a siren's song.her ribcage burst into flowersas her lungs swam to seaand the world was silent-like a film set on mute-as it watched her danceinto her coral grave.she grinned and laughedand all you could hearwas the metallic scrapingof her tongue on her teethas her coppery laughfell into the ocean-like a penny onto concrete.her hair was a tangle of seaweeddrenched in brineand adorned with salt flecksthat caught the sun in wavescrashing along the shorelinein the treble notes of symphonies.ensnared in wanderlust,she ran towards the currentin hopes of finding herselfamong the lost.thereshe wore fish-scaleson her clavicleand sung her way downto the bottom of atlantis.the ships out at bay that dayonly remember one thing:she sunk like the titanic,her bones tearing at the seamsand all that remained of herwere two hands(whose knuckles were mountainsand skin was land)receding into the curlsas the earth drowned into the sea.and there was nothing left on the horizonbut t
the artist.01.the sky was earl greyand the clouds were steamy sipsand i wanted to drink it all.02.the leaves were star yellowand the bark smelled of coffeeand the bakery was selling a moon made out of cheese.03.there was an old man on a benchhe threw his wedding band in the seweri cried for him.04.the birds were dreamsand the mountains, my obstacles,tally ho young adventurer tally ho05.i ran into an artist todayhe drew signs on corner post buildingsbut he also gave his lunch to a homeless boy.06.my mom holds black holes beneath her eyesand for the first time in days, she spoke to me,"i'm worried about you. try to make some friends?"07.dear mom, i am tryingi played chess with a man in the parki helped a girl find her parentsi am content with who i am, mom,now i am just trying to help others achieve the same.08.i ran into the artist again todayand he taught me how to paintand then he smiled at me and said, "you're different than the rest."09.we made plans, me and
. “You won’t allow me to go to school.I won’t become a doctor.Remember this:One day you will be sick.” — Poem written by an 11 year old Afghan girlThis poem was recorded in a NYT magazine article about female underground poetry groups in Afghanistan. An amazing article about the ways in which women are using a traditional two line poetry form to express their resistance to male oppression, their feelings about love (considered blasphemous).
the anguish of the sky.( look up and get lost )for the sky is a thief with a pocket full of jewelsthat gleam through the holes of his trousers-and each night he fiddles with his stolen treasurecrudely fashioning constellation crowns for his beloved.but often times, she disappearsand the sky cries in comets and meteors-as the thunder rolls around the earthlike the unsaid prayers on his tongueand you can see it in his planet eyes,he is nothing when her light is goneand he stumbles blindly across the galaxieswith black hole corneas and wet eyelashes.adieu my love!he cries as dawn kisses the horizon-but the moon never replies,too caught up in her own lust( chasing the sun )
he does something to me.
looking for something to read?here's some hand-selected picks by wonderful writers from their own galleries as well as a friend's happy reading!personal favorites:From Afar, Thunder Roared by introverted-ghostInvention of a Character by Arrow-of-the-SunThe Rotting Queen of Portugal by TheMoorMaidenpebbles by cristinewakesuphappyhoney-filled hearts by saltwaterlungsfavorites from a friend's gallery:6wortgeschichte by miserabelThe Transformation Of Waste (A Qit'ah) by tiganusidavid and ruth laskin by your-methamphetamine:thumb357909982:Grains of Sand. by lauroticaPlyushkin by RussianTimIn Fair Verona by GuinevereToGwenFire With an Aftertaste of Chocolate by arisen-arisu
sometimes you just need a pick me upi think everyone just goes through ruts, and we need pick me ups. i thought i'd share with you my pick me ups foods: tomato bisque soup, macaroni and cheese, vegetarian pizza, mint chocolate chip ice creamdrinks: tea, tea, more tea and a dash of caramel coffeesongs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XdEN1b-dwlwhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8tJoIaXZ0rwhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I25YWZWLLEUand any christmas song regardless of the time of the year (they just put me in a good mood!)movie: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hc_UUofTKagso what are your pick me ups? in the winter season, it's easier to slip into bouts of sadness and loneliness, so it's good to have something to turn to when you want to feel a little better (:oh and here's hugh jackman singing at the oscars: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Terhj8mjPwYso excited for les miserables!
welcoming the new year with a smile.hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday season regardless of what you celebrate, if you celebrate at all wishing you all the best end to the year 2013 and the greatest start to the new year!! thank you all for 13,000+ page views and for sticking with me through this dry spell. i've been super busy with life and hearing good news so it's been a relatively happy break for me hope you've all been doing well and looking forward to seeing your creations in my inbox
.literarymovement membership q&a1. When did you first start writing?I first started writing in the third grade when my school librarian told me that I should consider writing poetry. I took inspiration from Shel Silverstein and Dr. Seuss, and that is how I got my start!2. Why do you write?I write because there is no other way for me to express my emotions. I experience catharsis when I release all my emotions through a torrent of words. Simply put, I cannot live if I cannot write. I do it because I need to, it keeps me sane.3. What specific area would you like to improve in?I would like to improve on brevity, and being able to convey a story through succinct language. I would also like to work on mastering enjambment and placing breaks in my poetry at the optimal places.4. Name at least three fandoms you are familiar with.Harry Potter, Percy Jackson/Heroes of Olympus, and The Book Thief (Not sure if the last one really counts as a fandom, but I love it and the actress
1,001 NightsIn a land ofdreams and dust:the curve ofa half-hazed sun,devoured.
AsphodelA beckoning:watercolour sky shrinking,too late, teeth fall; pearlsfrom a broken string.Blink and the moon ignites—but the sheets are stillenvelope-stiff.
don't trust me unhinged like a stolen surge of ocean, I become what your girlfriend thinks I am: drinking alone, forgetting your name until it flowers from my blackberry throat I wash my tangled hair in your kitchen sink, malingering
waking upand imagine my surprisewhen my insides bloomedinto so many dandelions,and in a single breathi becamehollow.
wallflower clippingsthere's scar tissue in her throat,swollen around the words she never said;dark rings around her eyeslike planets unremembered, anda staleness to her touch,the crystalline Dead Sea.she's living like a storythat's already been told"if no one loved youwould you mean anything at all?"in that moment,we forget to exist.
desiccatei.you were 22 years in the making,a sponge without watersince the day they plucked you from the oceanand left the sea salt to sink into your pores.ii.I was something too heavy to wade in,barely able to breathe,21 years in the makingwith floodgates barring my emotionssince the age of four.iii.At the first sign of droplets,the salt of you drew me inand eased the heaviness of my heart.iiii.In your confessions of self-love,in your tales of embrocation,I was only ever your liniment;our brevitywas a thing to be forgotten from the start.
.you are dead and buriedsix feet under yourself,still feeling the way you didwhen you were seventeenand when you bathe, you stillkeep your head under thewater, wrists upturned, redeyes open, trying to drown yourselfout
love, and other natural disastersacres of barely concealed tragedyare sprawled along the vacant beach,spreadeagled like a group of starfish ora colony of dead Vitruvian men.hair becomes whip-like in windas shorelines burst onto squeals of water,each one a hideous screechfrom gaping jaws, a cry that echoesfor hours while stars tick-tock overhead.i could swallow entire mouthfulsof the pale sun, feel them explodelike lightning strokes in my aching bellyand still think like a deserted seashore -the only signs of liferuffled seagulls picking at dry oyster shells.the earth is a sphere and the coastis a box of empty prayersheld together by a couple loose endsof fishing wiresharp enough to slit throats.
Otherwise Good ConditionI have worn the same dressfor four days, becauseI am sick, exquisitelysick --black and gold, your drunkdimestore Nefertiti. Awhite stain announcesitself, a muddy star:she coughedhere. Undo yourself,those sallow words you drink,let the silk fall loose. I've gota face like dirty laundryand burial grounds --What I touch becomesunwell. I wear my hairlike it pains me,blow kisseslike a little girlsucking her teethat cars, the caked littletombs of sugar that crumble,nakedunder the hot milkof the sun.
.the birds flysouth andwarm theirwings,forget theirempty nests
symptoms of red a materialist inside of you unknitting your sweater & in your dream you are a wolf eating a flower in an orange field. the world is ending. an unnamed girl stains you as if she were tea giving up to a foaming ocean. she writes a story: the unrequited blurry visions of two visionaries
all we ever wanted was the world.it still feels like summer.the rain tastes like late nights and cigarettes,sliding through the back door,still damp with the could-have-beens,our past loverstugging at our lips. we sit in downpourand watch the trains roll past,metallic stardust spilling from our mouthswhile we talk about how we could get on one of those trainsand just get off at the last stop."and we'd never come home."
.time will only heal yourwounds on the conditionyou'll let him prise themopen again, upon return
Time Is the Cruelest ColorSummer shows stained teethlong in the mouthof spit and spent marblesand honeybees buzzing.I've put down the torch,slept in my own bed and forgottenThen the breeze brushes pastback into the white lines of tomorrow,leaving residual shiversfull of colors like plum and ash,evergreen and wildfire.and I remember
dancing on the fire escapedancingon the fire escapei climb closerto heavenwith every stepto where the skyburstsinto gradientsof vibrant colourand no boundarieswill everchain medown.