I write to feel sane again I run to feel the freedom fly
I paint to lose myself in pigment I listen to get by
I draw so I define the lines blurring up inside my mind
I cook to taste creatively I sing because I’m happy
I write to feel sane again I sew to thread my life
in string I bathe to wash away the grime I eat to eat and live to rhyme
I breathe to hold the sky my lungs I cry to hear the ocean‘s sigh
I write to feel sane again I win
to glory give and lose to glory lie
I brave when I close my eyes and
jump I jump to feel alive I soar
when I believe I can but then
I fall when doubt kicks in I kick
to push the pain aw
Under the Dreaming Willow by non0sequiter, literature
Literature
Under the Dreaming Willow
I found you beneath the dreaming willow,
asleep. I tried to wake you, but you were
blind to my calls,
deaf to my touch,
and dumb (though your mouth, slightly open, did allow exit a sigh).
The razor leaves cut bright sunlight to ribbons.
Streaming, they dappled the lawn
and fell over our faces.
Play of bright shine and faint whiff of lavender.
So beautiful…motion in a breeze.
And the gibbering creek beside us
tangled willow roots and flowed
over to god knows where,
taking its secrets with it.
It called to me.
I dipped a toe, shuddered cold.
The wonderful goose bumps up and down
my legs sweet mud between my toes
in the
The disease was consuming her.
She could feel it chiseling her away, bit by bit.
The attack had begun from within, when the center of her bones turned traitor. The ache had spread from the inside out.
Birds had hollow bones, she remembered hearing once. Perhaps then that was what was happening to her. Not death but…transformation. Perhaps she would one day awake to find her legs shrunken and scaly, her mouth hardened into a sharp beak. And then she would spread her wings and fly, out of this hospital bed and far far away. Perhaps.
But it hadn’t stayed in her bones. Oh no; that would have been too kind, and kindness was not t
They are completely different, and yet….
They are exactly alike. The same hair, same lips, same grey eyes that always seem to stare through whatever they happen to be resting on. They have the same disconcerting smile, the sudden laugh that breaks like a rouge wave upon a rock. Their clothes hang loose over identical fine-boned frames. Even their fingerprints matched precisely, if doctors and magazines are to be believed.
But if ever this similarity is remarked upon, a smirk curls the corner of each duplicate mouth. For they know inside is a study in contrasts. Yin and yang, a set of photonegatives. One is bold and bright, adventuro
From up on high the earth curves in
an arch, the bend of light
skewed through a prism
where raindrops reflect
a million variegated lines, like vines
tangled in kaleidoscopic dreams
I want to go there
Gaze down: perfect pinpoints of
the shadowbox landscape in my palm;
leave footprints across the desert and fill them
all with brackish tears
I want to breathe the thin air, above
inhale icicle chips and
feel the glass dust freeze my lungs
let limbs go cold, and lips
shade from white to violet blue
I want to dip my hands into
cloudy reservoirs,
smear swirls into my heartlines
and fingerpaint, in shades of cirrus and stratus
a word: your name
Cruising on Fifth Gear by non0sequiter, literature
Literature
Cruising on Fifth Gear
All I’ve eaten since 5 o’clock last year
was this magnificent food
in a coffee house, where
I regarded an apple:
my finger rosary praising and glorifying
homemade apple pie.
Yes, I was that girl
seated alone with
my glass half-empty;
another 2 am panic-mode-caffeine-trainwreck
with vaguely nefarious purposes.
And lo! an angel of the Lord appeared:
wings clipped, shoulders shrugged
you hunched over a steaming mug.
I offered cream, sugar
and pondered you in my heart.
Later:
Silent. After
a solid night misbehaving
in our beds.
Darkness cannot put out your memory.
Can I send you flowers?
It’s awful on the road and
I&rsquo
The rampage is on.
She can try to stop it, but her efforts would be futile. After two years, she’s come to accept that there is really only so much she can do. Like hide the breakables.
Quickly, she dashes into the next room to stash the dinner plates.
Just in time - from the living room, a deafening crash. She hopes it isn’t the porcelain vase; that was a wedding present from Anne.
Thump. Thump. Clang! Heavy footfalls and a squeal of delight. It always amazes her how similar a two year old can sound to an elephant.
And suddenly he bursts upon the kitchen like a tempest. He patters across the linoleum, feet scrambling for pur
Outside cotton cue tips collect
In downy panes upon the ground
The cloud’s ephemeral feathers twirling,
confetti glitters
A haunted path down
As tiny pinpricks
Kiss the skin
softly numb
Winter seeps in
Eyes close, Inhale clean –
Bursts of blueberry
Lingering sweet
Scent of evergreen, quiet calm
Mingle in a forest deep
Spread white with milky sheets
And velvet pillows
Where nobody sleeps
Y’know, you really bring out the worst in me.
I like to think I’m a fairly sensible person; sometimes beyond my age, sometimes a little bit below –I admit it-. There’s not much about myself I take pride in, but my mind… my mind has always been one. It’s been the one constant in my life that kept me from absolutely hating myself.
I was the one pushing gender boundaries at that epic, tender, oh so important age of 5, hanging out with the boys because of course they didn’t have cooties, don’t be stupid.
I was the one the teacher chose to help her with the other classmates. Well, with their sch