I write, certainly. The problem is that what I write disgusts me. Disgust is not a strong enough word, actually, more like I loathe the words on the page with every fiber of my being.
I look down at a poem I have written and there are a thousand tiny little voices telling me...
I think what hurts the most ..
Is when you give your all ..
To someone ..
Through thick ..
Through thin ..
Through big ..
Thought small ..
Thought hard ..
Through easy ..
Through the day ..
Through the night ..
You're there for them ..
You stick with them ..
No matter what...
I just want to be close and hold tight
All you do, is all I need and if it's good for you its good for me, so hold tight
Don't turn away in fear, in this time and in this space, keep us here and hold tight
A tender moment lost in bunches of passionate kisses and light touches...
And when I do, I feel like there's someone else guiding my hand into writing things, writing answers to the questions I have been asking.
It's the most simplest solution to my problems: writing.
but resisted the urge to hit the snooze button. Instead she crawled out of bed, threw on sweats and sneakers and tied her hair in a ponytail.
Headphones in her ears she blasts her favorite song as her feet hit the pavement in the cold pre-dawn morning.
Running to forget...
and as green as emeralds, watch the passersby.
The old man as he takes his wife's hand strolling through the park.
A woman talking animatedly on the phone as her toddler chases the birds.
The man in a suit walking with fierce purposeful steps.
Teenage boys on skateboards...
Love on one side, hate on the other, how is that, which to choose..Like a magnet i'm pulled to your negative, always playing the positive fool.Can't do it but I want to win, you make me crazy, putting bullet's through friend's.What's funny to you makes me want to die, so feed me...
a book. I've been looking for people that have a passion for writing and that are just starting—like me. The goal would be to work with a group of awesome writers in which the object would be to get a good promotion, recognition. I don't mean necessarily working on the same...
It was safe in there, the door was made of three inch steel, no one could hurt him in there. But once in while Mad Max would be forced to leave his garage when he ran out of food or water or sanity. Whenever he left his safe zone of a garage he was attacked by people waiting...
I love to write ... anywhere ... anytime ... I have even gone as far as to ask if anyone has a pen whilst being in a Queue.
Post it notes... receipts ... envelopes.
Crayons... charcoal ... anything.
When the mood strikes .... I like to write.
I have loved you; it seems, since the beginning of time – so deeply it feels impossible to have begun with my relatively insignificant life. My longing burns when we are apart and consumes when we are together. The more I have of you, the more I want of you, until all that is...
It’s so very odd hearing the people in the room next to me chattering. These strangers speaking as if they were old friends, as if a connection of some odd kind actually existed between them. They chortle and chuckle, smile and smirk, how very odd indeed! They offer up the...
but they never say why. Scratching my head I always wonder. Sometimes I even wonder if they just mean I ramble, nothing else.
Just because someone can wield words to convey ideas doesn't mean they should write, right? For example: What if their rambles spill out 'cause of...
slightly distorted so they say
That I see myself 10% prettier than I am
I don't believe them because if that's true
I must be pretty damn ugly because I look in the mirror and I hate
The reflection staring back at me is not who I'd like to see, yet at least she is...
Yet so hard to get back up
I walked right, I did, yup
Now I'm head over heels and it's pain
I can't go back to my old self again
The only right I'm doin is write with a pen
She's too easy to fall for
and I guess we'll see if she catches me or if I land in the floor...
The forest is so mysterious at night, particularly this time of year, when the mists roll in. It crawls through the shadows, like a living portal to places unknown – even seeming to breathe, as she flows with the still-cool currents of early spring. She is whispering to me...
romance novel to see if I could and guess what I can but I'm awful at it! Haha it is so sappy I'm getting diabetes from it. So badly done I could poop my pants from laughter. Delete. Well I'll show my friends and then delete.
I'm not a very romantic or erotic person so yeah the...
You believe I am a sin,
That your heaven is a place I don't belong in
Well here is news to share,
Honestly, anymore, I don't care
So walk your paved road, the one you built so well
I'll watch your descent into your heaven, looking down from your hell
floating down from the trees.
They covered the ground like snow.
The sun peeking through the branches as it began it's descent. Painting the sky with orange and pink.
The green grass soft under her feet, slowly covered in a purple blanket of flowers.
Her hands out stretched to...
her cheek blurred as salt filled tears fall soaking one spot on her silky blouse that made her a lady. Her neck and chest flushed by the heat of emotion as desperation bellows from her core.
Slouched like a child in a large brown arm chair, she gazes off lost in a familiar...
Who watched them?
Only the birds glanced upon them not knowing what they saw.
On the soft morning air music drifted quietly into the peace of their still place.
Their place, a spot by his river.
Trees stood like still sentinels, surrounding the lovers.
Sunshine, gentle, not...
Dora swallowed whole, by spoonfuls her horrid bowl of gelatinous oatmeal. She gave herself a canker sore by poking the roof of her mouth with a dry, blackened piece of toast and further aggravated it by slamming her glass of acidic orange juice...
The weary sun this day does not rise
as the earth is rent in twain
by a booming blare spawned from a sickly horn.
Ragged hands wrapped in beads of Rosary
scrape their way up the fleshy earth.
A man near the opened earth, of no religion does he ascribe
who days ago did laugh...
yesterday at my fresh fast food joint position. I came home when took a nap because I worked three hours over and had to ride the bike back home. It was only my second day. I didn't feel like doing any assignment so I saved it for today since I'm off for the next few days and...
people to her.
Such a positive and happy soul.
Surrounded by the lonely hearts and those needing some of her sunshine.
She answers their questions and smiles.
She makes them laugh with her stories and quick wit.
She gives advice but doesn't expect them to take it.
I'm a ******* mess.
You'll tell me I'm beautiful,
I'll dedicate my life to proving you blind.
I'll cry my eyes out on the toilet seat
Talking to an imaginary therapist
I ******* talk to myself, man!
And then laugh at a joke from two years ago.
I'm obsessed with...
can we reverse the structure and erase them all?
and if people were figments of, our imagination,
will it help us understand?
days past by and waste our time,
wake eat sleep no reason why,
till death knocks on our front door,
laid to rest we'll be no more,
what if every...
Will live a life of crime that not even the law can end. Will spend the rest of our life's in the road,running from this dark world. Our journey will bring a burden to the people who don't want to let reality go but joy to the people who do.Ill show you a life without reality...
as I have lost a funny man Or maybe is that I am at my deathbed
I am waiting for the man to come in rapidly, like the hardest cup of coffee. To come in Yoo Hoo.
Speaking rapidly in a Irish accent as he shows you his tie, not wearing a shirt, gives you a hug, dances a...
Like many other late night prose, this story ends with me sitting propped up against my headboard illuminated by only the artificial glow of my IPad. However, it began with the glow of a different light.
This day passed along much like all the rest of the days in my world. As I...
but I'm not 3
No more getting to run to my Mom
I'm 16, gotta defend myself
From my dreams
So I scream
I scare it all away
I don't know what I say
Night or day
Only me in the fray
Can't run it leap
In the danger seeps
And crawls and creeps
And so I weep
I have always written down my thoughts for as long as I can remember it makes me feel calm and helps me in my life I suppose it is all to do with letting of steam and letting go of things. One thing is for certain it is one of the things in my life that I could not imagine not...
An unnatural light hung over the familiar town of Lowur’s Valley. My skin prickled with the strange feeling of a thousand eyes resting upon me. There was not a whisper to be heard, even the blacksmith’s shop was silent, a rare occurrence...
The Mariner's Wife
Each time they met was like the first
Although far from unfamiliar
Beginning a little shy, glancing away, unsure
But soon returning to bold certainty
While away, his dreams were filled with her
The smile, the laughter and the sigh
The memory of her...
Those who took hot lunch and those of us who took cold lunch apparently required segregation. The furthest table from the hot lunch service counter, the one under the drafty old basement windows, the table that was older and ...
I needed to get away.
So I started walking.
I did not know where I was going.
Several days later, I was hopelessly lost.
I saw a man at a booth marked 'INFORMATION'.
I said, "I am a lost soul"
He pointed to the ground and said, "Down there is where you belong."
"But I've just...
smoking a cigarette as he plays poker upstairs with his mom and sister. Tahoe is cold, dark and beautiful. The cicadas call out “it is night time” “yes, indeed it is night”. Do they say much more as they converse amongst the moon? A chirp in opposition "is it night...
face him. Her pretty face was regaining its normal look of defiance. She sat on the bed and crossed her legs.
"I didn't tell you to sit", he said quietly.
She began a retort, but looked at his face and thought better of it. Something was there that she hadn't seen before. She...
on (untitled). Part 1.
If someone had told me when I was a 12 year old kid living in an upper-middle-class suburban subdivision that I'd end up an outcast and running off and drifting in and out of society by my early 30's, instead of getting married and living in a nice house...
Standing on the hilltop Anna could see all the way down to the tiny black shack. Dark smoke chugged from the chimney. Someone was there. Anna crouched down in the tall weeds and waited until there was a sign that the little cabin was empty. ...
Writing. Every week, I sit down Monday, write 10 pages, and submit them Monday night, and do no writing during the week. I've been getting lukewarm evaluations. It just occurred to me that maybe if I write over the course of the entire week, I'll be able to crank out a...
I came out of the milk-house wearing a old coat with strips of bright red material pinned (with big, yellow ducky diaper pins) to the hand-me-down, mismatched buttoned coat. The red is to protect me from deer hunters should I get out near the big woods...