One
I lost it
Two
I found it
Three
I gave it away
Four
You threw it
Five
I caught it
Six
I dropped it
Seven
It rolled away
Eight
It fell
Nine
It fell
Ten
It fell
Eleven
It went crash.
a writing community for teens
One
I lost it
Two
I found it
Three
I gave it away
Four
You threw it
Five
I caught it
Six
I dropped it
Seven
It rolled away
Eight
It fell
Nine
It fell
Ten
It fell
Eleven
It went crash.
Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.
you girl you made of ice and glass you bird bone girl ice and snowflakes and ivory and lace pale pale mirror glass girl Girl you little girl so pretty with such fine white hair you went walking in a white white dress silver shoes and blue black ribbons you so cold you frosted branch girl walking dancing dancing snowglobe snow falls falls on you girl crescent moon girl eyes so wide so full of wind and snow no eyes can be so white bright so pale not star eyes not snow hare spiderweb eyes who ever heard of eyes made of white stone.
Categories: Poetry.
POCKET DICTIONARY
obscure words living damply under logs
growing in the dark
with woodlice fungus termites and rot
and many of them die there too-
living and dying in sunless oblivion
wax wane wane wax Circles
on circles on circles
animate ambulant words running circles in my head
ambulant is a laid back word despite its
implications a mellow word in grey
and marmalade supine even
supine is syrupy and muted but
almost surreally purple with a metallic sheen
and not at all golden supine so heavy
almost brobdingnagianly so
brobdingnagian isn’t comfortable to say
like uttering stumbling line of ants it stutters
off the tongue letters coming in twos and
threes
ratatatat a shining drum with shining
sticks oompahoompah
listen to the marching band
wood wood wood wood woad road road
a bumpy road of letters
road woad wood wood woodlice termites
fungus and rot
they grow and they die and they
rot
rot
rot
COLORFUL POEM IN MONOCHROME
one tile grey
two tile grey
three tile grey
tiles and tiles and tile grey
grey like sun in the mist
grey like open doors
grey like a surgically clean lab
grey like being first awake
and watching the darkness all around
grey like flowers
grey like refrigerator hums
grey like ice and candle smoke and butter
grey like the tree
and grey like the lichen
grey like the only shoes that are truly loved
grey like lollipops in a shop window
also grey
grey like green and red and blue
grey like ghosts caught on doorknobs
grey like grey faces passing in a
grey grey hall
grey like raw salmon
grey like a paper cut
grey like thunderclaps and a dog hidden
under a couch
grey like wishing
like a truth cut neatly in two
like birthday party balloons
like a contradiction
grey like dust on my tongue
and like hope
grey like the lichen, yes
even grey like the lichen
and four tile grey
a dream of autumn leaves
autumns leaves
and lichen…
a dream of all the colors in grey
UNEARTHED
stones
and
bones and
rocks
and
stones
dear little skull
covered up with ivy
i bless it
with leaves
and dirt
and stones
baptism of bones
with stones
and the casting of stones
leads to the bones
though they are read
it is really a baptism of
stones
with bones
stones
and bones
and dust
and time
bones
unto
stones
unto
dust
unto
bones…
time growing old in the bones
of the hills (whish happen to be stones
themselves)
look at the land
there is a surface that rises and falls
and shifts with the seasons
and below are the
bones
which have come home to the
stones
WORDS NOT SPOKEN
these little words see too much
these little words are swift to go
these little words dont wear mittens
these little words row on row
sunflower words say hurry hurry
rainflower words say slow and slow
moonflower words are very quiet
moonflower words say yes or no
they little words in red and ivy
she little words say maybe so
he little words munch almond brittle
we little words tend that which grows
these little words so pretty pretty
these little words say yes and no
you little words may mourn my passing
i little words just maybe so
KINGDOM
Kingdoms 1
all around me
without boundaries or
division between
trunks and branches and leaves
just wholeness
but each wholeness unique
different in a thousand ways from
any other
I don’t want to see people again
just drinking in the wealth surrounding me
wondering if I will ever be so wise as
trees
falling into patterns
the cracks and swirls of bark
names written in the nets of branches
so far away
emblazoned on the sky
but reachable
now climbing
stickiness on my fingertips
so still now-
so still a robin lands on my head
trees
surrounding me
trees and the smell of pine
Kingdoms 2
silver trees with yellow leaves
teased by breezes
or yellow trees with sliver…?
enough and enough
too many silvers to behold
the silver trees
and silver stars
stars nestled in the grass
stars burst by the hoof of a one
antlered deer
and grey trees with lichen cloaks
there are brown trees with red branches
by the river and
dark trees with white branches
red trees with green branches
white trees with black branches
and golden leaves…
stars and stars and the
silver grasses
strewn with leaves-
yellow, red, green, brown, purple and black silver silver silver black red and green
like stars
stars in silver red
red
silver black
and blue
WILD GIRL
Be wild
Be wild
and
shy
and
free
Be the wind
Be a fish and a hundred
thousand gallons of
sea
Be a sail and a kite without
tethers
Be breaths
Be a secret and a striped
honey bee and a parachuting dandelion
seed
Be hidden
Be a dozen dancing moons
and a mirror- but not
both at once
Be loudly joyous and
solemn by turns
Be olive trees -
a whole
grove of them
Be an orange hermit
crab
Be a crow
Be a hail of arrows
Be lonely
Be a stone and a
shoe and a gentle
shimmering
Snail
Be wood grain and
the smell of coffee
Be vanilla beans
Be wild: be a green branch
Above all, be
wild
WILD
WILD!!!
Categories: Poetry.
AN: A story I started awhile back and have had in WE drafts since before September of this year, I think. “Ever” is, for now, a place holder title, but it could possibly end up being the title. We’ll see. And I may end up making the prologue longer . . . we’ll see again
And for now I’m not sure that this is fantasy fiction – it may just stay fiction. We’ll see about that too (yes, that’s a lot of “we’ll see’s”)
Well, hope you enjoy! Remember to critique and be brutally honest! =) Over and out, Myth
The only way I have survived these long, lonely years is because of my friend the sycamore tree. It is out in the yard, and I love to climb right up to the top and rest in its branches. I can tell it of all my problems, and it just sways me gently in the breeze as if to soothe me. It never shouts at me, runs away from me, or teases me. It just listens and sways.
You see, I live in an orphanage. I have lived here since a few days after I was born, or so I’m told. My earliest memories are of this place.
The children make fun of me and the orphanage caretakers loathe me. I can’t remember the last kind word I heard.
I have one green eye and one brown eye. I have milk-white skin and hair black as crow feathers. I am emaciated; skin stretched taut over protruding bones.
All in all, I’m no beauty to look at. People are afraid of my oddly colored eyes, calling me “witch” or “devil’s child”. No one has ever shown interest in adopting me, and I doubt that anyone will. They take one look at my eyes and then they look away. Were the orphanage not afraid of getting in trouble for letting devil spawn roam about, it would have thrown me out on the streets long ago.
What can I do about all of this? Nothing. I’m a child and I have strange eyes—I might as well be mute, because I certainly don’t get to use the voice I have.
I wonder who my mother was—the woman that named me and then left me here. Was she afraid to keep me because of my eyes? Was she afraid I really was possessed, some sort of dark evil?
I sigh, wishing I could know why. I wish, I wish, I wish. But wishing won’t help me to know.
My name is Ever, and I am ten years old. I have always been alone and I fear I always shall be.
But I am no devil’s child. I am no witch.
I am just a human being who wants to feel a mother’s gentle touch. Who wants to hear a kind word. Who wants to know . . . she is loved. That she does have purpose and meaning.
But I know, deep down, that this can never be. Who could love someone like me?
So I remain Ever, the girl who has never been loved, and the girl who never will be.
And this is my story.
Categories: Fiction, Historical Fiction.
clean
edges peeling
flat and cold
metal feet like hard suction cups
clamped onto the floor, sucking, sucking,
three desks,
these desks
look like they’re stepping back and waiting
wary
knowing they could be leapt upon
initials carved like tattoos into their wood flesh,
gum jammed in their crevices, in their wrinkles
like the curves of the inside of elbows,
legs.
pen and pencil and nail-polish
scarring their faces, their flat, cold faces,
this they must endure,
frozen, still, no revenge,
never to move a sore limb
away from the bite of pocket knife.
this they must endure,
this they know
and obey.
Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.
We are learning to love pink.
We are the fragile sac inside the eggshell,
pale transparent, holding a yellow sunrise
inside our bodies. Becoming women.
As we cease trying to be old
we become more than a child.
I am sometimes a child.
I stare at my naked stomach, curved and pink,
and the wrinkles in my palms like being old.
I feel the cool white shell
ready to crack and burst forth the woman,
and let the sun rise.
Sometimes I have already risen
Not a child, but unafraid of being a child
I am large and beautiful and a woman,
My fingernails clear, my cheeks pink.
The shattered smooth fragments of shell
on the linoleum floor are tiny and old.
I wish I could stay risen. The idea is old
I am brilliant at dreaming of the rise
as I tap weakly at the blank shell
cosy around me, remaining a child,
determined to hate pink,
pink is for children. Make me a woman.
I sit in the kitchen, not a woman,
ticking black hands and blue digital making me old
but not grown up. On the table the tulips are pink
I’m tired of hating them. I rise
walk out onto an unromantic wood porch, a child,
splinters in my shell.
Splinter by splinter peels away my shell,
the only way to become a woman.
As much as I wish for a great crack to erase the child,
it is splinter by splinter until I am old.
We must learn to be patient for the yellow sun to rise
We are learning to love pink.
The eggshell will shatter, leaving me large and bare and pink,
a small old self will cry for safety, but I’ll never be child again.
Splattered in yellow suns, we’ll rise, too alive to be anything but women.
Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.
*crickets chirp*
Helloooooooooooooooo out there . . . anybody hooooome? Did all the WEers go to Mars? *whispers*
Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P.
Summer spills her flaming glow,
her sun blessed skin so fair,
And Autumn spins about the trees,
his golden clothes that flare
Spring now skips about the ring,
her morning light a dare
That says to Old Man Winter,
come and be ensnared
Categories: Poetry.
Every time the sky goes black,
the evening sword strikes hard,
and grinning mist dances above,
the ground like dreamy ghosts
Every time the sky goes black,
the white doves fly away,
the sun still burning, so far gone,
the nightly owls scream
Every time the sky goes black,
the darkness like a quilt,
I lay my head upon the bed,
and wait for dreams to take
Categories: Poetry.
-Even the Strong Are Broken-
Even the strong fail
Even my heart ails
You save those who cry
But for me you just walk by
You think I’m strong
But you’ve got it all wrong
Inside me tears burn
My heart desperately yearns
Please see this hidden fight
Behind the barriers i hide
Pull me out now
Because I don’t know how
Every day I smile
But really all the while
Deep down I’m crumbling to the ground
My soul is broken down
I try to be there for you
But I’m blinded by my own sorrow
I sit here in tears
Cowering behind my fears
Do you not see me?
Heavily in need
For someone to be a friend
Who wont just leave in the end.
~Flame~
Categories: I'M TO LAZY TO CORRECTLY CATAGORIZE MY STORY!!!!!!!!!! :P, Poetry.
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