It’s another “create” week, and I’m in Arizona!
Category: Poetry
I’m no poet… and I know it
So the night before last there was this writer’s open mic night. I attended. I read two poems. One about Bart and one about peeing. Apparently, everyone liked them. I got third place. And that’s dangerous. Continue reading “I’m no poet… and I know it”
Darling
For those of you who attended the writer’s open mic tonight, this is what came out of those frantic scribblings you witnessed. Continue reading “Darling”
MJ (mary jane michael jackson more juice)
I won third place at a writer’s open mic night today. This is all I remember about the experience.
Continue reading “MJ (mary jane michael jackson more juice)”
Puzzling
A billion splintered pieces
Some from the same picture
Some from a new one
Hold the shards in your hand
Clench
Feel the piercing in your palm
Watch the thin trickles of blood seep through your fingertips
And then put it all back together.
Maybe it will be something beautiful
But you can’t shake the feeling
That there are a few pieces
That will always be missing.
A rant of poetic proportions
Hello, college
Why yes, I would
love
to major in creative writing.
But what?
You have no freshman classes for me?
That’s fine, I’ll just take a-
Wait. What do you mean,
you don’t have any freshman english classes?
None?
I could understand no creative writing
I have to earn that.
But none at all?
None?
Zero?
That word strikes fear into my heart
Like Chase the creeper velociraptor
(thanks Chad).
But thank you,
college,
for offering ultimate frisbee as a class.
There may be space in my heart
to forgive you.
A short, short story.
And so she strolled quietly the cracked brick road. With the memories of the lost souls that once walked here floating around her. A tear slowly slipped her cheek. It was not cold but, considering the lace shawl and night gown she was wearing, it seemed freezing. Slowly she walked entrancently into what had once been the town’s square. She looked at the town and all it’s memories. The only thing that was still intact was a bench on which she sat and slowly gazed at the world around her. She was home again.
Questions, comments, likes, dislikes, advice?
The story is 92 words for those of you who care.
Billboards
You are the same
Just like everyone else
The same clothes
Off the same shelves
The same names plastered
Across your chests
You feel powerful
You think it’s the best
You pay to be a billboard
Conformist to the peak
But something no one knows
Is that conformity is weak
I buy my clothes cheaper
They look the same as yours
But still you turn away from me
A strong, opposing force
I’m different and you hate it
But inside you know it’s true
That at the end of all your days
I shop smarter than you
Such a Mess
Just one phone call
It’s better than what it could have been
But in itself, it sucks
Just as bad
Why did it happen?
should I be worried?
Should I be afraid?
What else am I supposed to say?
What else am I supposed to do?
Suicide won’t sovle
I’m glad he saved your life
I don’t know what I’d do
If someone else had made that call,
With different news.
you have no idea
Human disease
What have we come to?
Money fills you up with greed
Together we stand weaker
We are the human disease
Trashing all the forests
But not replanting the seed
Fouling up the ozone
We are the human disease
Some think they’re better than others
Most think they’re better than me
Stereotypes lead to suicide
We are the human disease
Not knowing what we’re meant to do
A ring with all the wrong keys
Searching for a purpose
We are the human disease
Material things important
The group who is crowded has three
Everyone feels alone all the time
We are the human disease