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Literature

things I never told you.

some poems feel like water. this one is more like sand, and I'm suffocating in the maw of a desert that was better left rusting its clairvoyance. it started one night when I remembered that I've kept everything you've ever given me: roses, faces, promises. I never really understood how to let things go, and when the thought of turning the things you'd touched away from my doorstep choked the poetry from my throat, I realized why. I keep reminding myself that I should probably be nicer to you, but I think you already know that I'm only capable of being nice when I'm cornered and out of ideas. and despite what you claim, you've never been

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things I never told you. by littleblueraccoon, literature

Literature

things I never told you.

yesterday. by littleblueraccoon, literature

Literature

yesterday.

"to make a daisy chain, you have to kill the flower," he says absentmindedly, elbows-and-knees deep in the rushing waves of summer field grass. "no, you don't," I insist. my back is pressed to the bark of the tree behind me and the summer sun is caramel yellow on my skin. I'm thirteen, naive, soft-centered. at this point in my life, I have let no one break my heart or ruin the neat tight zippers of my long skirts. "yes, you do." to prove his point, he wrenches a flower from the soil, taking up a clod of roots with it. teasingly, he shakes it in front of my eyes, dusts me with the dirt--I squeal girlishly and brush myself off. then his

Wake by Sssorry, literature

undefined by crystallized-skies, literature

Literature

undefined

[---404 error: file not found---] I am undefined like the irrational variables that rot your computer; never quite fitting into the neatly arranged arrays that fragment this world into disconcerting congregations of 1s and 0s, (the DNA between my ribs does not conform to your primal binary code.) [—503 eror: server overload—] I am undefined, an error in excess desperately trying to exit this (in)finite loop of on-off signals that consistently crashes my delicate newtork of conscious concerns every time I attem

too (iso)late(d) by blanketings, literature

Literature

too (iso)late(d)

touch-starved waistlines recollect memories in old text messages and incomplete composition notebooks they argue with themselves about self-preservation in a predatory wilderness: the privacy of homes and thick bedroom walls with birds calling them from hiding spots amongst the fear and hope unfounded and unfound & steady hands let go of their centers to grip reluctance in pens recording the songs of bluebirds outside, outside, outside as growth sets in with resignation smiles

TALENT IS EARNED by Robotpencil, journal

TALENT IS EARNED

Jul 3, 2014

Talent is Earned I get it. There are some people out there that do have some extreme capabilities right out of the womb, but this is targeted to those who are average joes, who think they can’t do things that a person with ‘Talent’ can. Let’s start by defining the word ‘Talent’. According to dictionary.com it states tal·ent [tal-uhnt] noun 1. a special natural ability or aptitude: a talent for drawing. 2. a capacity for achievement or success; ability: young men of talent. 3. a talented person: The cast includes many of the theater’s major talents. 4. a group of persons with speci

Wind Chimes by Undomiel321, literature

Days (Short Story) by LeaderPinhead, literature

Literature

Days (Short Story)

The first day they met was an epic disaster. Aleks cursed at the male barista behind the cash register for receiving the wrong coffee—decaf instead of his usual double shot espresso. He yelled so much that tears began to run down the young worker’s face before she appeared. In a flurry of wild red hair and jangling bangles, she swept the poor barista aside and stood firmly on the other side of the counter with a wide smile. “What seems to be the problem, sir?” He yelled at her too. Something along the lines of “liquefied crap for coffee,” and “I know animals that are better trained than al

Unclear by Emily-Byrd, literature

Literature

Unclear

The picture is framed in lakeside mists, We're swathed in blankets And chuckling about how We look like Scottish immigrants, And groaning and grinning, Because we aren't morning people. The sun creeps over a sapphire hill And lights the water on fire We sit and sigh Our bare feet tucked up On the cold wooden pier, And I fit exactly beneath your arm. The scene is utterly clear Shining like the morning; I look up into your face, But I don't know what I expected Because that part Is not so clear.

I am dog! by BleedingProphecies, literature

Literature

I am dog!

I leap up onto the couch, watching the dust jump and dance in the sunlight leaking through the blinds. I circle three times on my favorite cushion (nah, four times, just to be safe) before curling up in a little ball, haunches nearly grazing my muzzle. My eyelids are heavy as I sigh deeply, completely bathed in warmth and comfort and...sl...ee...p… Intruder! Intruder! Oh my goodness, my shining moment has arrived! Loud barks erupt from my throat as I stand suddenly, the fur on my back rising tall along my spine. I growl and snap my jaw ferociously, snarling loudly. I am...intimidation! I am pure predator! I am dog! I

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