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The Way BackIt's often an arduous task to be counting the days, hours, seconds until I'll be seeing you again. The second we part, I'm counting. Does that sound pathetic to you?
"Okay, I can't do this anymore." I dropped my pencil down, letting it roll on the paper before me until it stopped. "You know my feelings about this, doctor."
"Why ever not?" My doctor, or therapist to be more specific, sat up straight in his armchair and spread his palms out. "It is precisely because I know your feelings that I'd like you to do this."
"I'm not a writer. I said that a hundred times already." I was becoming frustrated with him, something that has been happening a lot recently.
"If you write down what you wish to say to your wife, it will help your love grow anew and sort out your thoughts. She will never see a single word of this." He looked at me with his usual gleam in his eyes, though it was quickly hidden by the light reflecting off his glasses when he lifted his head. "I said that
Aching LoveTo me, there's no specific definition of cute. It's not just being cute or not cute to me. I look at cute as a form of―how should I say it?―irrationality. It's unreasonable. Illogical. Something you can't define.
Every time I look down at my small old dog, walking around slowly on the rug of my living room, still brown and white in fur color, I think "aww", or sometimes even say it aloud. Just once is never enough. Nobody else ever sees me do this. Nobody sees the true side of me, which is generally a wild nature when it comes to anything remotely cute. If I had siblings, I'd bet anything we would be close pals who "aww" at everything in sight, even after the first time. But that's not what I want. I loathe this side of me.
It's when I found her. My ideal step sister. She's insufferable, but cute, though not in the way I imagined.
Frail in appearance, but fierce and tough in attitude. My ideal girl. I didn't think she'd be my sister.
My parents and I are sitting in a spacio
[CLOSED]update: CONTEST IS OFFICIALLY OVER. I WILL NO LONGER ACCEPT ANY MORE ENTRIES. PLEASE GO CHECK OUT MY LATEST JOURNAL FOR THE UPDATE.
edit: oi oi, did ya'll know that you can enter BOTH a poem AND a story???
THIS CONTEST IS BEING SPONSORED BY iskarlata, WHO HAS PROVIDED THE POINTS AS TOP PRIZES
I am dedicating this contest to promoting two of my writing groups! Please join, as they are both in need of more writers. I promise I'll read your stuff.
Deadline: Christmas Day, December 25th, 11:59 PM PST
(Feel free to donate anything you want! If you'd like me to, I'll feature you on my page and the group's for a year or however long you want.)
Llama from me, my other account, TurquaticTurtle, LightOverpowers58, xXPandaBlossomXx, psto1464
1 year feature on my page and all my journals, journal feature from TurquaticTurtle, TouchedVenus, :devlightoverpowers5
Who are you?I am...
who am I?
I'm your shining star
I'm your falling star
Who are you
...to demand who I am?
Human Fantasiesi fantasize about fame. success. dreams. love.
i'm sure you do, too. all of them, right? mostly fame and success though, i bet. outwardly, to people you talk to, you claim to dream of dreams and love. you claim to long for that wish fulfillment of yours, and the one for you. your soul mate. your other half.
but deep, deep inside you, your mind, your heart...you always fantasize about that one selfish, self-centered, single achievement of becoming famous, popular, successful. whenifyou get your dream job, you'll climb up the ladders of ranks and status. you'll be that famedwhat?CEO, author, director, actor, celebrity everybody talks about. you'll be that, them, and more.
there's nothing wrong with that. it makes you human. i want to be the author everybody spreads the word about. i want to be that editor everybody goes to for help. i want to be that one person my soul mate seeks love from.
that makes me selfish? self-centered? guess what huma
Spirit Day Anti-Bullylisten to me
why don't you
why won't you?
is it because I'm
happy, and you aren't?
moping, and you couldn't take it?
let me just tell you something
for stooping to bullying.
A Lone StarThe stars awaken
blinking and shining
white against black
a thing to haunt
be haunted by
your eyes glue to them
your body turns to them
your being looks to them
you're drawn in
they draw you in.
A lone star will go far
that haunted star
just like tar
sticks to you
stays with you forever
night's always going to come
so that haunted star, it'll stay with you forever.
Just a GameCan you honestly call it that?
I don't know,
but if you win
it's not just a game.
And if you lose?
Then is it just a game,
all a game to you?
That's what people are sayin'
when they call it
"just a game".
All of it
don't you think?
Ray of HopeMacie Jackson didn't do muscular, well-built men. They just didn't cut it for her. She preferred the athletic but slender tall guys who were kind to girls, not those arrogant jocks who flirted with every skirt they met.
Then Donald Falders entered the picture, and she thought she had his image down pat. God, she was so wrong.
How did I end up looking forward to our dates? she wondered while sitting down at their table in the Starbucks they'd been frequenting the whole summer. It's already our 15th lunch, and I still get nervous.
Ten minutes ago, she'd fussed over her wardrobe, trying to find something new to wear. Her black sundress covered in white lilies and 2-inch heels complemented her slim figure, but it was the last of the outfits she had to show Don before she'd have to revert to some not-so-stylish combinations of clothing.
Today she took especially long putting her curly blond hair into a neat, pretty bun, though she made sure it didn't look like so
Broken TrustTrust is something fragile
Once you break it
It is hard to get back again
Just like the softest rose petals
That withers and dies
Or the stem of that gentle rose
Once it snaps you can
Never get it back
You sit there and watch it
Then you look at that person
With jaded eyes
Looking at them
With the emptiness you feel inside
Knowing it will never be the same
Wondering if you truly knew
Them at all
DepressionAnother useless morning dawns,
Another tiresome creature yawns.
Lost I am in the depth of thought,
People can't see the battle I've fought.
My scars are hidden by a harden face,
No smile has been found, I have no grace.
I look upon the work I've done,
And find that it is helpful to all of none.
I hate the flesh I'm bound to,
The words I weave I do but rue.
Rueful and spiteful I wish to cry,
But no tears will help me on the inside.
Who will help me to live without pain?
Will anyone try to keep me sane?
Am I lost to the grave?
Just Another DayJust another Day
I try not to cry, though my eyes burn,
Fighting for air, as my chest tightens up,
Needing to scream, yet nothing comes out,
I ache inside, but I don't complain,
It's just another day, of my life,
So what is left to say?
Now I shall end this, morbid poem,
Crawling back into my shell,
And get my emotions under control,
I will look at you, once more with a smile,
So you won't see all that I hide inside,
Well Darn, There Goes My PlanFunny this life we live, there is so much more to see.
The heavens above, filled with no love,
The moon in the sky, larger then you or I.
Can't you see it, the size of it all?
We are ants infesting a house,
A flea eating a mouse.
Where will we be in a few hundred years?
Will we be in tiny boxes living useless fears?
Will we be in the ground, never to be found?
Will you be remembered, for who you use to be?
Perhaps by a few, but never truly by me,
For how am I to know, someone I've never seen?
Time has flown by, it's to late for you and me.
Why do you live, when time will soon blink,
and you will be gone, faster then you think?
Walls of AshWalls feel like ash,
tattered and torn.
Dead leaves drifting away,
leaving naught to morn.
Rain washes away broken shards
revealing hidden truths of lie.
Breathing life into dry death,
past torments becoming shy.
The tower blown over
by whispering winds,
giving sight to new life--
allowing the old to end.
I would've been.I would've been a masterpiece if it wasn't for the tear,
I don't know why I tell you this, it's not like you care.
I would've been a legend if it wasn't for the time,
Age of heroes has come and gone, all I can do now is rhyme.
I would've made something of myself, if I'd had the motivation,
But now, I just lie in wait, awaiting even more degradation.
I could've been someone, or something, I know I could,
But right now, it's all talk, all "Could, should, would."
Then there's that "if" or that "but" getting in the way,
I could've been a masterpiece, but here I am, rotting away.
No one even gives me a second glance,
I'm not a famous one like Rembrandt's.
I could've been a masterpiece if it wasn't for the tear,
If only the people looking after me had taken more care,
I could've been perfect, and remembered forever,
But now I am just a portrait, of the Forgotten Reaper.
UnansweredWhy do the wounded favor their wounds,
And the healed preach of wonder?
Why do stinging eyes fill with tears,
When all they want is slumber?
Why does illness fester with infection,
When it just wants a home?
Why do mothers fight in protection,
If their child will live alone?
Why does man destroy the Earth,
When he wants to live happy?
And why does the parasite cling to it's host,
Just to die from it's insanity?
StayTattered clips of sunny smiles
strewn about throughout the aisles,
tipped and spilled to much dismay
those memories of yesterday.
Volunteered upon this path
oblivious to the aftermath,
the possibility it seemed
of failure was an absurd dream.
Torn from the ground we built upon
moonlight burned the summer song,
undermined the very heart
of the bedrock where we saw it start.
Winter caused the soul to say
an audible wish for a different day,
Without the strength to go away
it's come to this so here we stay.
Healing HugsLaying in the bed,
I listen to the moans.
The sound of the dying.
The shadows hide me,
So I can be alone.
Try to take care of myself.
To get myself back to my feet.
It's not a sickness,
or a wound,
But a blow to the heart.
The shattered hearts laying on the floor,
surrounded by the pieces of souls.
Tread on by the visitors,
Only caring about their own.
I watch the world go by,
As I lay here,
Frozen in time.
Ever since you broke my heart.
Waiting for Time to heal me,
But she passes by everyday.
Sometimes stabbing me along the way.
I cried out for help,
But most just went on their way.
Not wanting to see another cripple.
Hindered by his heart.
There are, however, a few,
Angels in disguise.
The healers of many and the breaker of few.
She helped me fix myself,
With a healing hug,
She patched together my life.
And sent me on my way.
With a promise to be waiting,
If I ever need a healing hug again.
Tears From Nightmareswhen I dried my eyes
and looked at the towel
it came away red
soaked in blood like bathwater
when I noticed
oh how I screamed
my voice echoing back
like I was atop a mountain
only I was in my room
just woke up like normal
brushed my teeth like usual
washed my face like always
apparently my nightmares got me bleeding tears.
SolaceShe never slept well in the dark,
not without the children of the sun and moon
to guide her weary lids home.
Guided by the aftermath, she was always two steps behind.
What did the world look like to the girl who had been through it all?
Braved the heaviest of storms,
yet skipping over cracks in the pavement.
They said her eyes were the wisps of clouds before the storm.
To him they were reflections of pages overlooked.
She said it was like she lived the life of someone she had never met.
Laid out to dry, yesterdays news.
He knew her as the girl who was built to never collapse.
He wished he was too.
He loved her more than words could say, and yet her pain was such,
that at times, he feared she wouldn’t make it.
But on nights like these, even when it threatened to consume her,
he became convinced that somehow she would.
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
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