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 Nov 2013 sinderella
Mario Valdez
Remember when you were all and mighty.
Dad gave you everything that you would ever need.
To me you resembled a deity.
Yet; why did you not succeed?

You were admired by all...
According to you.
You said you never lost in a brawl,
That is not true.

Life has beaten you on countless occasions,
You handed life the victories,
All based on your decisions.
Life has left you in prison, reading bible stories.

Now you are out, drowning yourself in self-pity.
We only converse when you need money.
Like the fool I am, I give you the loot,
You ****** it out my off hands and then give me the boot.

I laugh at myself for admiring you back when I was a kid,
I wanted to be you, I truly did.
You would tell me about life in the “hood”,
You made it sound cool when you were up to no good.

You taught me to lie to our mother,
You told me to hate our father,
You said to yell at our sisters,
You said nothing was greater than causing disasters.

You are my brother,
We are bound by blood.
You were my role model,
But I do not know who you have become.
 Nov 2013 sinderella
R Saba
lust
 Nov 2013 sinderella
R Saba
lust is pink
dark and cloudy
casual in its appearance
beautiful in its persistence
as those reddish waves crash upon my shore
lust is soft
clear and winding
round the bark-less trunk of my torso
rustling the leaves of my hair
as my roots begin to stir
lust is loud
quiet but growing
symphonic in its metaphoric
crescendo to the top of the page
lick my thumb, flick back to previous sheets
and try to figure out where the music started
lust is music
slow reggae from a stereo in the morning
heavy metal blaring from a passing car in the afternoon
turntable cranking out Sinatra in the evening
tape deck cracking and splitting the indie rock
that curls around us at night
lust is strange
wistful and insistent
tugging at the corners of my jacket
as i remove the layers that protect my jawline
so you can taste the soft skin there
scarf unwinding, falling to the grass
and the cold flees from our shoulders
frightened by our moving hands
exploring the obstacles across our bodies
lust is here
obvious, apparent
even to me
in my awkward awareness of the raindrops
blistering my warm skin
and lust becomes silent
as we swallow the sound of the tension between us
put the words to our lips and bite
in your mouth i find four letters
l u s t
and i take them from you
m i n e
give them back
lust is generous
and so am i
clothes stay on, who cares
Trust in me
I am your sword and shield
The strongest weapons you'll ever wield
Feelings I used to hide
Are now screaming inside
The world tha was so dark
Now you are giving it the light of a new start
Everything was about me now its you
Thats something that i never knew
Has this light always been here
I think yes its always near
The light you give off
Shines happiness
 Nov 2013 sinderella
Emily Tyler
And I wish you would know that
I know how you feel.
How I know what you've been through.
And how I've been through it
Too.
Because then we might talk,
Shattering unscratched glass with the first sentence,
"What did you get for Number Seven?"
You would say, "Negative eleven, just factor..."
Maybe one day you'd text me and
Ask what the homework was
Because our teacher didn't tell you
From when you were sick.
And eventually, after tons of small talk,
After "How's the weather?"
Got old,
I could finally tell you
That I know.
I'd tell you that
I'm here, not the fake kind of here,
Which sounds like,
"I-know-and-I'm-here-and-you-can-talk-to-me-goodbye-forever­."
Not like that.
But the kind of here
That asks what ****** about your day,
And sends you links to cat videos,
And the kind of here
That texts you at two in the morning
And asks if you're alright
And doesn't take yes for an answer.
 Nov 2013 sinderella
E
2 cups of insecurity
4 ounces of comparison
1 cup of dinner not eaten.
5 cups of a mind in shackles
6 tablespoons of incomprehension
2 ounces of oblivious peers
3 cups of dinner not eaten.
3 teaspoons of phantom numbers
2 cups of anxiety
4 cups of mirrors smashed to bits
1 pint of self-hatred
4 cups of dinner not eaten.
1 tablespoon of depression
6 ounces of anger
2 pints of hopelessness
3 cups of self-inflicted scars
4 teaspoons of ribs in the mirror
5 cups of fainting on the stairs
1 gallon of dinner not eaten.
6 cups of grieving families
4 tablespoons of words unspoken
3 teaspoons of tears unshed.
2 cups of dusty belongings
4 gallons of friends never made
3 teaspoons of kisses never stolen
a lifetime of words left unsaid.

Melt insecurity and comparison and mix thoroughly with dinner not eaten. Mix a mind in shackles, incomprehension, and oblivious peers and add three more cups of dinner not eaten. Crush phantom numbers and anxiety and sprinkle over batter. Take each piece of mirrors smashed to bits and poke them carefully through self-hatred. Mix with four more cups of dinner not eaten. Melt depression, anger, and hopelessness and spread them thoroughly throughout the batter. Meticulously place self-inflicted scars visibly on top of the mixture. Cover with ribs in the mirror and fainting on the stairs. Mix with one gallon of dinner not eaten. Haphazardly toss in grieving families, words unspoken, and tears unshed. Mix with dusty belongings, friends never made, and kisses never stolen. Gather a lifetime of words left unsaid in a separate container. Take it outside and bury it. Do not mark the grave site.
This a girl.

A broken, battered girl.
Held together by threads and glue, with wounds gauged into her heart.

This girl wakes up and sees a monster in the mirror,
with a grotesque face and heart as black as tar. Her eyes magnify every imperfection,
making them stand out like a single red rose among a dozen white ones. Still she puts on the smile that she is expected to wear. Fake it until you make it right? Stabbed in the back by her best friend.
The one person she thought would never give her up. The one she trusted and loved more than anyone. That’s what started it all.
A streak of deep set self-hatred. A girl who wishes that her weight was as low as her self-esteem. So down your drink broken girl, drown your sorrows with ***** and jack.
This is a girl.
With the word “Useless” carved into her arm.
Because that’s how she feels.
Useless. Ugly. Fat.
Because that was what she was told that was what she was. With every text that was sent to her she lost a little bit of her heart until all that was left was the space where it was supposed to beat.
Thump. Thump.
So she built walls around herself. Unbreakable walls filled with every word they ever called her.
She built them high and thick and made them of steel so no one could climb into her mind and see.
See what pain she was in.
See how she lived life behind a mask of fake laughs and smiles.  
So slice a little deeper broken girl, bleed the pain away because all those scars tell a story.

This is a girl.
Whose only escape is music.
The words engulf her.
Make her feel perfect even if just for about three minutes. Hitting her hard with a tsunami of emotions. Each word she clings to with all her strength so that maybe, one day they will be her reality.  A girl who loses herself in the crowd. The only time anything feels alright, when she doesn't have to hide or wish she was someone else. She sits alone and just listens. Listens to the ups and downs and analyzes the lyrics as they wrap around her and keep her warm. The only thing that can make it over her walls. So turn it up broken girl, and leave the pain behind.
This is a girl.
A girl who walks alone.
Because who would want to walk with a monster?
A girl who hates everything.
Especially herself.
Because that was what she was taught to do. Tongues as sharp as the razor she uses, eat at her brain. Like a flesh eating disease. Telling her how imperfect she is. And she listens. She soaks up the words and feels all of their fury. And what’s left becomes the salt in her tears. So walk on, broken girl, and don't you dare look back.
This a girl.
A girl who cries herself to sleep almost every night.
With a pillow covered in black stains from her eye make-up, as dark as the thoughts that drift through her head. Who is told not to end it because “It gets better.” That’s what they say anyway. The same people who, just a year earlier, caused her pain, who still cause her pain.
Their words haunt her.
They invade her dreams and turn them into nightmares that cut like a blade into her soul and into her heart. So take another pill and fall asleep, broken girl.
Leave this world behind, broken girl
Never wake up, Broken girl.
Because when you wake up your nightmares become
reality.
 Nov 2013 sinderella
Spelz
Lovely night, precious night
Happy birthday comes but one day
Blow the candle's head out

Lovely dresses, precious dresses
Party's started; I'm heavy hearted
But a smile for you shall sprout

Lovely whiskey, precious whiskey
Slowly numbs the mind's thumbs
Dawns skirmish now a blemish
                                          and I'm dancing all about

Lovely bliss, precious miss
I found and brought you one last round
but i can't find you to remind you

to my cause i am devout!          
        
Loathly night, nervous night
In a corner with your former
holding hands and making out

Loathly friend nervous friend
party’s ending, I’m pretending
not to let my anger sprout

Loathly club, nervous club
Find a taxi with just one seat
For dusk’s blemish will be a skirmish
                                                        and we’ll be dancing all about

Loathly sleep nervous creep
not a word or just a verb
so as to blind me and remind me

To my cause i am devout...
An unexpected kiss
four years ago today
after a late flight,
after a Greek salad (no onions),
after awkward chit-chat
and a win by the Colts
over the Patriots (35-34).

I miss that kiss,
that man, his touch,
those caring eyes,
that adorable smile
and handsome face.

I am excited to my core
when holding him,
hearing his voice,
touching his hair,
caressing his hand,
the feel of his tongue.

An unexpected kiss
four years ago today
changed my thoughts,
my heart and soul
...forever.
we own teacups
of porcelain   that
make up a couple
her always filled with coffee
mine with tea
this was what became
our morning routine
to spend time until the cups are emptied

we talk about irrelevant things
matters and thoughts that do not
have acquaintance with consequence
how it'd be possible to raise goldfishes in ***** bottle
we kept for remembrance or how many cookies could
the porcelain beauty we held so dearly possibly contain
sometimes we waste a good morning
watching wisps of steam          rise                    and vanish
like the way people seem to get out of sight after bidding goodbyes
after a certain distance they'd be nothing more than a sihlouette
and after time     slowly they get out of mind

one day you'd realize
that no longer can you conjure their sihlouettes   in memory     nor
can you remember the way they walked away
were they off in a hurry or their footsteps
heavy as the heart the carried that very winter morning
when snow didnt fall like predicted by the weatherman the night before
(and that was when you realised the weight of goodbyes)

these are the thoughts that occupy
my mind when I wash our cups
and notice (everytime) stain rings around the innerside of the cups
three quarters full of coffee          and half a cup of tea
we'd store the cups after
hers always facing left
they would sit silently       never a word of complain
as such nice mannered tableware,     cups are.
they'd wait silently for every next morning
to be filled,        coffee          and         tea.

I always thought of her          as a hot chocolate person
until one morning I saw sunlight caught in the dark lazy curls of her hair
until how the dark coloured liquid resembled the colour in her eyes
and came to a silent agreement with myself
how she suited coffee on lazy mornings the way
coffee suited her when she tipped her cup ever so slightly
and     sipped       like she'd found peace in mind
now I smile when she asks why I stopped telling her teacups are meant for tea
(that there are no absolutes in the things we do)

there are mornings she would wake to find me
already awake and silently staring at the rain pelted windows
legs crossed at the foot of the bed and singing
singing softly in russian

I'd end
always at Дорогая
and asks    if she
wants coffee.
It’s just me and my mindless indulgence
we throw one hell of a party for two
my apologies ahead of time for calling
the toxins always brought me to you
after all this is the mess you loved to lay with
this is the boy you always wanted to be with
I haven’t seen him in some years now
every since my troubles caught up and threw him out
from time to time he still comes around
shows up buzzed and happy, gets drunk and eventually falls down
the way she cared well it really scared me
that girl she made me feel everything when she spoke to or touched me
most will spend their whole lives looking for what we had instantly
but now the time has gone and left us nothing
nothing more than a home in these pages
a story to never be told but one for the ages
a girl with a thief of a smile
a boy made victim by it
the kind of attraction you don’t encounter in real life
you know the type
it makes an artist paint, a musician sing and a writer write
the type of love that inspires beauty and it was all mine
even though you never were this memory is all mine
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