie waves back, but in a hasty way that causes her hand to shake. She is a woman with tired circles under her eyes, hair blond but struck with brown.
Molly Steinberg can bend light. I would know. I'm dating her.
I know what you're thinking. You think I'm calling her dense. Thick-headed. Stupid. She's not. Oh no, she is not.
She's smart; very smart, but in the worst way possible. She's pretty, athletic, popular, top of the line family, manipulative bitch extraordinaire. Molly Steinberg gets what she wants. And Molly Steinberg wants an A in science class.
It's easy to look at fools in love and think you'll never be like that. I know I thought that way once. But when the (ahem) perky cheerleader sidles up to you for a little help with Physics homework, well, you just don't say no. Not unle
Dear Stranger,
You don't know me. And I don't know you. Maybe it's better that way. But then again, maybe we would be happier if we did know each other.
Right now, I'm sitting at my desk, with the sunlight streaming in the window, writing this letter for you. Hopefully I'll finish it by tonight, so that tomorrow I can take it to the coffee shop on the corner and drop it on the floor, or in your lap, or maybe in the lap of the person next to you so they can give it to you...because they don't seem like the type to read it, so they'll obviously just pass it on.
I like music - except terrible rap. And I love the written word more than most,
Inspiring a Teenage Boy by Laugh-Till-You-Bleed, literature
Literature
Inspiring a Teenage Boy
It was late morning when I got to my friend's place and knocked on her door. She opened it, smiled, and then let me in. I looked around and saw that no one else was in the apartment. I asked her where everyone was at and she replied that her younger and older sisters were out shopping, while her parents were still at work.
"Oh "
After some idle chitchat, she invited me into her room to listen to some music. I shook my head and said, "Didn't your mom say you weren't allowed to have boys in your room?"
She laughed and replied, "Don't worry! She won't be home for at least a couple of
I died in the dark
surrounded by a captured light
and I waited
a patient character
for the story to form around me.
A fantasy to fill the void.
I lay at war
Mystery from the fathoms of blue,
He was born and will die
In, by, with the water.
Dragged from the sea
By the foamed tide,
Adorned with coral,
Glistening like so many waves.
He breathes the salty sunset sand
Of a beach of a town where
Nothing happens.
The villagers come to him,
Truss him in fine clothing,
Shedding tears and stories over his great body,
Their simple hearts glad to do something, anything,
Never having seen something so beautiful.
They name him Esteban.
He has never known any other name.
As the send him off, back to his ocean,
His majestic body sinking slowly, slowly,
Down and down.
He is a child o
Hello again. It's been awhile.
Only as long as you choose not to see me.
Now that's not fair. You're invisible.
Only as long as you choose not to see me.
Hm. It appears that this conversation is rather one sided.
Only as long as you choose not to see me.
We're playing this game then?
Only as long as you choose not to see me.
I just keep setting myself up, don't I?
Only as long as you choose not to see me.
...
Tell you what; I choose to see you. You hear me? Now, can't you change your response?
Hello again. It's been awhile.