I wish I existedI am just the soundThe old radio playsStatic and songsNeither good nor badNobody notices when it's turned offAnd I wish so hard that I existed.I am just the shadowSitting in the cornerNo eyes see meAs I watch the gamesPool, ping-pong, darts,Shouting, laughterBut no eyes see meAnd I wish so hard that I existedI am just the girlfriendObligatory lumpOn the boyfriend's sideDo his thingsMeet his needsAnd I wish so hard that I existedBut I don't
Imbolic 2007Midwinter's moonlaying lowjust above the treesOpen, full and widespilling lightfilling the whole earthMoondrops roll gentlydripping from the dark breastsand round belliesof the mountainspooling deep in the meadowsHeavy moon-drenched snowweighing the low tree's branches
Finding Beauty 01I was out looking for the perfect violet. I though I had found one, and had just picked it, it's stem sturdy and strong in my hands, when I found Her laying in a bed of fresh green aspen leaves, their round, slightly serrated edges framing the bright fallen-leaf copper of her curling hair. Her pale face peaked in a sharp little chin. Her long, pale lashes fell on round cheeks that shined with the matte glow of a fresh-fallen yellow apple. And then I saw her wings. Transparent as a dragonfly's, they draped gracefully over her narrow back, mingling with the aspen leaves. Each had an infinitely delicate vein system in crystalline-shimmering gold, and where the veins became to small to see, I couldn't really tell if her wing was there until a slight movement made the light refract off them in a golden sparkling rainbow. I could have watched her sleeping forever, but, clumsy I, I stepped on the smallest of dry twigs, snapping it loudly.
I am the WriterI am the writer.With word as my artI draw picturesacross white paper.Smooth sentencesflow like waterfrom my fingertipsacross the keyboardonto a blank screen.I am the writer.With my wordsnations are foundedor crumble.I am the writer!The great mageswait my commandand all their magicis mine to use.It is my decisionwho will live and die,the world waitsholding their breath!I am the writer!And then I wake upand I'm nobody again.
DancingDancing by myselfwearing my favorite jeans and an itty bitty shirtand jasmine perfumewith the music so loudsinging alongwatching myself reflected in the windowand my shadow on the floorbecause there's nobody else aroundand it feels good to be me.But then you're hereand our bodies once as sure as twining snakesare strangersfull of elbows and kneesawkward anglesand blind mistakesmy rhythm is gonethe music lost in meaningless noise.Your eyes find mineand your hands guide my hipsinto a new rhythmgentler than the firstguide me to a music quieterthat only we can hearand we are nothing but two vinesgrowing on the same treeindistinguishable from each other.Then you're gone and by myself againWearing dirty jeans and your green sweatshirtthat still smells like youThe music pounding out of the speakers so loudthe floor shiverswhere my foot counts the beatbiding my timeuntil we can dance together again.
Red RaspberryLook,beneath my dark leavesbeware the thornsFindsweet ruby clustersskin tight and shinyTasteas rich as the earth I grow inas sweet as the sun that feeds meSavorevery drop of juiceas precious as the dawnTakeall you can carryspread my childrenI have given them all I can
hallucinations and dreamsHow do I call you without losing the romance and mystery?What ritual or dance is done to the moon to bring me your kisses?The death of a being of such beauty is a spectacle that seems to me as sad as wonderful... I feel compelled to stop it.Every night, when I retire quietly of your dreams, but not before leaving a black rose on your pillow, along with a note "Goodbye beautiful girl. You already have a place in my heart. "For a moment, a feeling consumes me the idea of staying here by your side until I'm lifeless...But then I think about the consequences of letting me die: my soul would rest, yes; but my body would miss you, and that pain could not bear a lifetime.One sometimes die slow, and miss everything that has not happened yet, living in a fantasy, a fast and bright longing to that person who has not even turned around to see us ...These are seemingly endless minutes, minutes where only exists pain and torture.The pain becomes a pang.The rumors are floating in the mist.
A touch of loveYour cold touchMakes me shiverBut the love it holdsKeeps me alive
Crocodile X reader: You're the only one for me.You were some what bummed that you didn't get the partner you wanted while the game played on. You even stayed behind to see if your secret crush even put in an item to play the game...but alas, he did not play. Whom was your secret crush? Well, that should be quite obvious...it was Crocodile!You didn't know what it was, whether it was his hook, the scar across his face, the cigar or his muscular body...but mmmmm! Damn! He was a nice piece of work! But...you'd never say such thoughts out loud, hell you'd probably walk up to him and say 'I like sand too.." and then walk off hurriedly so that the biggest reaction you would probably get out of the former warlord would be a raised eye brow.But seriously, he could have played and gotten seven minutes alone with any of the pretty ladies on that ship several years ago...but why didn't he? Well.. now was the time to ask him yourself. For there he was; sitting at a café, along with his blade-blade fruit partner. They were reading a newsp
Golden Field of SadnessGolden Field of Sadness 1/25/14There she stands in a golden field of wheat,hands spread - her face raised to the shining moon.She embraces the rain the slides down her cheeksand falls lightly on her long hair of bright yellow.It is straight and lustrous as it clings to her skin.Her eyes are wild and crazed.Pain wracks her body in wave afterwretched wave. This world has broken her.She wishes to drown in this saturated air.She screams into the night as a cloudcovers the glowing face of the moon.Through her sadness, somehow I see a vibrant life.I feel the fullness of her light.I watch her from a distance longing to easeher anguish but unsure as to how.Oh, that dress looks so nice on her.Does she even see me?Could I ever comfort her?Make her forget the past?She drops to her knees and poundsthe soaked ground. And her tearsblend in with the rain and my heart melts.I have to try to end her fearsand shelter her from the bitter years.To end her pain becomes my aim
November SkyThis is where we come to get lostWhere the horizon meets with suddenThe ease of orange marmalade and honeyBut passion strikes us in its reflectionCascading desire for the unattainableBurning blistering in our hands as weCatch stars like fallen embers which aroseFrom fires burning to challenge the coldIn nights bewitching the tempest of twilightThough silently soothing like cinnamon in fall
Creationme here .. you therea doorway doth divide us--yet our hands move in tandemand strangers can never fathomhow the art we make unites us
With PicturesMy ears are heavy (blue glass stones)My heart twisted (ancient apple tree)Hiding away (rusting chainmail)When I know not whoor whatI want