|Because you love me and I have quality work? Hahahha what lies am I speaking|
The Weight Of Living (1/?)The pale rays of sunlight were fading fast.The Weight Of Living (1/?) by xoSoul
Cy dropped her pack, releasing a long breath of air through the filters of her gas mask. Scanning the horizon, she looked around for somewhere to camp for the night.
Hotels weren't easy to come by when World War III had nuked everything. Only post-apocalyptic wastelands remained.
She spotted an outcropping of debris not too far off that she could camp comfortably behind. Shouldering her pack once more, she trudged towards it. Her stomach rumbled, loud in the deserted area. It was nothing uncommon, her being hungry. Her emaciated form showed that, though this amount of undereating was the worst in a long time. Her food supply was running low, with only a single can of soup and a limited number of stale crackers left. She'd been saving them as long as possible; the last time she'd eaten was approaching to three days. Her energy and hope were fading fast, and if she didn't find somewhere or something to raid soon, she would starve to deat
louder than liesand some mouths are meantlouder than lies by Pailei
to be silent,
tongues folded up
catching in the creases.
but you gather up lies
and lay them on the casket
as if no one
had eyes to see the truth.
tell your tall tales
hold them tight
as a cloak
against the cold world
and cry from behind
the bars of the cage
atop mounds of
wrap your lolling tongue
around every imagined slight
and hurl your blasphemy
in triumphant shouts
if you wish.
but know this--
only a fool would mistake
and the roll of my whisper
and the soft shrug
of my silence
will always be
than any deceit
you might speak.
the aftermaththe temple of her body was torn open tonight,MisfitableGrae
desecrated and lit on fire. i swear, gods have burned
and felt less pain than i do as i write these words down,
because she’s crying in my bathroom right now and i have
to go and convince her that the handful of feathers
i have left in my palms could ever equal the wings he snipped
off of her tonight. she will never fly again. she will never
believe so wholly in herself again. her body is no longer
a temple, her body is a landmine, an open wound, a thousand
foot drop off of a bridge, a stranger to her. she will never
again be able to trust her body, to know her body.
this is not the first poem i’ve written about rape. but this is
the first poem i’ve written about rape when my hands
are shaking and i have a twenty second phone call still ringing
in my ears. it’s not about statistics anymore. i cannot
distance myself from the cold, hard facts by using pretty
metaphors about dissolving and beginning anymore
because a gi
8 Things I Learned Before I Turned Sixteen1. you are stronger than you thinkMisfitableGrae
and when you tell other people this,
do not be offended when they start talking about muscle mass.
they will not understand until they wake up
one day and are disappointed to find themselves
2. reading books about thin people
doesn’t make you thin
just like writing poems about happiness
doesn’t make you happy.
3. make new year’s resolutions. even if you know
they won’t last longer than the shower
you make them in, do it anyways because
you’ll love the idea of the person you were
washing off of you with the dirt.
4. you’re going to fall head over heels
over ankles over fingers in love with a boy.
this does not mean that you have any right
to keep him.
5. someone won’t always be there to tell you,
“hey, good job on getting out of bed today.
good job on going to school and doing your homework.
good job on surviving today.”
but good job anyways.
6. change your hair color. change your s
read this when you're so angry you shakelittle drops of oil make rainbows on wet concreteMisfitableGrae
and i don’t know how beautiful you find that,
but sometimes you gotta learn that
the littlest things are the prettiest,
like the shape of your fingernails and the crinkles
you get at the corner of your eyes when you laugh and
when you grow old and i know i said “grow old”
like it’s a temporary thing, but that’s because it is.
you can think it’s forever but it’s really
a split second because you don’t matter, not when
the universe is still growing and speeding through a nothingness
we can’t even fathom, not when color doesn’t exist in space
but nebulas still explode in shades of gold and green,
not when there are stars who die
before their light ever touches our faces. you don’t matter,
not to anyone but the people who have fallen in love
with the way you walk and the way you breathe
and the way you keep doing both.
i don’t care that the universe is spinning and grow
benev(i)olentcaught the higher arc-nawkaman
[you folded into space waves
as they rushed and receded
never kiss never on the lips
because the past is presently
reappearing, climbing the horizon
in a flat glow. in a fat growl
I say the darnedest things, like four-lettered
words. like once when love left dark spot
s in my vision
and I built around the columns I imagined;
felt the sky fall down around my shoulders
Stop Romanticizing Poets 2K14This is how I write my poems:MisfitableGrae
You’re blonde and you have blue eyes.
You’re the perfect subject for my next great hit,
a long rambling epic or a two page sonnet
which would start by comparing your hair
to rays of the sun and your eyes to the ocean
at daybreak. Even if you’re more of a dishwater blonde
than sun-colored, and your eyes are less ocean and
more sky, I swear I write this poem and think
vaguely of you.
But here is a secret: I’m not writing a poem about you.
I’m writing a poem about the idea of you.
And I don’t know if it will be a love poem or
a break-up poem or a “please don’t go home and
commit suicide” poem or one of those
heartbreakingly honest poems that feels like
you put your pencil on paper and bled.
I don’t write poems like that often.
No poet does, not really,
we write poems about you and your blue eyes
because we don’t like how bleeding feels,
and it is much safer for us to pretend to fall in l
I write Fanfictions, too! (click here!) |
Right now I have Harvest Moon, and the always amazing Romantically Apocalyptic!... But I'm planning to expand!
Current Residence: CANADA
Favourite genre of music: Various, mostly Rock and Alternative
Favourite photographer: Once more, too many!
Favourite style of art: Traditional art, poetry, and photography
MP3 player of choice: iPod
Shell of choice: Bullet please
Skin of choice: Slightly bruised
Favourite Quote: "Just because we do bad things does not mean we are bad people.”