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the future was our skin
and now we don't dream anymore.
it's the late kind of light that feels
like an ending; the dog days are
slumbering on our font porch, but
they know that autumn is coming
and one morning not far from now
they'll wake up in the blueshadow dawn
i'm pouring blood on a dead faith
rattling drawers full of your lies
guilt and dried leaves crackling
against the wood.
and whether or not i can explain it
i think this is going to haunt us both;
your ghost has already become my shadow
and i swear someday you are going to
turn around and see mine sitting
cross-legged on your floor,
wearing that blue dress you always
loved, asking why you never
could see me until it was
every chance i didn't take IIYou tell him about your cancer on a Sunday,
in the shower of all places, in between brunch plans
and speculating about whether or not the weather
will ever get any colder - hasn't it been the strangest November?
Just the strangest.
You casually mention that somewhere
deep in the secret space between your hips
your own cells are proliferating uncontrollably,
whispering treason and passing down forgeries,
teaching each other the steps of mitosis with alarming intent.
You don't miss a beat as you drop survival percentages
mixed in with tomorrow's rain forecast
and predictions about the game later that afternoon -
easy as breathing, even as counterfeit armies
shred through the soft tissue just below
his favorite place on your spine.
And as you stand there
calmly making conversation
and sharing the last of the soap,
he watches the water
run quiet rivers
through your hair.
ephemerisi was a stargazer under new constellations, quiet
and dark below your october skies. the first rains of
the season sang tiny rivers against your window and
i shivered with the knowledge that tomorrow, the world
would never be quite as warm again. i arched my back
under the meteor shower of your kisses, feeling the
burn of their ice tails searing the curve of my neck,
and dug my fingernails into your shoulders to keep
myself from falling straight into the moonless night.
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye; hello.
Salt on the streets and a bite in the wind to remind me that leaving - no matter where or who - will always make you ache for the pieces you are leaving behind.
Just yesterday I woke up thousands of miles away with a promise of snow out the window and your body warm beneath the sheets, and felt more at home than I have in a long, long time.
I keep thinking that maybe if I sit very still, time will pass me by, and forget to take me with it.
I want too much.
Blue Monday - blue like the sky under airplane wings, like the thousands of miles between us.
I can't stop singing or writing, wringing art from a stone.
I can't believe it's been one week since I kissed a blue-eyed 2014 hello, walked out into the cold night, brave as a sunrise, your hand held tightly in mine.
I met a boy in (Vegas, Austin, Memphis, Mississippi, Houston, New York); a boy from (Jamestown, Amarillo, C
if i am ever lost, look for me in grand central station. i'll be whispering into the arches or searching the constellation'd ceiling for that one red tile, just like you taught me, our dark hair thrown back like children. i'll be resting my bones under vaulted ceilings on the cool marble, eyes always on the arrivals, hoping that one day i might see your name.
if i am ever lost, look for me in central park. find me in the green heart of the steel city, soft wood and cold stones. i'll be talking to the homeless man who blessed me as i passed, asking him to teach me what it feels like to lose everything.
if i am ever lost, look for me in the place where the trains sleep. i'll be laying between the trestles in a bed of day-old newspapers and discarded metro tickets, listening to their dreams about journeys with no end, travelers with no destination.
all it washe talked about her whiskey voice
with the desperation of a man
clinging to the last drop
when he talked about her cancer
i saw the stars come out
behind his head
too low to hang onto
too bright not to feel
and everything was on fire
and nothing was the same
emptinessand i can feel you / sometimes / like a second skin
i can feel you / free and laughing / beautiful
/ and wild
while i shrink and sink /
under the crushing weight of air
and i can feel /
the stretch of state lines /
pulling taut / against my ribcage
miles / and miles of darkness /
as i swell to take you in
a deep sloshing emptiness
/ rocking slow /
like all the rivers
running cold / into the arms of the sea
the fighter (pt 2)I.
but damn if there isn't anything sexier
than a blue-eyed boy with a handgun
whiskey drunk and swinging for the stars
breaking bones and homes and hearts
hands dripping galaxies and blood
i loved the black ink on your hip
the pink scars on your wrists
your name still on my lips
white pickup leaving tire tracks
deep as canyons in my skin
Open Letter (To My Sister)Open Letter (To My Sister)
Dear Little Big Sister,
First off, you’re freaking awesome and amazing and hilarious and an incredible giver of the nickname. Okay, now that that’s out of the way, onto the actual letter.
I debated back ‘n’ forth on prose, free verse, spoken word, and traditional poetry to use as a birthday gift for my little big sister (Yes, an oxymoron but we’re weird, trill, and epic like that. Deal with it.). And I thought to myself, “Man…I’m gonna go Kanye and just be like, ‘Forget that old ish, I’m on that new ish.’” And that new ish is open letters. Munira, my little big sister and Souljournalist, I love you. I love you for your creativity, I love you for your honesty, I love you for your heart, and I love you for your kindness.
You are an inspiration, a creator, and one hell of a thinker. You are an artist and you inspire me every day with all that you are and o
Being HumanDear You,
I believe that we were not destined to die,
nor born to. I believe that we were born to
be dropped into the cesspool that is life, and
destined to cause ripples. The ripples, of
course, will eventually fade, but it's what
you do when life is still rippling that makes a
small difference in this world. Because let's
face it: one can only be remembered for so
long. Eventually, we will perish, along with
the ones who tried to keep us alive.
It's not a pessimistic thought, per se. Think
of yourself leaving behind a chain of memories
which will be worn down and forgotten over
time, but kept in pristine condition. The bonds
you created with others will be strong, not
malleable, to the point of closure. I hope you
built your chains strong enough, because only
a few will be left to tend to them when you're
This letter is written from and signed to you
because I finally understand your message.
Cherish your eleven p.m. shots of night,
because some day soon you won't be able
Dear Linda.Dear Linda,
I just wanted you to know that I really loved the way you asked me how I was doing last night. It wasn't unusual, but instead of saying "good" I decided to reply with an "alright." And you gave me this look and said, "Why are you just alright? You're supposed to be good!" And you got me to tell you why I wasn't feeling up to par like I wanted you to. You saw that pleading look in my eyes and questioned it.
And I just wanted you to know that one day hasn't passed by in two years when I haven't thought of you specifically. You're years older than me but you might actually be the closest friend I've ever had, because you're funny, really insane, so sweet, and you ask me about my day instead of rambling about yours.
And I want you to know that you mean the world to me.
And I love how you can be so serious and stoic sometimes, and focus so intently on things, and then turn around and say something absolutely nuts the next moment and just laugh at yourself
#welcomehomephilOkay guys we need you more than ever.
We (:iconlittlephilosaur: and i) want to get #welcomehomephil trending on twitter0 PHIL IS ON HIS PLANE. all you have to do is tweet using the hashtag 'welcomehomephil' AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE. spreading the message to any of your followers would also be lovely!
If you do this, i'll be so grateful. I'll do a request, i'll do follow back or whatever, but PLEASE, get #welcomehomephil trending!
thanks guys xx
In realitySchool freaking sucks as well. The thing to remember is - I know, when you're there it feels like it's never going to end and you'll be there forever and all, but it's only there until you're... what... 20 at the most? and then you walk out of that area of your life and seriously, you'll never look back. The people you hang around with right now will be a blip in your memory. Yeah you'll remember some of your lessons - that's what education is for, but even your grades won't matter massively. This doesn't mean you should slack and skive off or anything, everything you do at school now shows future employees what you're like at working so the better you do, the better you prove you are a learner and the more you show up, the less likely you are to skive off work and that's important.
But these shitty friends won't mean a thing to you very soon, they'll be a part of your past life that is in the back of your mind. You're so close to the end, it's just this final push, these last few year
A Message to My Future SelfA message to my future self.
I write to you myself in the near future, to remind you of the mistakes you made in your life. Remember to avoid buying Half-Life 3, I know it will come out, people say it won't, but I know it will be! If you get a million dollars, buy out our politicians to make them do whatever you want for your benefit. Don't meet, and befriend assholes, remember that stupid girl Emma? God I was naive into being her friend, she was such a bitch. That's one mistake I wish to fix, you better not make another friend like her, or you'll regret it! Are you still doing that story with Robert? Remember to come up with a lot of ideas for whatever you two do. Oh, and you're still rping with Anna? I hope so.
Sincerely, your past self.
European Friendalex are you really being my wellwisher..do europeans really like me? am i useful to you...dont worry friend, i wont try to be white wannabe if you dont really like me...I will stay out in my country...will forget petra if you hate me,,,I have already been hurt a lot...i cant bear more stress and heartbreak as a human...i have a family that in some ways do consider me a son...i ned a life..
Why I love WeatherI'm writing this, not as Penguinator24, but as Patrick Simpson, future weatherman (hopefully).
I've always had a special connection with the weather, ever since I was young. My mom's told me multiple times that when I could walk, during the weather on WAND 17 (Decatur, IL), I'd walk to the TV and point at it. When I started learning how to read and write, everything I did pretty much revolved around the weather. Soon, everyone knew I loved weather. They, came my first grade year. I got to meet my hero, the Late Bob Murray. Meeting him at family reading night meant so much to me. To this day, I still consider him my single biggest influence in wanting to be a weatherman. I'll give you a secret, when we'd get severe storms when I was younger, I'd get so nervous that I'd get sick. This hit me hard about 15 years ago, when my hometown was nearly hit by a tornado, i threw up due to me being so nervous. Now, I don't get sick, but I do still get quite nervous when it comes to severe storms. W
wrapped in your name is a hundred games of hide and seek, afternoon tea parties, and the squiggles of letters as i taught you to read goodnight moon and if you give a mouse a cookie. we were ten dirtstained fingers, one broken arm, four firefly eyes, two dark heads bowed as if in prayer over your broken-syllabled benediction.
every shopping cart is a cage from when we were wolves caught in the grocery store, growling at strangers until our mother made us get out and walk. the nightlight still plugged into the corner socket glows with every breath you took as you fell asleep when they moved your crib into my room.
one day at school they told you the rainforests were disappearing, and you hid in your bunkbed and cried for hours. when i finally found you, you made me promise we would both give our entire allowance to protect the trees. we washed our hands and said grace and ate dinner, and you never stopped caring about beautiful things.
i taught you how to read, and
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More