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Tidbits and Drabbles: HimHe is beautiful.
Others may not see it, may not appreciate it, but I can see it.
I can always see it.
It’s in the way his eyes light up when he speaks of what he loves.
It’s in the way he smiles and laughs as though this one joke is truly the best in the world.
It’s in the way his voice lilts and dips, the way his lips curl around each word, the way I find myself hanging on each and every syllable.
It’s in the way I love him, though he doesn't love me.
It’s in all of him, every part.
And it hurts.
Tidbits and Drabbles[drabble 1]
And so she sat, silently, gazing at the waters, music in her ears.
If she was aware of the stares of those around her, she didn’t show it.
She sat, and listened, and watched.
And she slowly wasted away.
And moments like these were her favorite. Moments when she could simply withdraw from the world, get lost in the music. Moments when nothing else mattered, not the obvious stares of those around her, nor the grueling troubles she’d left behind at her house.
No, in moments like these, she was free. She was unbroken.
She was home.
Drabble“Are you afraid of me?” he asked, leaning back from her with a bitter smirk. His smirk deepened when she nodded.
“Why?” he spat.
“Well…” she began, her blue, blue eyes slowly trailing up to meet his dark green ones, “you came in through my window. No one’s ever done that before.”
He blinked in surprise, not expecting her answer. After a moment, he grinned. “Fair enough. Aren’t you going to ask why I’m here?”
She shook her head. “Figured you would explain on your own; though, you strike me as the type of person not to explain anything until it’s over and done with.”
“Well, as true as that may be,” he agreed, coming down from the window sill to walk around the young girl, “I think you should at least know who I am, before I…how did you say it before? Ah, yes - whisk you away.”
The crinkles present in the corner of each eye told her that he was teasin
Friends?My heart races when I'm with you.
But I don't know, do you love me too?
You're charming and funny,
Sweeter than honey.
The most beautiful eyes in the whole damn world.
Could you ever fall for such a stupid girl?
We talk, and laugh, but nothing more.
I wonder, what are we waiting for?
I look into the mirror and see
That I am not who I want to be.
How could you fall for a girl so gross?
We'll never be together—
Hell, just friends at most.
I'm so confused, and yet I feel
I would run a thousand miles
If I knew when I was done,
That I could see your smile.
Hear your laughter, and your voice too,
Saying to me softly, "I love you."
Tidbits of Writing"Jeanette"
When Jeanette had left the room, I heard a giggle from the other side of the wardrobe. As I peeked, I saw a small, round face smiling back at me, that of a girl perhaps nine, ten years of age. This, I told myself, must be Lillian. God, how she looked like her mother. Not in a sexual way, of course; rather, she seemed to be the essence of all things pure and angelic about Jeanette. At least, until you looked into her eyes. There, in the aquamarine depths, she held a gleam of mischief that, if nothing else, told you whose daughter she truly was.
Tidbits of Writing"Jeanette"
Ah, Jeanette. Just seeing the way her chestnut curls cascaded down her back was enough to let a man die happily. Then you saw her angelic face; the soft upturn of her nose, her aquamarine eyes, her soft baby cheeks down to her wide smile, a smile so bright and contagious one felt as if nothing could ever go wrong were he to see it. Her face, however, was the only angelic thing about her. The sinful curve of her backside, the wicked v-shape of her bosom she revealed when bent over, the lusciously long legs and creamy skin tone—a dangerous package designed to bring men to their knees, while at the same time thanking the heavens for such a beautiful creature. Ah, Jeanette. Would I never tire of seeing her? Was I truly to bask in her beauty, day after day, yet receive nothing for my patience? I had yet to learn the answer to my questions, but I was determined to answer them—and soon.
Tidbits of Writing"Where am I?" I yelled, echoes bouncing from wall to slimy wall. I called again, "Where am I? Hello?" Knowing full well no one would answer, I curled my knees up to my chin and sat. It was dim in the cave, though not completely dark, as though light were coming from somewhere. Where it came from, however, I couldn't decide. It seemed as though the walls themselves were emitting a sickly, mucus shade of green luminescence. Suddenly, my ears perked. I heard something, faint, besides the drip of the wall. I heard it once more, my ears not possibly working correctly. Could it be? I heard it again, louder this time, and there was no mistaking it—someone, or something, was giggling. It sounded as though it were a young schoolgirl, though I quickly dismissed that idea. If it truly were a young girl, wouldn't she call for help, or have heard my pleas? For a time, it was silent, which made me jump all the more when I heard it again, closer this time. The laughing had taken a wicked edge, and se
Tidbits of WritingShe didn't know it was possible to hate someone so completely, so fully, so irrevocably...but he proved it true that very night.
It wasn't even something he'd done directly-though that may have been part of the problem.
She wasn't sure if what she felt was loathing, pure and unadulterated in its intensity-or if all the books she'd read were right...and she really was just jealous.
She thought the former a much more probable scenario.
Catalina...Just Names For Now.Hola! Me llamo Cat. Mi nombre realmente es Catalina Antionette Rosa Juarez. Yo vivo en Florida, y yo hablo ingles, pero soy de Mexico. Yo tengo catorce anos, y mi cumpleanos es el diecinueve de mayo. Tengo siete hermanos, tres chicos y cuatro chicas. Mis hermanas mayores tienen diecisiete, dieciseis, y quince anos. Mi otra hermana tiene catorce anos tambien. Mis hermanos mayores tienen dieciseis y quince anos. Mi hermano menor tiene diez anos.
Ahora, mas sobre me. Mis amigos dicen que soy lista, bonita, traviesa, extrovertida, y comica. Mis padres dicen que soy talentosa, creativa, y inteligente. Tengo pelo oscuro y casi rizado, y soy baja. Me gusta mucho cantar, bailar, dibujar, escribir, pasar un rato con mis amigos buenos, y escuchar musica. Mi hermano menor dice que yo siempre paso mi rato maquillarse. Es verdad? Claro que si! Soy una chica, y deseo ser bella todos los dias! Yo tengo un novio; su nombre es Mateo. Es muy guapo, inteligente, listo, comico, y simpatico. Cuando el no p
the truth about growing up
1. It's easier when you don't think.
1. It starts early,
on a cloudy day when you recall
the 'childhood memories' of
two summers ago,
that's when you start your backslide into
2. On the bright side
you won't notice this until you're
good and ripe in age,
so maybe it doesn't matter
3. That tightness in your chest?
The feeling that you're not ready
to take on the rest of your life; it
4. It stews in the pit of your stomach
makes you doubt,
but there will be days when you look back
on the mountains you climbed -
the raging rivers you crossed -
and you'll have a sneaking suspicion you were
more prepared than you thought.
5. There's nothing like your own bed.
6. Laundry will never smell right
without mom's sweat and tears.
But you still have to separate lights from darks,
keep the zippers pulled tight
and the buttons unhooked.
7. There is comfort in your parents' presence.
8. Things change
the future gnaws and rips
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
LullabyHush, my baby,
Be still, don't cry.
Lay with me
A little while.
Close your eyes,
Slow your breath.
Hear your heart
Inside your chest?
Your heart is strong,
It guides you well.
Be sure to listen
To what it tells.
I hear him now,
Outside the room.
It won't be long,
He'll find us soon.
Now close your eyes,
Slow your breath,
And rest your head
Upon my chest.
Darkest MoonI celebrate my right to live;
To the dismay of some, perhaps
It should be noted
These words I write, however true
Are only portions of the moon
I’ve decide to shine light upon.
But who am I to preach respect?
Who Am I to preach equality?
An advocate for re-personification
Of the female gender
But exhibits cannibalistic characteristics
Within dark spaces.
I am a shadow
Hidden within an Eggshell, painted pink,
Waiting to hatch.
Is the darkness
The night brought upon us.
CarolineYou loved the fire
of rogues -
imperfect men who shot up
the endings of the day
and drank down
too much beauty.
And like one of them,
you bellied with rebellion,
felt his tense seed
toil where women
and craved his notoriety.
Poor girl -
his verses won the day
and the call of words
was too fickle a lover
for any constant star.
Don't blame yourself -
are more attractive
and all poets are
Stranger's funeralUnder the clouds
Under the rain
Staring at the coffin
At a stranger's funeral
We're all alone
Feeling the storm
But not the pain
For he's but a stranger
And the graves around us
Are just there
Keeping us company
During this empty moment
things to tell you before i leave for collegeto mrs hatcher:
i promise that one day i will write that poem you asked me for
(the only thing you ever asked me for)
and i will finally tell you that you deserve
so much more.
to mr. walker:
i promise that i will not pity you.
i promise that i will not envy you.
i promise that you will always be one of my forget-me-nots and marigolds.
i promise to always be grateful.
i promise to be careful.
i promise to be crazy.
i promise that i will remember what it feels like to be needed
and what it feels like to let someone who needs you down.
i promise that i will never resent you for asking for help
and that i will always be there when you do.
i promise that even sixty years from now,
i will not be surprised to find a letter from you in my mailbox.
i promise to always remember what it felt like to be young and crazy with you,
how scared and lonely we were.
i will remember that we both survived it,
and that we'll survive this, too.
You Were Born Missing SomethingYour skin is glazed with crystals of frost
and your heart's valves are close to
freezing shut tight
from being devoid of something
Though I am torrents of hail, whirling storms,
warm tears streaking,and tornadoes of rage
that flow uncontrollably through my veins
and out of my mouth,
every breath near you is warm
because your words are so cold
I am a natural disaster at its finest
with bones twisted in painful angles
and a crooked spine
you were born spineless
MusicTo live, to learn, to fly
To love to dream to die
To give it all up for the one you love
To give all glory to God above
To know who I am
To not be afraid
To know where to go
When I need an escape
To understand you're here for me
To look in the mirror and love what I see
To play to laugh to dance and sing
Music taught me everything.
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