We chase wild dreams at the tip of our pens, every word every stroke brings us closer. But at times, our draft—it just doesn’t make sense… We can’t help but believe us a poser. Still, the dream, the pen, calls out to our hearts— and we try, put it back to the paper. Every word, every stroke is a wonder! As our instincts kick in – full of hunger, we’re hunters that chase, hunt down our prey! We won’t let our doubts win, lead us astray— we will howl for our pack, our dearest friends. Dreams are waiting at the tip of our pens.
I take comfort from the greasy food on my plate hunter gatherer instincts sated, my eyes search for campfire flickering flames and settle on the fish tank I am zoned replete in the cavern of my own space my day over I wait for the miracle of sunrise
as one admires a waning moon's final phosphorescence, the brightest burn before its departure, so was I too, late, chancing only a glimpse of your blinding luminance as you passed us by, unto your next life phase.
how I wish I could have seen the whole magnificent show; and to not have only chanced a friendship my first, your final, semester.
The Daughter makes toothpicks from treebones while she waits. She uses them to pick hunger out from her mouth. Her week’s first real dinner will happen soon. From wildebeest migration to their awaiting dinner table, still undercooked meat sits in that aged iron skillet they tell nobody they own.
She waits. She’s accustomed to waiting, like her mother, the Hunter. Sometimes a day's worth of strength and calories came from a meal of dandelions and winter water while the Hunter is out waiting for her traps to ****** a life. So they wait.
Through the door comes Man. He's watercolorist emptied of mental flowers to create. His hands are bandaged and hold a toasted loaf of pumperknickle bread. The Hunter and Man kiss and wait and think in the quiet sizzle of meat.
Romanticism of rebellion they could do without, the couple. Survivorship comes in vulnerability of sweat-soaked underclothes from sleepterrors. But instead of wallowing in tears they make art of blackbirds and mockingbirds while waiting to **** them for survival.
~ A.M, F.H.
Edited & Published 21st of February 2021. Written 21st of January 2021.
I woke up in the marshes, All l could hear was the wolves hawl through the frigid forest. I was weak to walk but my soul grew stronger. The winds made me cold even in my jacket. Alone in the dark with a torch running out of batteries. Walk like a hunter in the night, like a soldier at war looking for the beacon of hope That my bad days are over.
Men hunt one of two things Chasing your heart or carrying their mission A trophy - only if she's worthy of his reputation Or invade the longing She world like a caped superhero
Eyes rolling upon seeing her tag price "Oh she's just worth a penny not a daylight robbery" They don't build a kingdom just to impress a peasant Shines their armor only for the most rewarding Catch
Men gather one of two things Collecting to consolidate or winning as desired nobles Pick the best chick to get rewards of capture Fight or flight as every rooster crows for *******
As they achieve to get one of these two things They make women compete with women of women A battle of lipstick and dangerous charm Or strip one's dignity, stepping on each other's gowns
Some managed to play well on both things So I hated the ratio of chickens over roosters Hunters can't count chickens of their numbers But I reckon eight chicks cackle for one rooster
Your face appears in all these ladies' dreams What they don't know is you're a hunter "Don't write your name in his fiction" Like heroes in masquerade, your power is a hoax
"I squeeze my hands every time a new girl arrives She walks in and I watch how his eyes beam Just the way they spark when I first saw him I stand there vomiting all his treachery on me"
Is it just innocent fun, an inevitable road to love? Driving dangerous wheels 'til you break more a broken heart Play the field before finding someone to settle down With valor to conquer only to flee when thrown a question
"So what are we?", if you have to ask an alpha hunter How quick did he put his victim face? That's hunter's coup and tactic card play "Shame on her, blame on her", they say
All the ladies with a disposed and fragile heart You better run, you better run, run, run Hunters track your bones, throw their callous stones Smiling and chasing with their neckties and swords
Don't make the lonely women's mistakes Exposing their hearts like dartboards on the wall Desperate to land a man until her fuel gets low Real men climb just one tower with a closed door
When they stretch their arms in the shadow, take off and go Walk with your head down, dodge their despicable arrows Take a plane and get to a land called faraway Save your heart in a town where hunters go astray
They thought we're just a pair of lips kissing their ego Bragging marks on each other's cheeks yet they will never know When we close our eyes each night, we chase a dream Of ruling our own kingdom and not only foot-popping kiss scene
May your postponed expectations keep dejecting you But never with the same superficial smile twice May your heart keep bleeding and remain breakable But never with the same shake hands twice
Never be so innocent you make yourself a target Nor look at his eyes you forget what you are Keep your smite cold and never ever surrender Watch as he gone stale and lure a new willing prey
Caught me up in a wild moment unexpectedly But crumpled my paper of love with your glint of con So I became a secret garden in an artificial island Peculiar in the sea of sadness, a creep in your hoodwink eyes