laced-up fingernailshello, let's talk about the
broken, splatter our slander
over their coats and shoes and
fingers like pine needles and the
dust that is concealed between never-opened
let's not talk because today we
are the broken.
let's not talk about
slitting wrists and running
fingers over bone bleeding
let's not talk about life
coming to an end and the
sahara desert sucking it
out of us but no matter how
many times we rip the
thread there are still two
ends and there is still no
end and we still feel
tears are countless
like the stars
and our people - moses, where
did you go wrong?
I need a hero ,It was slightly clouded as I was driving my car, the speed was lower than it should have been because there was no rush, I didn't expect someone to call and ask when I was coming home, or anything of that sort. No one knew if I even had an accident somewhere nearby.
The road was empty, I opened the window to my seat, desperately trying to breathe fresh air, but the dust combined with heavy wind would not let me. The scenery was out of a movie, trashed trees, some down to the ground, filled with rusted memories from the passing days, marks left from the accidents that occurred some time ago, and the marvelous wind that melted the atmosphere w
Empty sneakersA child's life is taken
A mother suffers alone
Her house becomes a prison
It can never again be a home
Many dark hallways wait
Once filled with laughter and joy
But still many pictures hang
Of her lost little boy
Though her house holds many memories
There is nothing that haunts her more
Then those ratty, mud-stained sneakers
That sit empty by the door.
Each morning she wakes up alone
And pulls out of bed
She stares at that empty chair
Her heart full of dread
She passes out the door for work
No hand to hold her own
And there those shoes sit- much the same
Cold, worn and without a home.
Those shoes will always be the same
UnprettyShe had everything fitting perfectly into her life: her A and B report card, excelling in her extracurriculars, striving to be the best on her athletic teams, she was even in a modeling agency. Why then, did she feel so unperfect? So unpretty? She portrayed herself as such a strong, put-together person... but secretly her lie had been falling apart at the seams. The thread which was so tightly sewn, was starting to fray. Instead of writing in her bedroom, or texting friends, during the night she found herself staring at the ceiling, wondering why she felt the way she did. Then she found herself counting the List. The List of Unperfections in:thumb204233690:
When We Were SpecialI remember days
When the world was new
And the stars lived their lives in beautiful formation
When we knelt to kiss the buttercups
And rubbed dandelion juice across our pale, paper-thin eyelids
To stain them the color of sunshine
Days when we knew our places
In the shimmering galaxy that burned with life and love
I remember warm skin:
Not the kind that ached to be slashed and then shed
So that we could finally escape
The slender, sticky spider web ropes
In those days we ran through headstones
Our small feet painted with mud and toenail polish
Stomping over the dead
And disturbing the sleep that they worked so hard for
the way we used to - 23i think the way
it works is
"you go first,
it can't be that.
i'll take the
slowly - be
careful now -
ever so tenderly
and take a
large j u m p
into the unknown.
and once things
settle down a bit,
come find me.
follow me through
the traces of
and foreign lies.
it doesn't matter
if the path
beneath us crumbles
as we walk,
just as long
f a l l t o g e t h e r.
Something ImaginedSpider silk gowns
for twirling ballerinas
skies of whimsy
in their flowing dance.
for peasant children
who turn it from rags
in imagined worlds
For the wise
Their forgotten language
To those too naïve
Lost in tangled forest,
Embedded in nature
Who rebuild broken stones
With fairy tales
And blank sheets of paper,
Who dream only of being
what they are not,
but don't know how to do it.
FavoritesNeji likes scars;
He likes the way it reminds people of their past doings. Like an open history book, he can read himself and read plenty other's scars. Some, from doing stupid things like burning himself with hot soup. Others, from doing important things like taking down 6 enemies at once.
He likes how some people question his curiosity and liking for the ugly marks. Few have even noticed it, though, because he will never directly ask for the nature of how one got it. He will silently dissect it in his Hyuuga tinkering mind, and find different causes. He will smirk that knowing smirk of his, or nod that solemn nod, and move on to find out
Our EyesMy sister is the younger one, the more insightful one.
Through the bones of my back, she conceals herself
Watching my every move as walk the world.
When I look at her I wonder
what is it that
is worth seeing in my footsteps
that have trampled over the will of the world.
The long, course rains of life cannot wash sins
and fertilize the promises of earth.
They cannot strenghten her, only foreshadow the outcome of her fate.
So it here
I will break my blood
to clean the smears of the stained window
she has stared at her whole life.
I will let her paint her vision of happiness
and leave the world to be.