I can remember the hopeless feeling I had at the age of six, when I threw myself to the floor by my father's feet.
I begged him not to leave.
My mother stood back, and I sobbed and hugged his legs, refusing to let go.
When she was drunk and called herself the worst mother in the world, I thought of that moment.
All was well, of course, because I was young, I misunderstood. It wasn't me he couldn't live with,
It was her.
Every time she gave up smoking, and everyone else suffered, I remembered:
Rug burned knees, and a packed bag at the door.
But when the past became the present, and his bag became mine, there were no flashbacks to tha
Yellow Roses and Pin-striped Hats by KylaBoo2, literature
Literature
Yellow Roses and Pin-striped Hats
There are these things I hate to think about, like yellow roses and pinstriped hats. I find that when I do, my mind becomes muddled with emotions, and I wonder why, as red roses and baseball caps don't affect me whatsoever.
Sometimes, I walk outside and stare at the sky for many moments, and I wonder why these moments make me cry.
I seem to have a hard time separating the inside and outside of myself, because when I say "I" I picture myself standing in front of a mirror, and that's the "me" I see.
When my brain is full, I read, because images of fantasy push out everything that doesn't matter, and I can breathe again.
When everyone is tal
Tell of what you see
In the everlasting
Evergreen
A world as pure and clean
As you first thought?
Tell of what you feel
In the monumental
Portrayal
A void as rank and stale
As once you ought?
Tell of what you hear
In the indefinite
Atmosphere
A voice as true and clear
As you've been taught?
Tell of what you've done
In the subsequent
Contention
A job as fair and fun
As you had bought?
Tell of what you sell
I'll be the attentive
Clientele
A world as far from hell
As this is not?
I can remember the hopeless feeling I had at the age of six, when I threw myself to the floor by my father's feet.
I begged him not to leave.
My mother stood back, and I sobbed and hugged his legs, refusing to let go.
When she was drunk and called herself the worst mother in the world, I thought of that moment.
All was well, of course, because I was young, I misunderstood. It wasn't me he couldn't live with,
It was her.
Every time she gave up smoking, and everyone else suffered, I remembered:
Rug burned knees, and a packed bag at the door.
But when the past became the present, and his bag became mine, there were no flashbacks to tha
Yellow Roses and Pin-striped Hats by KylaBoo2, literature
Literature
Yellow Roses and Pin-striped Hats
There are these things I hate to think about, like yellow roses and pinstriped hats. I find that when I do, my mind becomes muddled with emotions, and I wonder why, as red roses and baseball caps don't affect me whatsoever.
Sometimes, I walk outside and stare at the sky for many moments, and I wonder why these moments make me cry.
I seem to have a hard time separating the inside and outside of myself, because when I say "I" I picture myself standing in front of a mirror, and that's the "me" I see.
When my brain is full, I read, because images of fantasy push out everything that doesn't matter, and I can breathe again.
When everyone is tal
I find you beautiful, and I know you disagree, but I have reasons.
You're beautiful when you're thinking-- dark brown hair falling over and through and around the hand that a tired head is propped upon. It is impossible to capture the way the light falls on your hair, to capture the waterfall of chocolates (which reminds me of those big expensive boxes that hold every possible shade and type of the dessert) that winds its colour through the strands that blend into you. Your eyes are the same shade as a hershey bar, except three degrees darker, with a touch of shine. As you think, your eyes are narrowed slightly, intent, focused on something
Castles Made of Sand by MisfitableGrae, literature
Literature
Castles Made of Sand
Five Things to Know About Me Before You Decide I'm Worth It
5.
If I do something but fail, I have to try again
Until I get it. And if I get it, I have to do it
Seventeen times perfectly (or just hold whatever it is for seventeen seconds),
Because that's what we equal:
Seventeen scars on my wrists,
Seventeen cuts on my stomach,
Seventeen x'es on my thighs.
So, that's seventeen cuts a week, over a period of three weeks,
And that's twenty-one day, which means twenty-one times
You called me a uselessslutwhorebrokengirl,
And twenty-one times I smiled
And stayed anyways.
4.
I knew this five-year old girl who was diagnosed
With termi
I have no advice that was handed down to me from sage lips, or dying maternal grandparents. I don't know how to deal with neurotic night time episodes where if I listen closely, I swear I can hear farmers in their fields after midnight, shooting gophers when I don't live anywhere near a field. My window is a cavernous maw, opened wide to swallow my tousled head and suck the garbage of dreams from my soul. On those evenings, I can not look outside.
Insomnia has always wrapped its icy fingers around my limbs and tugged at me, one way, then another, ever since I can recall the need for sleep. It is like breathing, or eating, to me. It is common
There is nothing special about me.
I was an over protective mother. I didn't let my daughter out of my sight until she was at least three. After three, there was still a twinge in my heart if she rounded a corner with me not close enough to closely follow her with my eyes. Four to ten was a whirlwind of schools and activities I could not participate in, save the driving. I called that my weaning stage. Ten to twenty was our falling out, my beautiful young princess slamming me with curse words and acne creams, adolescent fury at it's ironic best. Twenty might have been good for her, I don't know.
I haven't spoken to her in eleven years.
I w
i.
The first step to acceptance is to be like others. Like a flower, almost, in your pleated skirt and saddle shoes, starched white blouse radiant, you stand in the coat room of Mrs.Lund's first grade classroom and wish you had worn something, anything, different. Afraid to venture in to the snarling maw of children that would encompass you and swallow you whole, you stand shivering in the musky stench of rain boots and plaid coats until the teacher, fed up, steers you by the arm to the office and insists to speak with the principal. You know he'll phone your mother, but for some reason you don't care as you gaze in to the sticky circular pa
For Your Consideration by pullingcandy, literature
Literature
For Your Consideration
Consider this:
We're going to go on a date, nothing fancy. Perhaps a burger and movie. Afterwards, I will let you walk me home, or vice-versa. There will be no touching, we will remain as pure as driven snow for this night, this glorious evening which will consist of red checker table cloths, Italian food (we nixed the burger idea, or we will at any rate. Linguini with mushrooms and white wine sauce is a little more elegant, wouldn't you say? Lady and the Tramp, they knew where it was at - we'll just push it up a notch) and coffee, followed by an action movie, any action movie, any movie will do. Consider that.
Rewind:
We met in a cloudy b
I used to want to be a famous author, but then I realized I would probably never finish a book. So now I write poetry and misc. in my free time and occassionally share it with the general public. If you enjoy any of it, then my job is done, I suppose.
25 Deep Questions Meme
Stolen from :masvida: ^.^
1. What is more difficult for you, looking into someones eyes when you are telling someone how you feel, or looking into someones eyes when they are telling you how they feel?
Definitely the first. Although I'd say making eye contact is hard for me either way.
2. Think of the last time you were REALLY angry. WHY were you angry? Do you still feel the same way?
Well, I was angry because someone I love was dissappointed in me for doing something I didn't know was wrong. I'm not angry anymore, because I rarely stay angry.
3. You are on a flight from Honolulu to Chicago non-stop. There is a fi