CinderellaThey found her slipper upon the ground
Her body lay before it
The golden locks of curl fell down
Shes now sleeping in the forest
Thistles and thorns surround her gown
Once royal blue had now turned brown
The sun was rising in the distance
But still she did not stir
It was a warm winter day
But she was very very cold
She did not move, she did not breathe
At all that whole sad day
The prince arrived
With his horse at his side
To announce the heartbreaking news
Surrounding the princess full of cinders
They bowed their heads to say
A fairytale, is just a tale when you stay too late
But she will have it all her life because that was her last night
Walk AwayThe power came to me when I walked away.
I have left you with a million questions,
but not one reason to question where I was going,
or if I will ever return.
Yeah, I wonder where you are..
but I do not think about the person you were to me.
I do not think of you with regret.
I do not think of you much at all.
My existence without you has become the rest of my life.
You think it was easy,
to forget everything you put inside of me?
the good and the bad still lingers.
day 17: lostsometimes i remember you.
i have learned to be hollow
to avoid the pain,
but what happened to
us, late night calls,
and 2am coffeestains
that smelled of saltwater
smudged with laughter, and relief
in the shapes of our fingerprints?
you may have forgotten that
i used to trust you with my
life. you may have forgotten
that you saved me,
because we turned into words
choked out because you
never wanted them inside
you in the first place,
and distrust. we exchanged
our favorite colors.
you are now my vermillion,
but a violent shade of beautiful,
hating me with bitter passion,
me, your numb grey, but never
rising from the shadows, like
you would have wanted for me,
back then. our then shining
eyes are now shattered glass,
transparent, afraid, unsure,
and only when i see you looking
back at me do i know that you
still remember, not me, but us.
i know that i was impossible,
annoying at times, but no
Past. Present. Future.The paths we traveled that brought us here.
Rocky, rutted trails of pain and deceit, wrought with the heartaches of life.
Jungle mangrove swamps we plodded though to get here.
Bleached hot sands in the desert, burned our feet and scorched our hearts.
The cliffs we plumetted from, the holes we fell into, all brought us here together.
Together, we pave, we fill in, we make smooth.
We pour solid, fresh concrete over uneven surfaces, we repair the past with love.
Now we have a map, Google earth, a Garmin to show us the way.
We have a plan.
That which brought us together will never tear us apart.
That which brought us together, only makes us stronger.
That which brought us together, we leave behind as we also take it with us on our journey.
That which caused so much pain, now nurtures us.
No GoodbyesJust stop.
I don't want to hear
I don't want to hear
Other than the sound of your breathing next to me
As we lay
I don't want to hear
Your sorry excuses for not loving me
Lie to me
That's all I want you to do
Don't say that I'll find someone else
Some one better
Because you're the one I dream about
You're my love
I don't want to hear
I Want To BreatheWhen he came home that night, tittering about exaggeration with a partial stutter in his voice, I knew he wouldn't make it past six months. What I didn't know is how he'd prove me wrong and live two more years. Hope left mile-long stories on his face, and every time he got a new test result back he made me wish for one more day.
It was three-forty eight when I watched them roll his half full-of-life body into the ambulance, the wheels groaning with each shift in the concrete terrain. I botched my small steps and ended up tripping over every word he mumbled. Even with heavy anesthesia from earlier that morning, he still managed bisected jokes that made me smile.
I tried not to picture the ambulance racing down overcast streets or hear the fake it's going to be okay voices from the EMTs. He squeezed my arm and I remembered the first hospital run, the first of countless trips.
"You can't die on me."
I wanted to press my hands into him and carve out the disease as if he was on an
YellowShe is yellow
like Saturday afternoons
when I was a boy,
endless as a sky abandoned by stars
and pouring pink
over the horizon I can almost touch,
shaded and shivering,
the blurring blue windows
of passing railroad cars
I wished to press my hands against
have been replaced,
the jutting bone of her hips
beneath my warm breath
as I draw sparkling galaxies
in her hot mist
with my fingertips.
In the summer of my youth
I laid back
in the cool green grass,
felt the damp stir
of each blade against my neck
I tread through her meadow
and drink the dew
straight from the root,
until every inch of me
in the firm fields of her blossom
where I witness
beyond the crest of her breasts,
wet beneath my tongue,
stuck to the roof of my mouth
so that I can taste her
for hours after.
Autumn orange moonbeams,
curl 'round her ankles
and induce my jealousy,
covets her fluttering figure
Remembrance She goes to what she thinks of as their place, that flat land of rock in the mist of a trickling stream bed. The sound of the minuscule waterfall tinkling fantasies in her head. With her knees bent and her arms crossed upon them she rests her head, and stares into the woods as if he'd come walking from a distant path. Here amongst the trees, and rocks she feels close to him. His essence floats around her taunting her with his absence.
Everywhere she looks brings a memory of him. Playing his guitar upon the picnic bench, his devilish grin when he forgot yet another line. She smiles in remembrance when she stuck out her tongue and that naughty smirk crossed his face. She knows what that look means, it zings her insides delightfully. Her eyes alight to the incline and another memory assaults her. This time of walking hand in hand
Inspiring Writers and Artists Vol 3
DA has so many wonderfully talented writers and artists in the community. Some are well known, others not so much. Each week, I feature several on my front page boxes, hoping they can bask in the glow of the spotlight for a bit. The topics and genres vary, but each are gems in their own right.
Here are this week's picks!
Each week I will be featuring a few writers that I have taken a particular shine to. Some may be well known, others, more obscure. This week highlights Lyrics.
Music speaks to us in so many ways. A single note can bring a tear to our eyes, a verse can say exactly how we feel, but haven't the means to put it into words. Lyrics tell stories of broken hearts, found love and lost dreams. What are some of your favorites?
When you finally experience that amazingly won