i run on a machine because
if i run outside
i will not turn around again
TabascoI shall eat every meal with Tabasco and add cayenne pepper to every pot bubbling away on the stove because the kick in the back of my throat reminds me of you, and the way you breathe fire onto me when you're running your hands up and down the contours of my being, and pulling on my hair and kissing downwards and breathing 'iloveyou's in short, sharp gasps.
You are fire. And I am burned up like kindling like all of your previous lovers, until my sandy heart has been turned to glass and my bones and lungs have turned to ash. I will gulp down all of your smooth-spoken lines and your gracefully violent movements and your pepper-kisses because for a brief moment there there was an understanding- that my body was yours to burn.
But your heart was mine to keep. I warned you not to fall in love with me. But they always do. And I will never choose you.
'Watch me walk away' you said as you stalked towards the door with a semi-backwards glance. And you will hope that I w
RomanceYou plunged them into the water. They were water soluble and all of the colours swirled in and out like washing liquid does when you blow bubbles. Like the irises in each of your eyes when your whole face lights up.
This you said, this is all human nature of course.
You were talking of predicament and affection; of her. Her name was Romance. Such names never seem decent for a person of her decorum but Romance it was.
You shook the pencils and brightly coloured drops flew across the room. You were mindlessly drawing now, smudging colour across paper, like I imagine you did with your sheets when this new novelty appeared.
I hardly thought that romance was what you were describing, and I was verging on using the word addiction to describe your feelings towards the girl.
Romance I explained, involves holding hands and coffee dates and kisses stolen at traffic lights. Romance the girl, from what I had gathered already, i
Behind, Through and BeyondI. The world behind the wardrobe is frightening
And magical. Where sleigh bells lead to foreign castles,
And delights are as good as the demons providing
Yours truly, the Queen
Im terribly sorry there seems to be a problem and then its
You that is that mirror.
II. The world through the looking glass is startling
And wonderful. Where chequered fields mark endless battles,
And the smiles are as false as the birthdays provided
Yours truly, the Hatter
Im terribly sorry, there seems to be a problem and then its
Off with your head.
III. The world beyond the door is outstanding
And worrisome. Where dark roads lose you for all your life,
And people are as blessed as the escape they provide
Yours truly, the Human
Im terribly sorry, there seems to be a problem and then its
Not your story anymore.
'Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it.' Lewis Carrol
HopeAll I used to hear was silence. The steady pitter-patter of nothingness that filled my ears with its unbearable noise. The silence accompanied the way that memories slipped through my fingers like ragged silk, the way that thoughts would form and flash behind my eyes, and the way that an escape was quickly found then lost in half the time. Silence was the most unbearable noise. I would cover my ears and scream to ensure that it was drowned out. The echoes reverberated off of my skull and caused tears of pain to steam down from empty sockets of my once buzzing head. All power was lost. And the darkness was no longer electrifying and dangerous; it was dead the electricity gone and the batteries exhausted. I could sense the ongoing blur of everyday life; the people, the constant moving yet I was fumbling around in the darkness, lost and confused; taking nothing in, and giving nothing back. Then; there was a spark; a small light briefly and then stronger a spark
WishI still look out of my window at night. I will lie in bed and resort to childish games as a way of evading the more important things in my life. I divagate between the real word and the one that exists only in my head. This is a world, a parallel universe, a fantasy, which; when blurred with reality, creates a story; with chapters that tell of dreams and wishes, life experiences and insignificant people which enter into my life. This is a story which is kept only between myself and the stars. It will never be told, and you will never hear it.
It is always the same story that is told. It is a sad tale of a perfervid girl, a girl who does not know whether to trust anyone anymore, who hides away, in some lonesome corner of a room. There I go again, confusing reality with my supposedly happy story. No matter how hard I try, the fantasy which I envisage always ends up telling the truth; it always mocks me and shocks me back into reality, back into the same corner of the room, where I really
Is It Love?If I hugged you,
would you never let go?
If I kissed you,
would you cherish that moment?
If I reached for your hand,
would you take mine gently?
If I needed a shoulder,
would you let me cry on yours?
If I needed to talk,
would you really listen?
If I needed to scream,
would you do it with me?
If I needed to go,
would you come with me?
If I fell for you,
would you catch me?
or just let me hit the pavement?
I know you're scared,
And I know you're blue.
But, trust me.
I won't hurt you.
It's no secret
That you hate my friends,
The Crystal Gems.
You think they're a menace,
Something to fear.
But, I promise you.
You're safe here.
They won't hurt you,
Because you can't hurt them.
I wish it wasn't like that.
I don't want to hurt you,
I want to be your friend.
I've come to notice
That Homeworld doesn't know love.
They think Garnet's an abomination,
And my mom's a traitor that should be gotten rid of.
When really, they're just Gems,
Like you and everyone else.
They want to do good for the world.
They just see from a different perspective,
Just like you.
Earth isn't bad.
Sure, some things can hurt you,
And some people are mean.
But, it's a beautiful place,
At least from what I've seen.
You must feel trapped
Without your tools
To keep you from
Losing your cool.
But, you don't need them
To be yourself.
You'll do just as good
As anybody else.
Just please understand me.
I've felt fear
Coffee Shop MemoirsPhilosophers think
We may dream our reality.
With earphones attached liked IVs
I dream my own melodic universe.
Until someone laughs behind me
And strikes up conversation with a friend.
And in that moment they become my anchor
Are they spinning through my dream
Or am I spinning through theirs?
Sometimes life fits in a coffee cup,
Sometimes inspiration pours out slowly like a packet of honey,
And sometimes it all mixes together
Like liquid incandescence that I drink right after brewing.
When no one speaks to me for hours
I begin to wonder
Is everyone dreaming a reality that includes
The whole café but me?
The street outside the window
With passing strangers, dogs and cars
Is a whole new Milky Way
Waiting to be discovered.
But I am no space explorer
Aliens are beyond my reach.
Whispers of the people around
Reach my ears distinctly
Like waves lapping on the shore.
Words on paper go no way
Towards proving that I was ever here
My identity is slowly condensed
Not into the people who kno
We did not expect the world to end.We did not expect the world to end.
It just did.
We kept saying “It won't happen in our lifetime.”
But it did.
We closed our eyes to the cracks in the walls
and they crumbled around us.
We forgot the decay in front of us.
It was so easy to ignore.
It ate away the foundations of our lives.
Still we ignored it
and claimed that life would go on.
We did not see it coming.
Even if it was right in front of us.
We tried to repair the cracks in the dams
though the water had already washed us away.
And though the clouds were black and red
we looked away.
Or stared ourselves blind on the colour display
as our skin peeled away beneath the acidic rain.
We dreamt of the sky
and reached for the stars.
Forgetting the ground beneath our feet.
It tore apart at the seams
the gaps too wide to repair.
And the sun was setting on a world
We did not predict the true apocalypse
though many a prophet had tried.
Their predictions were hollow
and we lost faith.
We did not listen to the real
AutisticYes I said it, I'm autistic
I'm not more then you and not less
I think the same as you, sometimes a bit simplistic
I even slightly like, that I must confess
Sometimes people say I'm retarded
I let them do it, I don't care
I might be the person who is disregarded
When I get insulted I only stare
I know the truth
I'm no different from anybody else
Though I might have had a different youth
I will never change
That's something I know for sure
I think that it would be quite strange
I will stick to who I am
We can change what we stand for, but not who we are
Marine Corps Rifleman's CreedThis is my rifle.
There are many like it, but this one is mine.
It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life.
Without me, my rifle is useless.
Without my rifle, I am useless.
I must fire my rifle true.
I must shoot straighter than the enemy who is trying to kill me.
I must shoot him before he shoots me.
My rifle and I know that what counts in war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, or the smoke we make.
We know that it is the hits that count.
We will hit.
My rifle is human, even as I am human, because it is my life.
Thus, I will learn it as a brother.
I will learn its weaknesses, its strengths, its parts, its accessories, its sights and its barrel.
I will keep my rifle clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready.
We will become part of each other.
Before God I swear this creed.
My rifle and I are the defenders of my country.
We are the masters of our enemy.
We are the saviors of my life.
So be it, until victory is America's and there is no enemy.
Sex Object Between her legs, lies something that
every man seems to want.
A place where she should be able
to call her own, between her legs.
She feels that men only want her,
a true want, to have sex with her, and
The breasts she has, they gain
stares from men passing by, tripping
over themselves to find a chance to touch.
When will she stop being looked at,
as an object of sex? when will a man
see her as someone he may spend his
Her hips curve, and she doesnt
want your hands on them, if your
just going to touch her skin.
She wants a man to touch her soul,
not just touch her skin, and run his fingers
where they do not belong.
What made these men think, she
is just a sex object, a toy that could be
put on display, and taken whenever they
Between her legs, lies something that
every man seems to want.
Proud she is though, that she hasnt
given in, hasnt
CHAIN 1 : HomesickOriginal Poem: Homesick
By Salli Shepherd (salshep)
Do not let them see you blink,
Mother said, so I am careful to turn
away when my eyes dry out. My grip
on the brush is clumsy. Colours speck
and dazzle, slop like foam on rocks;
the teacher dabs their brilliance
from my flaking arms. Children whisper
behind starfish hands; they go to play
in the bright, hot yard but I stay in,
as Mother told me. Below the window
theres a tank of golden fish that circle,
circle, following their own reflections.
I dip my fingers in to scoop one up,
watch it flip and shine, cool in my palm,
and press my face deep into the water.
Membranes slide across my thirsty eyes.
I breathe, and breathe, and breathe.
-- FelixT : English to German
Lass sie dich nicht blinzeln sehen,
hat Mutter gesagt, also gebe ich mir Mühe, mich weg
zu drehen, wenn meine Augen austrocknen. Mein Griff
um den Pinsel ist unbeholfen. Farben beflecken
und schillern, schwappen wie Schaum auf Felsen
curiouser and curiouserseventeen years &
still chasing white rabbits,
it's no wonder i've never
been in love.
we're all mad here;
no one can find the road to
(i don't know
where to go)
let's fall down a hole.
(i'm just a chrysalis
with no butterfly wings)
off with my head when it
can only imagine nonsense
& clockwork hearts.
give me a cheshire's smile-
i want to know
what it feels like
to be in wonderland.