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AntoinetteBrandt Aug 2013
give me love because lately I've been trying to tie a ribbon in my mouth. I forget too soon all the lessons i learned from leaving the south.

i bend over backwards and open my chest in a position to bring it to rest like Prima the Ballerina. My fingers ***** the empty air as if to pluck a rosy twang from a long bow I just imagined. my circumference dissipates to reveal my core, wake up not any more in  a beaten trailer, but a nest full of hope.

i'm wearing a black body suit and i finally have strength to stand on my toes. My point is I wish I had stood up for myself.

I can't forget looking down at the sad scene and I knew : I could never write again.

I lived in a place where the windows were nailed shut. You had to drink from a broken cup. Still. There's a place within that I refused to give up.



An angel above watched the figure of a girl stumble out from a tunnel into a staggering light, her feet ***** through the next 3 years of her life. The angel was forbidden to break a strict law of interference. The angel stood like an innocent bystander at a bar, babysitting her drink as the tall young brunette the one with beachy hair, she had sailor striped earrings,  staggered into womanhood. The angel hovered closely over her shoulder during the young lady's independent study of the greatest lesson in life's classroom: Acceptance. Finally. On the brink of the greatest love of all.

"Give me love!" She shouted from a rooftop and crossed that off her to-do list. Then she danced like there was no one who could judge her except the angel who sat there in Lovely Sally leggings in a wistful stare, her blood had turned into alcohol. She wondered who this person was, too full of music to be filled with sorrow, dancing in a **** hole and on rooftops. She knew as an angel, she shouldn't drink, but no one judged her. She knew a few monks that smoked.

This chick had drank more than enough, hollered on a rooftop, kissed a girl, and now was too tired to stand, she swayed like willow tree. The 20 year old traveled without stopping to a park & sat
in the same seat she did when she was 17 and made love for the first time.  Now the angel was seeing double.

The angel had this silly thought to take her to a rural town in Germany. Angels were allowed to visit any where and with any one. That's what she was doing now.


She watched her pick herself up and find herself home after a long wistful silence.  The angel glanced at the spot under the oak tree after she dissapeared from her eyes.   She left behind a checkerboard composition notebook bookmarked with a  pink mechanical pencil. It was her to-do list.

- learn ballet
- buy my cat the most toys on the block
- afford sophisticated clothes
- get new violin strings and bow
- drink more water
- love myself
-donate nice clothes to an unfortunate girl
-deforestation

The angel read all 47 items through her bloodshot eyes and decided she'd help fullfill it.
Alexa Sz Apr 2010
Go a whole day talking in a western accent

2. write a 5 hour song

3. learn the rapping in "Empire State of Mind" and "Run this Town"

4. Go on a 3 month road trip on a Harley Davidson with only me, my guitar, what I'm wearing, the Harley, and the road

5. learn how to speak Hungarian, Greek, Latin, Hawaiian, Italian, Finnish, and Spanish, maybe some others

6. write a book

7. learn about Native American mythology and rituals

8. Learn how to survive on my own by making my clothing, food, supplies, tools, fire, and shelter

9. Build a yurt up in the mountains to live with wolves

10. Do a hang 10 on a surf board

11. ride a horse with wild horses

12. Paint a scenic picture

13. Protest for anything the government is against

14. Go to Europe and study art

15. Go on a train trip in Europe

16. Go to the Middle East and talk to woman about their rights

17. Go to Israel and West Bank and spray paint on both sides of the wall

18. go paragliding

19. Get or get close to winning a Nobel Peace prize

20. Help out at an orphanage

21. Learn sign language

22. go to help kids with cancer

23. Learn to play roque

24. live one year outside without spending 1 night inside

25. make a cook book

26. teach a African kid to read in English

27. Become a better poet

28. grant 28 people's biggest dreams

(This will be ongoing)
kylie Jul 2016
what i want:*
to hear your heartbeat,
to feel your heart beat,
to touch your heart—
Amalie Skov Jul 2016
*** bestemte sig for, at før *** døde ville *** være nogens yndlings gemmested. Det sted hvor de kunne gemme det de vidste de manglede for at kunne overleve, hver hemmelighed, hver ensomhed, hver nervøs bøn, og være absolut sikker på at *** ville beskytte det. *** ville beskytte det
a mcvicar Jan 2018
• to stop giving away the very things that i need

if my agonizing stomach is empty
i should be putting food in it
instead of baking cupcakes for      
                               everyone else.
i am hungry for something
i haven't witnessed anyone give away,
throw away,
erase my pain.
10.1.18  /  11.27  /  enough's enough
softcomponent Dec 2014
"there's all these worlds I just want to explode into, and I.. I haven't been able to.. haven't-- part of me is really excited while another part of me-- another part of me is like aahhh very nervous, you know" she sits and talks like fire thunder water rain, the lesser part of me is still stung with an arrogant confusion. No reality is my reality is the reality of things around-- sometimes it hurts to be alive-- aches and bleeds-- other times it's like gym-pain-hurt or classroom significance with a keepers knowledge base but a lot of fear of fluorescent lights (of and for said fluorescent lights).

There's only silence now-- silence in the modern sense of silence of speech-- the drone of water-drips and espresso machines and underquiet music from ceiling speakers is the whitenoise of the world when everyone decides to shut-up. I will begin to read into the world the same way I read up on it.. I will sling my own roadkill carcass across my left-shouldered sweater.. cross myself off your bucketlist; wish I had some adderal to weather me up like a cloud.

I'm not gonna lie and pretend to be 'okay.' Per se, I'm 'okay,' but as a business-as-usual assumptive process of 'yes I will see you tomorrow afternoon and we will meet in the cafe downstreet from the market' sense of the phrase I am not okay and in fact sat alone ontop my sheets and for 27 minutes straight gazed into my bookshelf wondering why it all seemed so uninteresting when 30 minutes ago the topic of Islamic extremism tethered me in with wonder and fright.

- - -

If you want to meet a boy, meet him in a library. Meet him in your favorite section and next to your favorite author, next to your favorite subject-- perhaps your forte is the trading history of ancient Polynesian tribes--- they had oversized canoes and somehow managed to sail thousands and thousands of oceanic kilometres unto ancient Australia, Pitcairn, Wallis and Futuna... perhaps it is a cultural conceit of ours to look down in awe and wonder, "how, in the name of Judaeo-Christianity, were a group of savages able to spread across an expanse of ocean the size of several Roman Empires?"

shut the **** up and drink yr fluoride water, whiteman

- - -

There are a thousand different ways to spell a name.

Pronunciation means so little—so desperately trying to fit itself securely into the matrix-belt of existence—no, I said, you can't use my toothbrush. It goes in my mouth.

With the sertraline still sifting its way thru my veins, I arranged another line of ******* upon the cloud-white-black-stripe plate and saw that—except for the light—it was almost entirely invisible. I rolled up Chris's 5 dollar bill and then pinched both ends to draw the makeshift drug-hose into an even tighter loop. Chris paced back and forth in fueled thoughtfulness, unperturbed at my disallowance of his using my toothbrush to assuage his plaque-plagued jaws. He was on about the lowest common denominator as we discussed the folly of all orthodoxy—I held the bill up to my left nostril, inhaling with rapid force to push the drug past my nasal cavity and toward the closest vessels capable of breaking blood-brain barrier for ecstatic 30-minutes of internal spirit-fame.

most of the time, my bad habits are just telling my thoughts to shuddup.  

(quiet little Angels; confused Holy Ghosts. That's all we really are, innit, kid?)
Isha Natsu Mar 2017
It's strange how I could fit so much in a shoebox. A shoebox made for a pair.
There is this specific shoebox I have tucked underneath my folding bed.
A relatively new one, with its glossy lid and blunt corners.
I can name its contents by heart.
A letter dated September 27.
Two pairs of tickets to movies.
A priceless photo of you as a kid on horseback.
Six receipts I managed to save from places where we've shown our true colors.
Nine bus tickets.
One valentine's card with a doodle I'd frame in the Louvre for everyone to appreciate.
A list that says ten things but actually has twenty. My favorite one being "I love that you love me. I cannot even."
Two poems.
Five photographs of us, two of you, one stolen, most with teeth, some wacky.
An ice cream tin. I can still taste the pistachio and see our smiles while we shared and fought over who gets the tin.
A notebook holding a sacred bucketlist, boxes unticked.
This box is small, but it keeps a lot more than that.
It cradles a semi-epic backstory.
It possesses a playlist inaudible to all, except for two people.
It confines a few arguments, little squabbles, and maybe a tiny bit of resentment.
More than that, it is abundant in affection, concern, last-minute cuddles, kisses given and taken.
I won't deny it, I'm a sentimental person.
I've been keeping and snatching little parts of you and placing them in plain sight around me.
Where I can see them, see you, when I flip through my books or open my wallet for change.
But now you're gone, hidden from view. Diminished inside four corners, right under where I sleep at night to forget you.
It's strange how I could fit so much in a shoebox. This shoebox I made just for you and I.
cleann98 Jun 2018
dense conversations after 3am      
   waking up at 9 to continue the same dialogue
                small talks
           useless talks
  smiling at the littlest things
        and laughing at the silliest jokes
                     hugs and kisses
    secretly holding hands
               hotels and lodges
                               fancy restaurants
                    cinema backseats
                            a 4-cheese whopper
               disneyland            
that silly bucketlist that never gets filled----
                            regrets
           achievements       happiness
     nostalgia            melancholy  
        missing each other only a few days apart
                missing one over the other...
     condescension         pride and humility
                    misunderstanding
             sadness        tears    
                           blurring vision
                 slowly turning anger
                       quickly turning hate
          pretty soon turning against each other
first apologies...second apologies...third apologies...fourth apologies...fifth...sixth...
                     et cetera
            and forgivess covered by more hate----
      and absolution...    
                                    for only minutes...
                  before pain.
         and pain               and pain
               and pain      and pain         and pain
   and pain      
              et cetera
                        tears
                    sobs
­                      weeps
               goodbye.

— The End —