if you want to stop hurting:i. i have swallowed down this 3am love
like the ibuprofen i fed myself for my
swollen ankle that time in spain
when i pushed a little too hard and
let go for a little too long.
i have swallowed you down so many
times before, kept you like little embers
in the crevices of my chest, burning
holes through tissue and bone and
everything that i am - through everything
that i swore i wasn't.
ii. a few months ago,
i learnt that it's easier to breathe
with your throat open, to take it
down and let go gracefully,
like opening your palms against
the wind outside the car and inhaling
through your nose.
iii. if you want to stop hurting:
listen to them speak but do not hear their words, hear only their voice,
feel it reverberate against your spine and tell yourself -
this isn't a bad thing.
rebuild your body like jenga blocks. if somebody comes close,
hold their hand and tell them -
i trust you.
let the air rush between your fingers,
let the fire in your arteries sizzle aw
Can't you hear the music? The light fell like raindrops, hitting my bare skin as I danced to the fiery music that surrounded me. Despite their glowing appearance, they were cool and liquid, running down my body like tiny rivers of sunlight. My companions and I saw the woman at the same time, and there was no hesitation. I caught her attention, swaying to the music.
“What are you doing?” the woman asked, her hair falling down her back like a waterfall of silver moonlight. She was beautiful, but tamed. The wild light inside her battled to be free, to dance with us.
“Dancing,” I replied. “Can’t you hear the music?”
The woman looked confused. “Are you alright?” she asked, edging backwards. The shadows danced around her, trying to draw her into the dance.
“I’m wonderful. Won’t you dance with us?”
She shook her head, afraid, and the shadows pounced. I danced close
Stitching the World Together A tear was forming in the fabric. A man and his wife were drifting apart. Quickly she rifled through her bin, selected the red thread of love, passed it through her needle, and stitched the tear closed again.
But even before she finished that repair, an earthquake had destroyed thousands of homes along the coast. She pulled out a purple thread for compassion and pulled the rift together. On the radio, the DJ announced that countries from all over the world were coming together to provide aid to the stricken country.
At the edge, a bit was fraying. Someone was alone and hurting. For this she chose the blue thread of peace and hoped it held. More often than not, it didn’t.
Over on the other side, a patch had come loose. Drought had stricken an area, putting them at risk of starvation. From her scraps she pulled a green patch for life and sewed it into the fabric. Weather reporters forecast rain that night for the first time in
Punctuation“I thought full stop didn’t feel like going because of her period,” whispered hyphen.
“Oh, no,” said semicolon, “that’s not full stop; that’s dot, one of the ellipsis sisters.”
Well, considered hyphen as he prepared to dash off, it had been a confusing story but now it seemed he’d be able to join the dots...
FFM15: To Be A WriterRock wrote a story; she revised it, shared it, revised it again, shared it again, and when she finally had it just the way she wanted it to be, she gave it to her brothers.
Paper laughed---he said it sucked, give up, go home, she'd better leave the writing to him.
Scissors said to try again, so she did.
Shackles Falling (008)When the dandelions spread--
a yellow disease
across the brown lawn--
and thick ivy arms crept
down halls layered with dust,
we knew it was time to go.
a pair of memories
fate wanted lost--
the echoes of ghosts
as the city cheered
the building to brick dust
and empty foundations.
The start of a new month,
the shackles of your eyes
portals to a future without fur.
As the sun danced acrobatics
across the backs of our fading hands,
a grin free of fangs,
a boy once again--
plucked me one more weed
to wear in the clean braid
of my hair
as we skipped out on the moon.
Neighbors Through the Glass Revised“Do you know why you’re here?”
A menacing spotlight shone on me from the direction of the ominous voice. I shivered, looking around frantically in the darkness. Where was I and how did I get there?
A sigh emanated from the darkness, and I managed to stumble out an answer in response.
“No. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“We know you didn’t. But you saw something didn’t you?”
I remembered waving to my neighbor from my pod after I’d gotten home from my assigned job as bookkeeper just like I did every day. He was an elderly gentlemen and he lived directly to the right side of me. Our pods were made of glass, like little glass cubicles stacked one on top of the other just like in a skyscraper office building, as the Government described when they first pitched the ideas to the Citizens. They reminded me of a display case for humans. You could see inside each pod on the right and left of your own pod as far as your eye could str
The BeginningHe told them, of course. He told those idiots everything, the whole damn story, including the blunder he'd made, and its consequences. Looking back on it later, he realized he had probably been in shock the whole time. It made sense, anyone would have been.
Soph was about twenty years old, and he'd been that way for a couple of years already, ever since the Hoarde had started attacking humanity from the past. Every day that passed, they ate at another day in the past. It sickened him. Those creatures had absolutely no regard for proper time and causality protocols.
It didn't seem to affect anyone else that way, though.
The Hoarde was the result of a human creation, of course, like everything bad in the world, though no one else knew about them. Then again, no one else had undiluted access to the power of creation. Even he didn't know much about the Hoarde, only that they appeared through some tear in The Fabric of The World and started killing people off. They appeared at some point in