is it bad to want to wield your sex like a sword? to pull up all the sexuality in you, and move it through your hips like poison when you walk, to wear it like a great diamond, to wave it in the face of the one in your dreams, and silently wish to yourself that you could watch him fall? is it disgusting to hope for a power like that ( Read more... )

everyone is born with a tiny glass sphere filled with all the sadness in the world buried deep inside their chest. most people carry the glass sphere around their whole lives, never knowing it's there, and when they die it is buried with them. but some people are born with a deformity that makes their glass sphere too weak. and on one non-specific ( Read more... )

what a world it is that goes on and on, no matter who lives or who dies.human nature. what a concept. i think i could go on and on about it now, but anything i write would be much less a formal essay and more a plea, a whimpery sort of begging for things to make sense. for all things to fall into place and trace out a reason, no matter how bloody, ( Read more... )

this is an old poem, from high school. my creative writing teacher assigned us a poem about ourselves. we had to describe ourselves. but there was a catch-- we had to write the poem with the opposite hand, the one we don't normally write with. this, she said, was so we would only write words that really counted. i really, really loved that idea. ( Read more... )

her life was such that she could
create only the endings of poems

she sighed as the sun slipped
softly behind the trees.
and once again she was just alone.
happily ever after.
riding off into the sunset.
ended sealed with a tear.
no one knows where she's going,
or where she's been.
a door slams shut again.

the measure of life is time, ticking away in a twisted web of moments and emotion. it is made up mostly of dirty tears and desperate love songs. nothing stings quite like the honesty of reality. fate’s cruel games turn each passing day into another deep wound, leaving scars sometimes too painful to bear. those scars are buried as deep as they can ( Read more... )

i look at her now, and i see a different person. something of a stranger, who looks and sounds very much like someone i used to know, back when life wasn’t so serious, and every moment so long-term. she is grown now, a woman in all the right senses of the word. she is prioritized, sexualized, emotionally fulfilled. she sees distraction in the ( Read more... )

waterthings are never what they seem ( Read more... )

wednesday morning in a french fishing village

an old house lies
hidden among the others
while inside a mother falls
deaf to her baby's cries
one more time today.
the baby howling loudly
thinks of how different
things would be if just once
her mother came with her
love and a smile.
and the endless cries would end
for just a little while.

15 minutes“fifteen minutes,” she said ( Read more... )