make me your canvas
paint me with your fingertips
color me pretty
Mama SaidMama promised she'd come home.
I haven't seen her.
Bruises and cuts covered her body.
She says they are from work.
(How do trays leave bruises on inner thighs?)
Her breath sometimes smells foul like onions under your nose.
She said she forgets to brush her teeth.
(I watch her scrub her teeth when she gets home on late nights.)
I asked Mama why she's gone so late.
She said she works two jobs.
(I'm not allowed to know the other one.)
Men sometimes stay the night into the morning.
She said they are friends from work.
(Why does her bed squeak when they come over?)
Sometimes I get a dollar if I'm good for my babysitter.
She said they smell funny because of the food from work.
(My babysitter only takes checks, maybe I should too.)
Men always stare and nod and whistle at her.
She says she knows them from work.
(She walks faster when they see us, and always lets go of my hand.)
Mama said she had to go to the doctor.
She promised she'd come right home.
(Mama said a lot of things.)
Love's WalkShe stared at the final stretch of road, the glare of the sun causing her to shield her eyes with her hand. Taking a deep breath, she continued onward. She'd made it this far, a few more miles or so could never hurt her. Dust was stirred as she moved forward in worn down sneakers, and she pulled out her Saint hat as her arms grew tired from holding her hand to her face. A dark blue truck rumbled past her before slowing, and finally stopping a few feet ahead of her. Unsure what to do, she just kept walking.
A tall man dressed in Wranglers and a cowboy hat stepped out of the truck. His steps heavy because of the boots he wore. The girl gave him a look and small smile in greeting, figuring he needed something out of his truck, or something else entirely that had nothing to do with her.
"Do you need a ride ma'am? Not quite sure where your headed, but I can take ya 'till the end of the street." He offered, tipping his hat. The girl stopped walking to look at the man talking to her. It was o
Soundtrack of Our Mini RoadTripJason Aldean's "Flyover States" blast out the stereo,
drivers only mildly annoyed.
We get glares as we sing along,
but we just smile, wave, and continue.
Someone's bass is shaking our car,
if we know the words we'll sing that too.
Life is too short to waste being stressed,
might as well as enjoy ourselves while we still can.
Trips to Wal-Mart at who knows what hour,
maybe we'll do a scavenger hunt next time.
Talk is easy with those who genuinely care,
With Pink! in the background saying we're fucking perfect.
Orbis TerrarumLight pleads my eyes to open,
a tender kiss upon my forehead,
guiding into a warm embrace.
Water flows about my body,
a soothing coolness
relaxes aching bones.
Music and laughter engulf me,
as a pair of lips touch,
then part ways. and repeat.
My mind wonders the skies,
leaving behind thought bubbles
as an idea runs off, a path made.
Sunset lays on my soft skin
as a darkness shadows over light,
blues and purples trade places with shades of red.
I close my eyes, and feel the sun,
tracing my body with fingertips,
a gentle caress in goodbye.
Then I begin again.
TogetherCome and follow me.
It's okay to be afraid,
I'll take care of you.
I know how to love,
children know what's important,
I will not forget.
You can count on me!
Lay your head upon my lap,
I'll sing you to sleep.
Dream what dragons dream.
Soaring, feathers ruffling,
wings stretched, stroking clouds.
I can protect you.
Both of us are fierce, though young,
We'll be family.
GivingShe was the girl who gave her soul
Real flowers she gave
on birthdays and random occasions.
"Thank you, they smell lovely!" they exclaimed
Letters written in inspiration
were mailed and sent
"I feel so loved" they smiled
A comforting shoulder,
a hug and an ear
"You're always there for me" they said.
They were the ones that never gave back.
"These flowers are wilted and dead.
If you loved me you would have gotten fake ones"
But fake ones don't smell
"This was written in pencil,
It is fading now"
Inspiration doesn't come with a pen
"You can never be sad,
count on you to be all smiles"
Happy people get sad too
When she was alone, thoughts to herself,
she hung her head
and I cried.
Eye of the StormI believed I could make the wind blow,
and force the moon to shine at night,
create rainbows just by thinking,
and hold tea parties for fairies in July,
I was the queen of my own graceful lands.
Yet, I grew old and realized,
I am the kind of girl who'd trip and fall,
often for stepping on her own feet.
My crown of diamond and gold
now a rusted piece of bronze,
I lost my throne to treason, my kingdom to hate,
I became the eye of a hurricane,
loaded with mishaps I need to atone.
I felt the soft touches of angels,
and lost my own wings to demons who could crush stone.
Felt the scorching tears run so often,
I knew I must have hit bottom low.
I had nothing holy, no one to call dear,
but here I am, the starting point of my own storm.
I felt fear, clung to shadows,
encased my heart within marble walls,
and threw the keys that can unlock my soul.
So many chances I've lost with no love to seek,
and so many people I turned my back to.
I let the darkness gnaw through my bones.
OdalisqueSee how she doth recline,
artfully and serpentine,
from the graceful curve of her spine
to her legs that sweetly twine,
fingers curled 'round a glass of wine
as she beckons you to dine.
AmendsThey tell me you're dying,
when you're not etching poetry
Words as fragile as the surface they're written on,
not nearly as transparent, though.
Dotted between the lines like Morse-code,
concealed in true poetic verse.
If you want to meet a poet,
just fall and one will rise.
The ink flows deep within the lines,
we just have to die to find it.
I guess I forgot to stop breathing.
Yet I see your plead.
They tell me I should make amends,
only the forgiveness you seek
doesn't come from me.
That boy is long gone now,
and with him
any debt you owed.
Still if it helps ease your passing
I'll say the words.
Like writing a hot check;
it'll get you by for a minute,
but in the end
someone always comes to collect.
I forgive you.
You always said we should
count the stars one by one,
for when we reach an infinite,
we'll find the happiness we always sought.
Your bedtime stories were always
about the good, old lady who
decided to knit a blanket for
all the children of the world but,
someone always got left out.
Now I wonder if this was your way
of telling me we were never meant to last.
You braid my dreams,
a single strand at a time,
In each knot I'd hide a runaway fish,
and in every braid I'd search for a hope.
You said I could be the princess,
and you're the knight who'd keep me safe,
because the world around us is so cruel
but you never told me,
I had to be strong on my own.
I vowed to pray in your name,
whenever you lit a candle,
in search for more of our promises
that scattered away in the dark,
but we both knew you won't find any,
you've already gave them to someone else
you were no longer mine,
I barely recognize you anymore.
I wonder if I'll stop seeing the spring
AL Prompt: If you could go back in time, what would you say to your younger self? Or, how would your younger self react to the older you?
"Hi." She was much taller then me, but not by all that much. Her hair was short and a bright purple, and I had to wonder why she was talking to me at all. Still, I liked her hair color.
"Hi." I looked at her curiously, she was wearing camo pants and was sitting in the waiting room with me. My mom was being a chatty with someone else and was laughing, so I suppose it was alright to talk to her. "Why are you here?" It was good to see someone older then me had some problems too. She shrugged her shoulders and smiled, she had braces. I knew I'd need them too, and wondered what it felt like to have them.
"Sometimes I just need to talk to someone. You know, someone who isn't my mom, or my dad. Even my friends sometimes. It's just nice to talk to someone I can vent to." She pushed her hair behind her ear, and I did the same thing.
Alfred couldn’t keep the excited grin off of his face as he was led around the air field. There was nothing different about this one to any other air field and yet it was still special because a plane of his own, his very first one, was sitting out here waiting for him.
Finally his guide stopped in front of an f-35. The beautiful gray plane sparkled in the sunlight, a cloud drifted by and made the sunlight bounce off of the canopy and Alfred swore it looked like the plane was smiling at him.
“Well, here’s your jet, Captain Jones. Isn’t he beautiful?” His guide said. Alfred turned to him with a confused expression.
“He?” he asked.
“Yep,” The guide then started to climb up the side of the jet and opened the canopy. “Come here, I’ll show you what I mean,” Alfred followed him up and peered into the cockpit. The inside was cleaned spotless and everything seemed to shine. The guild reached in and gently tapped
Ash of 100 Cats Ch. 6
He was too busy rough housing with Matthew in the back of the car to notice how his father’s fingers were wrapped around the steering wheel as if he was imagining it to be someone he loathed and was trying to choke the life out of them. His knuckles were painted white and his dull finger nails were pressing into the leather with such force that it would, without a doubt, forever leave a mark. Neither brother was wearing their seatbelts, total faith that nothing bad would happen prompted them to be fearless as the thunder storm raged outside.
They were having too much fun putting each other in headlocks and digging their knuckles into the other’s head, laughing too hard, too loudly, to hear their mother insist that their father pull over and wait out the storm. He didn't listen and continued to drive down the highway.
It would only take two more hours of driving before they arrived back home. Matthew had just put Alfred into another headlock when all of a sudden a sick fe
Laments of TwilightThose seasons famished in myriad dreams;
Long of quests in realms of Fae ...
For yet a feast of forest wine I would adorn,
Or beyond pleasures dressed in valleys rich
Gardens of sweet Avalon digress —
Where thy gaze painted embers in my soul
Unto her lore, I pursue and caress
To Autumn’s decree a world hath been slain!
Then Nature’s magick whispered above:
‘And forever the stars shall wander untamed,
like a fable of thieves lost in the wind’
Laments of twilight sweep with promise ~
And over the enchanted I hath prevail’d!
Where I am but a dream, within her dream
— Arthur Crow © 2013
a touch of lovehis fingers explore
heart beating in a rush rush
nerve endings gone wild
every time he touches me