Death doesn't like his job,
anymore than some of us like ours,
and when he calls forth the gentle flowers,
to answer for their lives,
he hides his tears.
No SoundThe clock doesn't tick,
but time does pass,
the digital age taking control,
causing some to forget
and others to remember
Memory LaneI took a walk down memory lane,
down the hill and back again,
lo' and behold I saw myself,
being somebody else.
Wear a colorWear purple,
because sometimes you feel like royalty,
and it's the color of queens,
who don't need a king,
and kings who reign,
with happy underlings.
because the sky is your favorite thing,
and the sunrise is beautiful,
but so are cloudy days turned sunny,
and the warmth of summer feels,
because you enjoy the earth,
and the grass beneath the feet,
of every human being,
and the leaves on the trees,
who are here for eternity.
because you feel like light,
that came from across the universe,
to land on earth and shows,
that the stars still exist,
in a variety of colors.
because you joke it's the color of your soul,
but not because of hatred,
the night sky is beautiful and and entrancing,
where every darkened place is happiness,
because the dark embraces.
Wear any color,
because it's your favorite,
and let no one tell you otherwise.
Why do you write free-verse? Someone AskedI like free verse poetry because,
It flows like how I think,
And tends to travel along until it reaches
Something else to talk about.
I’ve written poetry for a long time,
I remember when I was 12 and…
My Mum and Dad made fun of me.
They called me lesbian like it was a slur,
And joked and poked,
And acted like they were only teasing.
And I always fought it,
Because lesbian means you feel attraction…
To those of the same gender,
(if you’re female anyway)
And that concept confused me.
They teased despite me anger
But I have great parents,
Who love me regardless…
I wrote some free-verse and I …
Felt better for it.
Another time I laid down words,
Like they were the blood in my veins,
Was when I was 15 and I asked…
What people meant by “hot”
And all I got was laughter in response.
I’d already trained myself not to ask my parents
At this point in time.
So instead I write poetry.
And got advice from Internet friend
TickI think about ticking a lot,
like the clock that tells me time,
and how it's there,
in the back of my mind.
Just tick, tick tick,
and I watch and I wait,
and I write about that tick,
that odd little noise.
I write about it all the time,
and time seems to not mind,
almost flattered it might be,
by my perception.
So it seems I shall listen,
to the faint little tick,
and wonder what happened,
to make my world slick.
ListenI have been broken beyond all reason,
my age has gone,
been treated like its treason,
to grow up alone inside,
when every-time I speak,
I'm trying to try.
Do they hear that?
in my words and voice,
the shaking of my hands,
the tearing of my lungs,
gasping and listening,
trying to be,
trying to see.
I dont think they can see,
see who I am,
and who I wish to be,
because as time goes on,
I'm losing my song,
my voice and being,
that things that make me,
Perhaps time will tell,
them that they don't know me,
even as they pretend to hear me,
when all they do is see,
the ground beneath their feet,
and the grass swaying in a breeze.
Dont leave me alone,
at least for long,
because we all need love,
12:01The clock ticks
at midnight it will have been another year,
of dealing with bull****,
of crying oneself to sleep,
of feeling murderous intent.
Is it worth another year?
The endless suffering,
the constant bickering,
the tiring courses and people,
The people that tear and bite
and laugh and smile,
Is it better to laugh...
Almost fell asleep,
thinking of everything that can be done,
of thinking about the last year,
of thinking of that last midnight,
It's always like this.
The family is there,
behind but asleep.
This happened this year.
Fighting to stay alive.
Should the fight continue?
So much was done this year,
so much more to be done,
Can't let go now.
Not after surviving,
and living and seeing and
SMIH ONE PIECE INTRO
The straw hats had held another large feast after yet another amazing adventure. All of their friends had gathered from across the many Seas to attend this party. The food, was naturally delicious, and the drink flowed freely while music from Brook played long, and loudly. The atmosphere with this large group of both Pirates and a few Marines alike was uncanny and would rarely, if ever happen again in the near future.
Suddenly there was a clinking sound coming from the midst of the large crowd. The laughter and chatter quieted down to hear what the announcer had to say. A certain blond pirate with a swirly eyebrow and a cigarette stood and took a puff before he spoke.
"Never have I seen so many of our friends in one place before, so, I'd like to propose a toast to our friendship." Sanji began as he raised a red wine glass.
Everyone picked up their drinks as they gave Sanji their undivided attention.
"Whether we met on the battlefield, or through Luffy-'' (A small riot of chuckles at th
Carrion Tallow I
I pluck feathers from a felled sky,
tie them to the ends of my hair
to remind myself of all the innocent days
that lie suspended in cardboard boxes
because mothers can't bear to throw them away.
I pluck feathers from a felled sky,
deftly thread the wings of an angel fallen
to tie my awareness to a bird -
recalling 'bunny ear'd loops
held by my father's impossibly large hands
for his son to watch and learn -
pulled through the eye of golden hair laces.
Sometimes I Lose ThingsSometimes I lose things.
Sometimes it's little things.
Things like my ipod or my keys.
Bobby pins and chapsticks often evanesce without warning or cause.
Sometimes I lose bigger things.
Things like my favorite sweater or my school bag.
Things like the reason I came into a room,
Or the memories of what I had for breakfast that morning.
Sometimes I lose my train of thought, or the point I was trying to make or an idea.
Sometimes I lose arguments.
Sometimes I lose friends.
I like to think all the things I lose go to the same place.
A plain white place full of hair ties and dollar store bracelets,
And I like to think they all wait there, patiently.
Wait there to be found.
One day I lost my passion.
It floated away like a helium balloon drifting toward the sun.
But I couldn't let it go.
I chased it into the sky,
Past the moon and the stars and the milky-way,
I followed it into the white place,
I faced a sea of bobby pins and hair ties and chap-sticks.
I faced all those lost arguments and id
Is she Mary Sue? Clarifying Mary Sue
So, I realize that everyone has heard of Mary Sue characters, but the thing that bothers me is that Mary has never really been as clarified as she could be. Girls go around crying Mary Sue at every character with long pink hair, then go and create even worse Mary Sue characters in the false illusion that they're making nonMary Sue characters (or even anti-Sues) when in fact they're doing the opposite. Allow me to explain how this seems to happen.
First of all the term "Mary Sue" desperately needs to be clarified to these people, so this brings us to the very important question: What IS a Mary Sue?
At least everyone can agree on one thing. Mary Sues are characters that are so perfect it's annoying.
But. What do they mean by perfect? Everyone has different ideas of that, naturally. Unfortunately, this is how many fanfiction (and other) writers make their biggest mistakes.
When you hear the name Mary Sue what pops up in your mind? A be
BonepulseEveryone's soul has a song, you know.
Gently, I tap on the drum-taut surface of your breastbone with my just-too-long fingernails, trying to find the tempo of your life. Not the time signature, not the way you fit all your little activities into blocks and bursts and cycles of regularity - that will come later, when I know you better. Maybe when you're dead, and I can lay my head on your still-warm corpse and listen to the echoes of the last throbs of your veins, I will know your time signature. But for now, all I want to know is the pace that you take.
Do you swoop and dip through life so quickly that conductor Fate has a hard time keeping up with your erratic swirls? Do you keep the heavy, ponderous backbeat of the world's orchestra? Are you a sheep in your herd or are you a frontrunner? Are you first chair or six billionth? Are you rude and brassy, shoving your way to the front of the auditory melange? Or do you add elaboration, silver and delicate, to the main theme?
I Am DivergentI Am Divergent
I am not brave, yet I push myself further
I am not selfless, yet I cannot take a life
I cannot tell a lie, yet I lie too often
I am not smart, yet I am a strategist
I am not kind, yet I protect innocent people
What does this make me?
I am only brave when I am selfless
I am only selfless when I am not as important
I am only truthful when I decide it is best
I am only cunning when the situation calls for it
I am only kind when it is the right thing to do
Am I a specific faction?
I am neither Dauntless, nor Abnegation
Nor Candor, Erudite, or Amity
My mind is not specifically set
I am only myself
I Am Divergent
in such a chasmic city
who could suppress this poetic seizure?—
interstate shadows amble away
from their owners with every passing second
eternal midnight’s a roadtrip away
in regurgitated vehicles
we scrabble for nine-month redemption
and in the trunk we lock up turbulent tabloids
and environmental brochures we pretended to read
and we build our nests
in the heartbeats between skyscrapers
valet parking intervenes with caution
but is no less obscene for it
and for all the concerned faces
the ecosystem still falls prey to the hungry egosystem—
a lattice of vanity scrawling its signature
i’ve been pacing
the same gasping streets
thinking about predestination and how many times
i’ve got to wake up before i rise
and i’ve been searching everywhere
for a rabbit hole
to fall into
in the end i decided to dig my own
so i slipped thru the city’s ribcage
struck straight into the serene heart of Central Park
only to drown again
Candy at a FuneralIn the face of bitterness
I have mastered sweetness.
By the end of this day I will have calculated
exact measurements of cream
to wipe clean the face of gravestones.
I will have learned to soothe the aching
of windswept hearts,
to break open on my part
like a shell of chocolate
quivering open, full of cream.
I will have learned to love grief
as dearly as my own dream.
At the end of my childhood -my dream-
of owning a candy store:
a sweet shop, a bakery….
specializing in the art of the glazed.
The wedding cakes, the brick tarts,
memory of a birthday, of candles, happy catering
for happy occasions of all kinds…
will grow up with time,
and like the end of the day, seeing the look o
for all intensive purposesi am accused of being
a category five--
but i will not excuse the way my skin aches.
i want storms.
i remember the way Katrina screamed &
if you press your ear to my chest you will hear the same.
the moan turning into a pitch, the pitch
screaming until the throat is too raw to be
more than a whimper.
the way it stops
silently racked until it bursts forth once more.
i will not apologize for being demolition.
scars exist on every woman
too powerful to contain herself.