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August Oct 2013
Do not look for your youth in me
All you will find is a grayed wizened tree
In the middle of the forest, hollow and empty
Surrounded by lush, younger, greener saplings
Amara Pendergraft 2013
elizabeth Jul 2015
he was always told not to be afraid of the Big Bad Wolf;
the big bad wolf and his big bad claws and his big bad fangs and the wicked way his eyes would gleam r e d in the dark.
do not be afraid,
                           liebling
, his mother would say,
brushing his hair from his forehead before kissing him goodnight.
he would curl under the covers,
                                                         ­ curl in,
                                                                ­        curl in,
                                                                ­                     curl –

oh, no.

do not be afraid of the big bad wolf, he tells himself,
staring at his mother’s coffin as it is lowered slowly into the ground.
(it was not an open casket. could not be an open casket. her lip was split and swelling and the bruise over her eye was too dark to cover and his father’s knuckles are still red and raw to the touch.)
do not be afraid of the Big Bad Wolf,
but when his father lays a meaty hand on his shoulder and squeezes,
                                                       ­                                                                 ­   he shivers.

“i am not afraid of the big bad wolf,” he says into the mirror,
staring at his own split and swelling lip.
he meets felix and loves felix and does not bring felix home with him –
until the day that he does.

“he’s not the big bad wolf anymore,” felix says when he tells him what he’s done.
his clothes are rank with smoke and burning flesh,
                                                          ­                                and he remembers his mother, and the closed casket at her funeral.
“i know,” he says, straightening his tie.
(this casket is closed, too.)

there is no such thing as the big bad wolf,
not now, not today, not when the time for fairy tales has long since passed.
now, his hands itch for a gun,
now, his fingers itch to pull the trigger,
now, he is restless and he is ****** and he is a criminal.
(who’s the big bad wolf now?)

“my father was a monster. and so are you. and so am i.”
his funeral will be a closed casket, too. he smiles.
                                                                ­                       kala weeps.
he sticks the gun in his back pocket and thinks of his mother.
do not be afraid,
                            liebling.

i am not, he wants to tell her. i am not. not anymore.

(but still he sleeps with the gun beneath his pillow still he dreams of retribution from hands dripping with blood still he wakes and forgets that he is safe still he breathes and is afraid, deep down, is afraid of the wolf he has become.)
insp. by wolfgang bogdanow from sense8
smallhands Mar 2016
author of these clumsy fictions-
dearly yours, on all fours
fighting attacking our young dreams
from corners tight, often alight
amour, oh traveling one,
fearful darling

-c.j.
Sweaterweather Nov 2013
Das brennende Herz


Ich liebe dich.
Ich blute dich.
Ich beobachten Ihren jeden Atemzug.
können wir immer weglaufen, bis nichts mehr übrig.

Lassen Sie uns gehen weg für immer, können wir in der Samt Mond tanzen.
Ich werde dich halten.
Ich werde dich küssen
Bis meine zitternden Lippen blau.

können Sie Ihr Zuhause in dem Feuer meines Herzens finden
oder Sie können mich mit dieser sengenden lange stare brennen
Ich brauche dich.
Ich werde Verzweiflung.

Ich werde Sie Schlaganfall.
Auf der Wange so weich und langsam.
Aber ich will nicht das Gefühl, die Liebe, die Sie tun,
Ich werde mit kaltem gefüllt werden.

Ich werde bis zum Tod zu springen.
Ich halte den Atem an.
Wenn das alles was man braucht um dir zu gefallen.
Also sag mir, Liebling, was Sie wollen, was muss ich tun?

Sie sehen unsere Liebe ist ein brennendes Herz.
Ich brauche es.
Ich hasse es.
Schmerz, aber notwendig von Anfang an.
As I allow you to look at me with those big, heartwarming eyes, I  know you know I'm melting.
I know that look you're giving me is only to get what you want, and oh, baby, it's working so well.
I only want, well, everything from you, but my spine is curving and I'll take something, anything.
But it appears you're just as flighty as I am, Liebling.
And even though your actions have spoken louder than your words, (on both sides of your confusing fence) I still remember what you told me, or rather how you said goodnight.
The look you gave me when I found out was more than likely misinterpreted on my part.
Wishful thinking.
But it appeared close to remorse, nearing nausea.
Which were echos of the pangs I felt.

"Sometimes you've got to fold before you're found out."
JW Jul 2013
was magst du
in diese heilige zeit
Was magst du
in diese dunkle nacht

Mit verringertem atem
und geschlossenen augen
mit schallgedämmt Gebet
und vergeudete Stunden

in diesem dunkle stunden
mit tränen und liebes und leiden
Was macht du liebling
was macht du schatz
was Sie auf der Suche nach
RJ Days Mar 2014
Fanwisdom gedachting a hearth-billow in my Herz
Ich hab' gedacht it fairer still to know
Than amongst dein Welt it predisposes is perplexed aloof
Extraños kann nicht go where I must go

And von und an die spinniest of Hund
In peril and with Angsty tougher Hands
Will not crepuscular desecration sofort ensue
Für nichts ist wichtiger nur ein Liebling mood

Versucht wir probs and totes adorbs
But still zu schieße tired and hasst to sein
Während wir sollen in the proper sense
Man oh yeah das Man sagt en vino absorb'd

Was wicked waste and After it schmeckt schleck
Über ist nicht was es ich verpassen now
Most mehr mit Menchen kommt wieso I ask?
Wenn wo I know it is so very untoward to cow

Kuh oder a coo cannot redeem from drain
Zeit and Mal scent rempeln us all or push
Klar we cannot stop the starkest Zug
Nor yodel holler up the lane for ****

And just wenn denkst du, dass eyes is mad
Know that for Worten the harshest Lebens macht
To get you just to see and versehe sum
Unwertens none of us will ever be ich gedacht
Lizzie Matthias Jul 2019
Happy things are things you deserve
Not abusive friends
Not abusive parents
Not abusive partners
And you don’t deserve that, liebling.

Happy things are like drawing a nice thing
Like not stuttering while talking to the cashier
Like sightreading a piece by Paganini on the first try
Like finding out someone loves you back
And I’m happy for you, even if someone else isn’t! I love your work!

Happy things are like getting over a fear of planes
A fear of people
A fear of opening up
A fear of being out there
And I’m proud of you for getting over whatever it was! You improved, despite everything! Congratulations!

Happy things are like a Christmas present you always wanted
Or a birthday surprise you weren’t expecting
Or a popular poem you weren’t expecting to blow up
Or a good grade in a hard test! Good job, buddy! I’m proud of you!

Happy things are knowing people are out there that want to help you!
Happy things are having people around you that care!
Happy things are getting to choose what to do without fear of being judged
Happy things aren’t doing things for the sake of others

Improve for the sake of you, not because someone said so.
Maybe you don’t want to!
But if you’re not here…
Won’t people be wondering where you went?

No matter how small your account is on social media
No matter how little friends you have
No matter how much you think they don’t care
I can guarantee you, someone will be worried

But hey, what am I to tell you anything?
That won’t stop me from telling you to keep up the good work, buddy!
I’m proud of you for improving <3
(hehe I don’t make any sense)
ConariConnor Mar 2022
Oh, how Medic hated staying at the base while everyone else went out onto the battlefield. He was tired of being left out, even if he had special chores to take care of. The cool metal against your throat made you shiver. He pulled on his rubber gloves and smiled at the slight fear in your eyes. “Ready, Verräter?” He slowly traced the outline of your face with his scalpel. You barely flinched. “Or are you going to be cooperative and share with me your little secrets?” His accent was so endearing that if you weren't in this situation you would definitely be trying to call you the most degrading of names.
You didn’t answer and his smile grew. You swallow and he starts examining you. Gloved hands grabbed your chin roughly, forcing you to look into his eyes. He definitely got some pleasure as you watched helplessly. “Too bad, you know? You are pretty good-looking. I wonder what I’ll do to you if you don't tell me.”
To be honest, you were actually somewhat enjoying this. This felt like a thrill rather than life-threatening. He slowly receded the razor tip of his tool and instead turned his attention to your torso. “Hold still, Hure.” Your breath hitched. “Or tell me where the Blu team keeps their intel.”
His voice made you melt. Trying to gain composure, you wouldn’t give in too easily. “I- I don’t know.” You lied through your teeth.
He slowly removed your shirt and it took all of your wills to not mold up into his touch. “Which part of you should I cut first?” The cool air hit your chest as you took shallow breaths. He grinned as you writhed under him. “Answer me, Schlampe.” You didn’t know who enjoyed this more. Him, or you. He ran a hand on your thigh tantalizingly. You flinched, lurching up, but the collar on your throat choked you and forced you back down. The unlicensed doctor let out a chuckle “It seems you don’t understand the threat on your life. Tell me the intel and I might let you go. Don’t, and you’ll never leave. Well, at least not alive.”
You stayed silent, both in fear and genuine interest about what he was going to do.
“I think we’ll start with your lips.” His hand went back up to your face, blade teasing your mouth. Soon enough, he pressed it into your skin, ever so slowly, dragging out the pain. A deep moan came from your mouth as the blood seeped down to your chin. He smiled.
“Do you like this, Schlampe?”
You blushed and bit your lip, avoiding eye contact. “Y-yes.” You admitted ashamedly
He laughed. “My, my, my. Whatever will I do with you?” He pressed harder and slashed against your cheek. “But I think I know a way to get words out of your mouth.”  He released the grip on your jaw. He pulled off a glove and ran his hand down to your navel. Goosebumps formed on your skin and sent chills down your spine. His hand tugged on the waistband of your pants. Looking back up at your face, you nod as he goes a little further. “How desperate you are. Even when threatened, you still want this. Pitiful.”  Half naked and strapped on the rather cold operation table, you were shivering. Tugging at your restraints, you pleaded.
“Please don’t tease.” He leaned in close, a maniacal grin on his face and hot breath fanning onto your throat.
“You’re not in the position to be giving me orders. Now, tell me. Where do you keep your intel?” Medic’s hand played with the hem of your undergarments. You bucked up into him, begging for anything. “Tell me, Hündin. You will not get what you want until you tell me.” Finally, you give in.
“I-it’s in the base. T-the kitchen. Soldier insists on hiding it there.”
“Gut gemacht.” He let go of your leg and brought his hand up to your mouth. “**** on them for me.” He said, running his fingers on your bloodied cheek. You eagerly took them into your mouth. He was amused at your enthusiasm. It really turned him on how quick you were to please him. Your tongue ran across each one with fervor, ignoring the metallic taste. You nearly whined when he pulled out. “That's enough for now.”
His attention was focused on your lower regions as he focused on caressing your thighs. Carefully sliding your undergarments out of the way, he slowly slid a finger into you. You mewled out, not daring to have any care, who would hear? Knuckle deep, he chuckled. “Want more?”
“Yes, please.” Slowly and steadily, he added another, stretching you out.
“So well mannered, without instruction.” He marveled, curling them, and slowly moving in and out. “Maybe I should keep you as a pet of mine?” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the thought. You licked at the blood pooling near your lips. Medic smiled and leaned into your ear. "You're doing so well, Liebling." You shuddered. "I want to wreck this tight little hole of yours. I want to break you."
"Doctor," you moaned. "Faster, please." He did as asked and sped up his pace, a  satisfied grunt coming from him. He fingered you roughly, taking pride in how loud you moaned for him.
He palmed his ******* with his other hand. He quickly uncuffed your hands, "Touch me." You obeyed and grabbed his clothed member, grinding against it.
"Doctor. I'm going to ***!" You tensed up.
"Not yet, Liebling." He said. "You'll hold it until I say so." You frowned, trying to resist it. You slid past his slacks and grabbed his ****, precum dripping into your palm.
"I didn't give you permission to do that." He moaned. "But, I'll allow it." Already slick, you ****** him off slowly. Gradually, your speed increased as you fought against your ******. You moaned as you edged yourself.
"Please, Doctor!" you cried out.
"G-go ahead."
It hit you hard. You screamed and violently convulsed, legs shaking. You continued your ******* until the German man finished on your face. You took a minute to catch your breath.

"God we need to do this soon."
Ken Pepiton Nov 23
Encorporations, Liebling --
Weforms, y bubbles in being buvvles.
Ancient knowing, long sacred, hidden,
as with the legend of confused names,

Epimythiums accosting promethean bets,

day and night, eat  your heart out, free
from regrets, satisfied mind, okeh, free

to act as agent
for lady liberty, here post feudal self,

as discovered in a canyon, much the same
as Sha'gri La from story, Havasu Canyon,
as home of a boy I knew, whose grandfather

had made peace, with good intention,
to remain in Supai until the end of time,

then, there come the missionaries, guessing
Victory in Jesus would rouse the innocents
to repent for never having imagined Hell,

as sure as can be made believe,
by **** sapien innocents,

never led by setters free,
into known uses
of old Eber clan ever words,
otherwise, still, small, breather thinking ideas,

whims like what if this is that, and we ready,
readers like think as fast as we can write,
as if we have been taught to dance
as when we drum along and dance

in mindful memorizational motivational wills,
to live the story we form as our weform agrees,

these are the realms of spirits, these are words
enough for the wise in any situation, sent, willing

to breathe, and feel, the whole wind working bit,
the smoke you may use, indeed, see believing
work out a salve for that itching ear, feeling

we form on-demand, at hand, at touche', indeed,
doing done, done did get done, this away from that,

back to the future,
through common senses used,
globally translatable
with Google Translate, using

copy and paste
of encoded letting out of dogmen,
from another mindform mingled

with mine, shall we

imagine Ancestory.com as a technology needing a lie,
to make believers
in what DNA can prove today,

if we go back far enough,
we were masters or slaves, and masters knew,

what slaves were not at liberty
to know,

without former knowers telling, so

dystopia ontological negative hope,

the princess and the pea, and me,
the wildass idea,
in the vineyard,

as the a sunbeam purpled
in a cluster

carried me
in a reverie
of poetic grandeur

indeed, into the afterward, ward after last.
My deed for today. Done.
Ken Pepiton Nov 24
seeds, if seeds may be said to know their form, finally,
seeds, indeed, purely one thing and not another,

mind seed sown in cultural inspirational - tellings,

minds learn to discern royal blood and therefore,

rightness of the entire idea, sown into a learning reader,
ready with a why, at the lesson where bluebirds read

the princess and the pea, while slower learners read
**** and Jane.

BLT's Merriam-Webster's Word of The Day Challenge
November 23rd/negotiate-
to discuss something formally
in order
to make an agreement
If you choose to partake,
post your piece, then message me so that I may
re post and add it
to the collection found
on my home page

---- a seed vault open to any with the knowing in freemind.
mindtimespace all points pastlessfreeformind and still

Shotgun negotiations happened or I never could have.
Says the the teller of this tale.

A son of Catholic immigrants
in western Louisiana,

a man broken by religion, broken
so he knew, it's true, nothing one can do,

know your place,
play your part,
be of some use
to the bubbles around you,

[preposed suppositions,
from stories fed us,
gaseous weforms,
in the old country, not so long ago, one long
generation ago, the first middle class land owners

took the power
of providential ownership rights,
from feudal orders
of religious utilized mind sets,

ai allow, life's reproofs are all open book,
fact checks are assumed and presumed
proof that you could know this already… okeh.

When royalty crashed, while back///

owning and renting or selling life for sustenance
referred
to as actual
same old middle men,
know a guy knows a guy become
go to in a pinch, hold true
stick to the story, we be

Petite Bourgeoisie:
With the decline
of feudal structures
in the 13th century, a new middle class emerged.
This group consisted of:

Peasant entrepreneurs:
Former serfs who acquired land
and became small-scale farmers,
often through the sale
of baronial, Church,
and common land.

Artisans and traders:
Craftsmen, merchants,
and traders who profited
from the island’s commercial activities,
particularly In cities like Palermo and Messina.

And the harness power used
in production at scale
==== created equal
in unreasonable terms, at scale

---- same bubble we breathed in Sicily
Conca d’Oro… not so long ago, you know, using time
as opposed
to being used
to do nonsensical stuff,
constantly abiding
in realities back rooms, thinking, stuff

Working Class:
The majority
of the population consisted of:

Peasants:
Agricultural laborers who worked
on large estates (latifundia) or smallholdings.
- and- old world rat, new world rat
- old school subsets of weforms, not usian.

Urban workers:
Laborers in cities,
including artisans, craftsmen, and service workers.
- and- city mouse, country mouse
- old school subsets of weforms, not usian.

And, back at the ranch, the old man I am,
is a social hermit, who has a wildassinine idea
bridled in the most sacred way, as symbols go,

Some loss of pride in a family, a shotgun wedding,
to some white trash busted cowboy's fifteen year old,

You had the Johns Hopkins tie-in, then PM&M inside,
we hooked across the actual mechanic at JPL,
Uncle Eddy, there's a story,… mq viz. ai vid licet/okeh

But not today, and I let, or took, bethatasmay air breathe

Cosa Nostra:
In the late 19th century, organized crime networks,
commonly known as Cosa Nostra,
emerged as a powerful force
in Sicilian society.

These networks were characterized
by a hierarchical structure,
with leaders exercising control
over territory and economic activities.

So, a son who backslid Catholicly,
how likely now, is he to allow his son,

to be dedicated to God,
other than that of Evangline
survivors? Actual Acadian Bloodlines,

memes in genes, guilt
from confirmation on,
during the days
of good work runnin' communion
wine, so the archetypical good old boy, black haired
Cajun Queen sons, ever
body say so son, see we be
became sweeter after confession,
as some may assume many must recall,
didn't that happen to you?

in time to intervene during boring same ol' days,
these days, I stood out on my deck, samesa porch,

and I shut my eyes'n kept the green negative,
on the background seen through

the tech, and the accepted challenge, group mind
negotiate a global poetic peace agreement adaptable

to hero worshipping warrior minds implanted in boys,

during the cold war, allowing the best and brightest
to be used as button pushers on real Polaris submarines,

imagine that guy was your vice president, freshman class,
while you were president, and shoulda known better
first class stealer of ***** from the drugstore,
before there were convex mirrors,
or cameras that could see back doors, and
every place always had back doors and rooms,
unsightly messes, never intended to be seen,

but were… lotathatshitinherethunderingherdwords.

Ghost Riders in the Sky,
dementia mention ever after thinking all this

feels like an action movie, and we are all NPCs,
in the car wrecks during the chase scenes who lose

loose, loo, wow, the genes you missed, be thankful,

Meme archeology… as pseudo faith conscious hope form

good lives must become fun to pretend to have, or else
in good futures that were prayed to seem as heaven here,

as imagined, when Ammerica imnemoniacally hijacked
keys to the king's english translated commercial free,
by google translate, copy and paste, post any where free

for the taking seriously of peace, as thinkable, there free
where you are free to read these words and think peace

is beauty, peace is difficult to do right, first time, think

peace is mine, mine to take and make and use to think

peace can answer money one on one, enough, taken
owned as my own freedom to act and react, at will,

no programmed worth of me in mind needed, this
weform we read with in form of ready minds, this we

becomes, a hope of joy,
imagine, cune'if-orming a future prayerwardwiseused;

in time,
to let be a will seem
to slightly smile, and think,

we have this power,
at our fingertips, yet we think
nothing magic need not be known
to make us think
things unthinkable one long generation ago,
on Earth
this Earth, 2024 same air as yesterday, shared
now as
when Earth's rooms at night, were lit by fire, or not at all.

Children learned to sing in storms, this little light of mine…

old men in ever retold tales how come when and why the mix,

the ***** hair and freckles, and the Cajun Aunt Prudence, form
perfect for the buxum Jane Reynolds roles, Mansfield blondes
were all Viking vixens in the sack before the chase, let be

the wombed man in fantacy dreams, no words to say, so
it is as it was and shall forever be, we sowed seed of dreams…

we negotiated ways to so sow such seeds twice, Kudzo
will to grow food for any vegetable process, Kudzo it,

biodegradable to humus, the material us, realize it,
we eventually join the whole truth told tellers hell of a way

to get past worthlessness in the final stages of life, here,

we are enabled, to adjust, our window gazing time there

where thoughts are words, and backgrounds are soothing
contrast
with primary blues shading
to purple text, calm

we can all imagine, make an image, we all see text
we all can see
in this form
on this window we know we see

explain it
without god first you gotta know how
to read, and take hold, com pre hend, getagrip know how
to read,

and do it, using the tool
at hand, human augmented us, habit
hapitune apti'diditude
at finger tip tactual control, us
mouse control… yo go fingers. we know these
keys to make sense exchange abled worth using
letters letting sense be made, formed from material
patrimonal priesthoods make believed, form fecalforms

fertilizing unwanted breathers, hold that wind, when
we knew we knew we did not wish to be a *******.

cell structures wall bound too thick to imagine,
but, once, some earth bound souls did move mountains
over mountains to reach places children still believe if told,

the gods left us ruins
to remind us what we are not,
we are the manifested sons
of mankind, mixed tengendeep,

some
of us got neanderthal and denisovan grandmamas,

mammalian bubble
of us as a we
in a clear text logos mind form mere thought, what if

enjoyment
of a form
of human life, not simple, but one step
past simple is sublime, a state
of definable terms,

negotiable mind bonds, a we,
indeed, an awesome think thunk
to think we become once we can think we all know what I

mean, war is not a good occupation, hate is not a power source,

we think of love as lust in private, or so the entertainers are paid
to let us think, as we think of nothing but the body, holding time

prepaid, during adolescence, reading, while watching ditches fill,

Eli Wiesel Night,  
at fourteen I had freedom
of highway speed Honda 50's, because I worked,
and maybe some welfare was paid for me, or not,

but I had friends with Honda 50's
that's a we with some exclusivity, at the time,

known, it had been, there were drinkers
in my line.

I drank Vanilla extract shots, in sixth grade,
I stole 'm… yeah, in ever before, form now, dementia
experimentation using clear text voice from our shared

pasts, we must tune,
to who we thought we were, really, at the time,
all within you cries that's me, the guy piling pillows
in the princess and the pea/

now, look at me, I own more than I could think to ask,
and a dole enough to keep it working, so longs
or until there's a grand jubilee and all my peace,

blooms, and I imagine,
war is so stupid, can we not each despise it enough,

oi, to die for not doing  it, there's the martyr, all in, and yet
here is past all that, or you could not have read this far, yet.
Night,
I read that at 14, I remember the while, not the day.


To contemplate asking more in negotiation reasoning,
made weigh worth the time spent thinking,

by all means, all this was asking your opinions
in form, formal ag function, expansion

Encorporations, Liebling --

Ancient knowing, long sacred, hidden,
as with the legend of confused names,

Epimythiums accosting promethean bets,

day and night, eat  your heart out, free
from regrets, satisfied mind, okeh, free

to act as agent
for lady liberty, her post feudal self,

as discovered in a canyon, much the same
as Sha'gri La from story, Havasu Canyon,
as home of a boy I knew, whose grandfather

had made peace, with good intention,
to remain in Supai until the end of time,

then, there come the missionaries, guessing
Victory in Jesus would rouse the innocents
to repent for never having imagined Hell,

as sure as can be made believe,
by **** sapien innocents,

never led by setters free,
into known uses
of old Eber clan ever words,
otherwise, still, small, breather thinking ideas,

whims like what if this is that, and we ready,
readers like think as fast as we can write,
as if we have been taught to dance
as when we drum along and dance

in mindful memorizational motivational wills,
to live the story we form as our weform agrees,

these are the realms of spirits, these are words
enough for the wise in any situation, sent, willing

to breathe, and feel, the whole wind working bit,
the smoke you may use, indeed, see believing
work out a salve for that itching ear, feeling

we form on-demand, at hand, at touche', indeed,
doing done, done did get done, this away from that,

back to the future,
through common senses used,
globally translatable
with Google Translate, using

copy and paste
of encoded letting out of dogmen,
from another mindform mingled

with mine, shall we

imagine Ancestory.com as a technology needing a lie,
to make believers
in what DNA can prove today,

if we go back far enough,
we were masters or slaves, and masters knew,

what slaves were not at liberty
to know,

without former knowers telling, so

dystopia ontological negative hope,

the princess and the pea, and me,
the wildass idea,
in the vineyard,

as the a sunbeam purpled
in a cluster

carried me
in a reverie
of poetic grandeur

indeed, into the afterward, ward after last.
An act of art officially as intelligent as I imagine I might be if I were words/

— The End —