Sticks and stones,
May break my bones.
But words can do much more.
I find them scribbled on notes strewn about,
And I hear your voice when I read them to myself.
They come in soft whispers,
Or thunderous shouts of anger.
They can inspire a masterpiece
Fueled by joy or pain.
They're sung sweetly in sunshine
Or bitterly in rain.
They can serve to begin or end
Something wonderful or terrible.
They are how I know you.
The bridges between our minds.
They are the art of the commoner.
You're lips, a brush, you're words, the strokes
The air is your canvas.
You paint your perception with your voice,
Giving me a portrait of what my e
Noticed in Committing by enigmaticsmile, literature
Literature
Noticed in Committing
I started committing suicides. They were small at first, but more grandiose as the months passed.
At first, I came up with basics: wrist slashing, hanging, overdose, jumping off a building, and stepping off in front of bus. They were all very mundane, really, and if not done properly you just end up living very, very painfully. It was after those routine ways to snuff oneself that I began to get creative.
There was going into a biker bar nude and starting fights with drunk bikers. And when I say "fights", I mean with a knife in my hand. That was a fun night. Everyone was freaked out and angry at the same time. They all wanted to kill
Insert creative title here. by grew-up-a-screw-up, literature
Literature
Insert creative title here.
sometimes I hate the idea
of talking
I rather eat the autumn
skies crushing cold air between my molars
and hiding shaky hands
between pages of dictionaries
and clickclickclicking sounds of typewriters
you asked me why I wrote poems
on the soles of my shoes
and I told you
it was because I wanted to
imprint myself on the earth
then I can create beauty
even if I am not
-"You're a writer, aren't you?"
Those were the first words she spoke to me.
At the time, I was packing up, getting ready to leave the library.
I had another long day, spending the majority of my free time at the library, loitering around on my laptop,
Staring at my open wordpad as I contemplated about what to write about.
Just as I was readying to leave this girl, out of nowhere, asks me if I'm a writer.
-"I like to think I am."-
That's the only answer I could give her.
I had taken up writing as a hobby,
But no matter how hard I tried, all of my work felt underwhelming.
-"Please...
Could I get you to help me write a poem?
If that is too
You're my sunset in the sky.
You're my angel in the snow.
You're my sunrise in the morning.
You're my singing sparrow.
Don't let their forest fires
Burn you to the ground.
It's because you're beautiful
Inside and out that our love was found.
I am from Thunder Cats and ninja turtles,
And Batman movies on weekends.
I am from wrestling matches with my big brother
in the living room.
Lungs gasping for air
After being body-slammed too many times.
I am from apple trees in full bloom
Making a bouquet of flowers
And imagining being married some day.
I'm from home-made meals
And family dinners,
Gathering to watch 'cops' on the T.V.
I'm from "Yellow!" instead of "Hello!",
And 'it's just a movie, it can't hurt me'.
From 'the only thing hiding in the dark is your shadow'.
I'm from "Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned",
Yet no one says a word
And are allowed to believe
Wha
From "forever and ever",
And "up, up, and away",
To never together,
And "just get away".
From hugs in the sun,
And kisses in moonlight,
To a cocked gun
And sobs in the night.
From lovely, sweet whispers,
And promises took,
To painfully missing her,
And promises broke.
"Forever and ever"
Isn't really that long.
I never knew that I had her
Until she was gone.