Sometimes, I feel so very sorry for
the letters that I write.
Born onto a blank page and
trapped there all their lives.
No new sites to see, no unfamiliar faces to meet;
standing in a lonely row
just to express my thoughts as words,
and yet, completely unable to express their own.
They lie paralyzed in their birthplace
lacking the ability to grow and learn.
Immovable to change for the rest of their lives.
And sometimes, I wonder to myself,
why I choose to be the same.
A little taste of Summer by TheTornWeaver, literature
Literature
A little taste of Summer
Little girls in pinafores and blue jeans
Lithe figures, their hair
Dancing in the breeze, smile with
Blackberry-stained teeth.
Moths
Soft grey wings labour
To reach inky skies, but can
Never grasp the moon.
Hidden brook
Sun-dappled water
Gurgles down a tiny stream,
Unknown to mankind.
Gardening at gloaming
When the sky turns grey,
Fingers dig into cool earth
And the crickets sing.
Reading
The outside world fades
As I thumb fragile pages,
Lost within the words.
University
Chemistry and maths,
I owe you no love; you fill
Me with tedium.
Summer sidewalk
Horizons warping
In shimmering mirages
As the sun beats down.
The dragons just kept getting cuter.
I'd meant them to be scary, with snakelike heads and pearly fangs, but as my fingers gained more practice the dragons they shaped became younger and more innocent, their wings tiny and their eyes wide. Dull spikes lined their heads and tails, not yet sharpened by age. They lay on their bellies or sat up and watched with good-natured curiosity. They were friendly. They were sweet.
They were flawed, and there were a lot of them. I experimented with color and pose, sculpting the way others would turn a stress ball. Every morning I baked the newcomers in my oven, and within a week my desk was overrun. Rows o
He would often catch the coursers of a newly printed page
or lock upon the wingspan of departing poetry.
But once the years corroded and the pages crumbled,
fantasizing was no longer enough
Soon he found that these shallow fabrications had all the depth
of a black and white page.
Goldenrod
fireflies erratically sign their names
inside a jar that once held pickled beets.
On a Georgian night,
katydids screech chamber music
Mozart forgot to write
on his five staffed bars.
The music reminds me of the tart
taste of grapefruit seeping slowly into
my mouth, and I swallow it with delight.
But the world becomes a jar
into which I scribble my name,
as if writing it will somehow
make me free.
Adults never have their dream jobs
My father once said.
"Money runs thicker than blood,
everything boils down to cash,
breathing is never free."
He was serious when he told me.
But inside my bohemian bubble
I laughed to his face,
convinced myself that corporate drones often forget
how sticking with the system results in slavery.
One day
Reality and its accomplice,
The Economy
without warning
knocked on my door,
sawed off my head and
hung me to dry.
Dripping one sweaty dollar at a time
I (unwillingly) put my soul on the market
And by now
the bloodstains never really left my uniform,
my teeth are fine sand.
All I
the clockwork liar by your-methamphetamine, literature
Literature
the clockwork liar
i. we dusted dreams off people like the first snowflakes of the season. you'd take one and rest it on the center of your tongue because you hated the taste of ice cream and wanted to reset what cold tasted like to you.
you taught me that the cold could be bitter, and so could people's dreams.
you drank out of out-of-order wells because you believed they still worked and that the government was keeping it all to itself.
i never realized how insane you made me before i wrote this all down.
ii. i wished on the sun because i ran out of shooting stars.
and just to spite me, you began wishing on raindrops because you believed that they were so ma
Walls Come Tumbling by intricately-ordinary, literature
Literature
Walls Come Tumbling
you've a soul of gold,
a feat untold in our
lonely rusted world
you make clouds more
than a fable- you enable beaten down
dreams to finally soar
you have words like oxygen,
necessary to live, treasures
you would readily give
we wish upon them all who try to stand so tall.
in the end, why is it every person seems to fall?
not you.
I imagine your chest sings
all answers, which your mouth then
tries to translate and share
does your heart grow weighted
or are you really free?
if you're truly so wonderful,
why stick around
with the lost and found?
t
They take her on her honeymoon.
The wedding was lovely, or as lovely as it could have been with a couple that were more polite acquaintances than anything else and two sets of in-laws as stuffy as a dusty pile of money. They grab her when she sneaks out for a walk one night, two men, beefy, not even bothered to arm themselves. Her last thought before the bag is shoved over her eyes is to wonder how much this would ruin her parents' plans.
She comes to in a small brick room on a sallow mattress, windowless and lit by a cool yellow lamp. There's a man there, standing just outside the barred door.
"Kelly Shale," he says, voice nasally, greasy