I wrote this poem about objectivism.

A Change

I used to care.

I used to squirm.

I used to suffer

all under their scorn.

They’d say selfish.

I’d cower at the sound.

Say it now.

I’ll laugh

for it’s the sweetest word.

Without it there is no life worth living,

no memory worth keeping.

But back then, difference meant sin.

They were always right

and I ( Read more... )

I wrote this for my creative writing class. The prompt was that we had to describe something ugly as beautiful. I wrote about murder. Careful, it's graphic.

Murder Made Lovely

Charlotte was the most beautiful woman John had ever seen. Her rich ebony hair seemed to shine as she turned her head to glance at him with amber colored eyes. Her ( Read more... )