I've aquired many bruises.
The ground frequently opens up beneath me...
and buckets of rain are thrown into the wells of my eyes.
My blood with no where to escape,
creates this plum purple patch within my skin.
I've taken to this purple identity,
No longer sore...
only numb.
The tree's arms reach for me...
Rocks follow my every step...
For it is their desire
to gash my skin open
to reveal my true colour...
my red secret
that is flowing, now so clearly (for its beat shakes the ground),
through this heart;
it's his poison..
it's my salvation...
my blood.
Showing posts with label The Lash of A Whip. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Lash of A Whip. Show all posts
Monday, December 8, 2008
IT's life.
"A boy--a child...
must be coaxed...caressed into what they might not like...
but what IS right for them.
A man...must be approached..."
must be coaxed...caressed into what they might not like...
but what IS right for them.
A man...must be approached..."
The Ceiling
is a short story I have fallen in love with.
http://www.randomhouse.com/boldtype/ohenry/0902/brockmeier_ceiling.html
Read it. Seriously.
P.S. Eng11-Mr. Hughes...sorry, this is the story I'm doing my project on. I call dibs. d:
http://www.randomhouse.com/boldtype/ohenry/0902/brockmeier_ceiling.html
Read it. Seriously.
P.S. Eng11-Mr. Hughes...sorry, this is the story I'm doing my project on. I call dibs. d:
Thursday, December 4, 2008
I had this dream...where I entered a room.
The walls' grey wings covered the room...leaving behind a
dark hue which was clearly in suffering.
The room bore a cement floor...shockingly cold to my naked feet.
Your hands were covering my eyes. (They find your taste inconceivably sweet.)
I knew it was you; your scent is too familiar...
so familiar that I've learned to associate it with mine.
I knew because of your benevolent fingers...your passionate caress.
And the way your body enclosed mine...my back sleeping in your chest.
For a moment...I was alive...
dark hue which was clearly in suffering.
The room bore a cement floor...shockingly cold to my naked feet.
Your hands were covering my eyes. (They find your taste inconceivably sweet.)
I knew it was you; your scent is too familiar...
so familiar that I've learned to associate it with mine.
I knew because of your benevolent fingers...your passionate caress.
And the way your body enclosed mine...my back sleeping in your chest.
For a moment...I was alive...
though my heart had s to p p e d b e a t i n g.
Your breath licked my ear...and I thought I was going to die.
I attempted a step forward...but you gripped me firm.
And you offered me a sweet song of love.
I attempted a step forward...but you gripped me firm.
And you offered me a sweet song of love.
Then away you went...with no goodbye. No warning. Nothing.
My eyes opened...and I saw.
I saw the million and one petals covering the cold cement.
How can something so dazzling associate with the bitter?
But isn't that what it is?
What are petals...if not held by a stem?
So I bent down...and embraced each one.
So I bent down...and embraced each one.
I picked them up and with my tears,
glued them back onto the stem.
I tucked the flower behind my ear...in hopes that you would notice me...
remember me...and realize it was all a mistake.
Friday, October 31, 2008
The reason for tears is always UNSEEN and always ASSUMED.
...he saw the pain that would eventually seek me. He saw the hand descending upon me attempting to wrangle my heart out of its place. To stop it from beating. To keep it bleeding.
And, as if it was a band-aid...a simple cure, he handed me a music box.
"Careful, darling, it's quite fragile," his face was beaming and hopeful.
"Yes, papa." I said, and held out my two hands that were equivalent to his one hand---firm, strong, and selectively vulnerable. He placed it into my sweating palms.
"Isn't it just something?"
And he was right; I couldn't take my eyes off it.
It was constructed of glass and, as I released the knob, I focused on the turning wheels and teeth. Its' song was heavenly, sweet, and light. I smiled.
But what was even more delightful was the child and father waltzing, I imagined, in a ballroom with a wood floor. The child was looking up to her dad, in mid-spin, adorned in a white dress with gold trimming. The father was glowing in pride dressed in a white suit and a navy blue tie.
With the music, and painted smiles...they danced.
I became obsessed with this trinket for days that seemed like only hours.
I played its' song repeatedly until I had memorized every note.
It seemed such a fragile thing...not because of its' glass encasing, but rather...the situation in which the maker had crafted it in. A cheerful moment that could be broken in an instant.
They danced their way into my dreams for weeks.
The song was like air to my ears...it was vital.
I lay on my bed, one evening, stomach-down, staring at the dancing couple.
"Ella!" my mom called as I was humming along with the tune.
"Yes?" I called back.
"DINNER!" she exclaimed.
With the music box in hand, I ran to the kitchen.
I placed the music box on the table and waited for my plate.
I could smell the potatos and roast beef basking in spices and my mouth watered at once.
Then mom set the plate on the kitchen table, took a glance at me, and kissed me lightly on the cheek.
"Thank-you." I said and grabbed my fork.
She sat beside me, not eating...and her gaze fell on the music box.
She seemed alarmed and distracted.
Something had set her off. "Uhm...honey...could you please take your toy into your room? It doesn't belong on the dinner table."
With a mouth full of half chewed potatos, I replied, "Yesh, mom."
"Thanks..." she said softly...in a damaged tone.
I started the journey to my room with the music box loosely in my hand whilst chewing. The dance to my room was composed of a left from the kitchen into the dinning room, a few steps forward straight through, and a right into the hallway. I glanced at the music box and concentrated on the cheery father and daughter, just to make sure they were still in my hand---still in my control.
I was so consumed in my concern that I didn't notice the glass display stationed firmly in the middle of our grand hallway. Colliding into it, I lost grip of the music box.
No one was there to catch me...falling due to this spin. This twirl of misery.
On the verge of tears, my knees collapsed, and I fell to the hard wood floor. I gasped.
My fingers fumbled with confusion. I panicked.
They needed help. They needed to be fixed.
Miraculously, the father and daughter figures survived. However, there was a chip at the corner of the glass encasing. I was somewhat relieved that, that was all the damage.
Troubled at the thought that I could drop the music box again, I placed it on my bookcase where it would only be touched once a night.
Every night I would fall asleep to its' lullaby.
The glass caught dust but the music was always certain never to be obscured...it always knew its' purpose.
And this was what distracted me from the absence of my father...
what entranced me so much to not see the bags daddy carried on his back when he handed me the music box.
Then again, I'd rather not know...I'd rather not remember.
My eyes never knew tears. My ears only ever heard sweet songs. And the hand lingered...over my chest...waiting.
(So, this is an idea for a short-story I am writing...this is basically the gist of it. But it'll have hints about what the problem was between the mom and dad...and more description. And more things about the daughter. But...the point is...Once something of value breaks...you don't want to touch it again.)
And, as if it was a band-aid...a simple cure, he handed me a music box.
"Careful, darling, it's quite fragile," his face was beaming and hopeful.
"Yes, papa." I said, and held out my two hands that were equivalent to his one hand---firm, strong, and selectively vulnerable. He placed it into my sweating palms.
"Isn't it just something?"
And he was right; I couldn't take my eyes off it.
It was constructed of glass and, as I released the knob, I focused on the turning wheels and teeth. Its' song was heavenly, sweet, and light. I smiled.
But what was even more delightful was the child and father waltzing, I imagined, in a ballroom with a wood floor. The child was looking up to her dad, in mid-spin, adorned in a white dress with gold trimming. The father was glowing in pride dressed in a white suit and a navy blue tie.
With the music, and painted smiles...they danced.
I became obsessed with this trinket for days that seemed like only hours.
I played its' song repeatedly until I had memorized every note.
It seemed such a fragile thing...not because of its' glass encasing, but rather...the situation in which the maker had crafted it in. A cheerful moment that could be broken in an instant.
They danced their way into my dreams for weeks.
The song was like air to my ears...it was vital.
I lay on my bed, one evening, stomach-down, staring at the dancing couple.
"Ella!" my mom called as I was humming along with the tune.
"Yes?" I called back.
"DINNER!" she exclaimed.
With the music box in hand, I ran to the kitchen.
I placed the music box on the table and waited for my plate.
I could smell the potatos and roast beef basking in spices and my mouth watered at once.
Then mom set the plate on the kitchen table, took a glance at me, and kissed me lightly on the cheek.
"Thank-you." I said and grabbed my fork.
She sat beside me, not eating...and her gaze fell on the music box.
She seemed alarmed and distracted.
Something had set her off. "Uhm...honey...could you please take your toy into your room? It doesn't belong on the dinner table."
With a mouth full of half chewed potatos, I replied, "Yesh, mom."
"Thanks..." she said softly...in a damaged tone.
I started the journey to my room with the music box loosely in my hand whilst chewing. The dance to my room was composed of a left from the kitchen into the dinning room, a few steps forward straight through, and a right into the hallway. I glanced at the music box and concentrated on the cheery father and daughter, just to make sure they were still in my hand---still in my control.
I was so consumed in my concern that I didn't notice the glass display stationed firmly in the middle of our grand hallway. Colliding into it, I lost grip of the music box.
No one was there to catch me...falling due to this spin. This twirl of misery.
On the verge of tears, my knees collapsed, and I fell to the hard wood floor. I gasped.
My fingers fumbled with confusion. I panicked.
They needed help. They needed to be fixed.
Miraculously, the father and daughter figures survived. However, there was a chip at the corner of the glass encasing. I was somewhat relieved that, that was all the damage.
Troubled at the thought that I could drop the music box again, I placed it on my bookcase where it would only be touched once a night.
Every night I would fall asleep to its' lullaby.
The glass caught dust but the music was always certain never to be obscured...it always knew its' purpose.
And this was what distracted me from the absence of my father...
what entranced me so much to not see the bags daddy carried on his back when he handed me the music box.
Then again, I'd rather not know...I'd rather not remember.
My eyes never knew tears. My ears only ever heard sweet songs. And the hand lingered...over my chest...waiting.
(So, this is an idea for a short-story I am writing...this is basically the gist of it. But it'll have hints about what the problem was between the mom and dad...and more description. And more things about the daughter. But...the point is...Once something of value breaks...you don't want to touch it again.)
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
childish fantasies.
I climbed the ladder of my bunk bed carelessly and slipped under the covers.
My toes and fingertips felt like icicles and my hair was still dripping.
The pillow caught my head. And the bed entrapped me.
I reached for you around my neck.
My night-light guided my eyes. I studied your noose.
My mother said, "Here honey, take care of it."
And in the distance, typing away, I heard my 13 year old cousin say, "Only a fool makes that gold, you know, Ella-laure?"
Then mom shut him up and told him, "It's meant for my princess, Ryan."
(At least...that's how I remember the conversation.)
What the noose held was magnificent. You were stunning.
So valuable. How is it you ended up there? Was this your destiny?
Or do we drive our own fate?
It was a beautiful snare you tied around your neck.
My eyes were growing tired. I dug under the marked X and I was surprised at my findings.
You had turned a silver colour. Fool's gold. That's what he said. Fool's gold.
You tricked me.
I hope you guys can understand this...it's honestly soaked in symbols. If you know what's been going on. You know the story. Hope you could make SOME sense of it :)
My toes and fingertips felt like icicles and my hair was still dripping.
The pillow caught my head. And the bed entrapped me.
I reached for you around my neck.
My night-light guided my eyes. I studied your noose.
My mother said, "Here honey, take care of it."
And in the distance, typing away, I heard my 13 year old cousin say, "Only a fool makes that gold, you know, Ella-laure?"
Then mom shut him up and told him, "It's meant for my princess, Ryan."
(At least...that's how I remember the conversation.)
What the noose held was magnificent. You were stunning.
So valuable. How is it you ended up there? Was this your destiny?
Or do we drive our own fate?
It was a beautiful snare you tied around your neck.
My eyes were growing tired. I dug under the marked X and I was surprised at my findings.
You had turned a silver colour. Fool's gold. That's what he said. Fool's gold.
You tricked me.
I hope you guys can understand this...it's honestly soaked in symbols. If you know what's been going on. You know the story. Hope you could make SOME sense of it :)
lesson learned.
SO, I was taking care of my baby cousin, Carlos.
And we have this game where I sit him down onto the
surface of our living room table. Then he stares at me.
And as if testing my trust, he jumps off....expecting me to catch him.
Once he's in my arms, I spin him around a couple times...and just look at his smile.
and listen to his laugh.
It's always perfect when someone catches you. It's always bliss.
It's...comforting to know that you can jump
whenever you want to be taken for a spin...
whenever you want to be cheered up....just jump
and hope he'll catch you.
And we have this game where I sit him down onto the
surface of our living room table. Then he stares at me.
And as if testing my trust, he jumps off....expecting me to catch him.
Once he's in my arms, I spin him around a couple times...and just look at his smile.
and listen to his laugh.
It's always perfect when someone catches you. It's always bliss.
It's...comforting to know that you can jump
whenever you want to be taken for a spin...
whenever you want to be cheered up....just jump
and hope he'll catch you.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
...play on, my orchestra.
(I CAN'T SLEEP! and I HAVE WORK TMR...i'm done.)
With every breath
he creates serenity with a ballad.
With every step
he takes, the world will motion onwards.
With every touch,
he strokes hatred into affection.
With every word,
speech acquires a higher significance.
So, love,
help me breathe. Breathe me rose petals on the floor. THROW me into your music.
help me move. Take my hand...DIRECT ME FORWARD...away from my memories.
help me touch. My heart bleeds black...paint me a canvas with TRUE PIERCING RED BLOOD.
help me speak. Help me say those three words. I want you to know...that I do lov...
With every breath
he creates serenity with a ballad.
With every step
he takes, the world will motion onwards.
With every touch,
he strokes hatred into affection.
With every word,
speech acquires a higher significance.
So, love,
help me breathe. Breathe me rose petals on the floor. THROW me into your music.
help me move. Take my hand...DIRECT ME FORWARD...away from my memories.
help me touch. My heart bleeds black...paint me a canvas with TRUE PIERCING RED BLOOD.
help me speak. Help me say those three words. I want you to know...that I do lov...
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Honey, that's not your size.
I hope you understand, dear, that's a size too big.
Shoot for something smaller, why don't you?
You're no where near the bulls-eye.
It seems like you're wondering aimlessly.
These dresses are meant for those who rise above.
And you don't, hun', i'm sorry--
you ...just don't cut it.
You blend in...and we want neon...
you're, i'm afraid, a pastel green.
You go unnoticed.
You're nothing.
Scum.
Dirt.
Beyond dirt. Oh! There you go, associate with them.
You do excel at one thing, now that I think about it.
You're outstanding at being that...dirt...or whatever is below.
Have fun, enjoy.
And DON'T try to make your way up the ladder...that leans against our castle.
It seems that people enjoy convincing others that they're not worth it; that they don't belong in the BIG PICTURE.
But I do. And you do too. Understand that. Breathe it. Live it. You've already been entered into this competition.
It's called life...and you have no choice but to live it. Cross that out...Step 1: Live life. Done.
Shoot for something smaller, why don't you?
You're no where near the bulls-eye.
It seems like you're wondering aimlessly.
These dresses are meant for those who rise above.
And you don't, hun', i'm sorry--
you ...just don't cut it.
You blend in...and we want neon...
you're, i'm afraid, a pastel green.
You go unnoticed.
You're nothing.
Scum.
Dirt.
Beyond dirt. Oh! There you go, associate with them.
You do excel at one thing, now that I think about it.
You're outstanding at being that...dirt...or whatever is below.
Have fun, enjoy.
And DON'T try to make your way up the ladder...that leans against our castle.
It seems that people enjoy convincing others that they're not worth it; that they don't belong in the BIG PICTURE.
But I do. And you do too. Understand that. Breathe it. Live it. You've already been entered into this competition.
It's called life...and you have no choice but to live it. Cross that out...Step 1: Live life. Done.
I'll break your heart someday; but leaving you is the last thing on my mind...
He thinks I can't see...
He's somewhat true.
Hardly, actually.
I CAN see...
I CAN see the NOTHING.
the NOTHING plastered on his face where there should be something.
Or if nothing on your face, at least say SOMETHING.
SOMETHING REAL...
and SAYING "Nothing" doesn't count.
Just letting you know.
And no, I'm not being a hypocrite.
He's somewhat true.
Hardly, actually.
I CAN see...
I CAN see the NOTHING.
the NOTHING plastered on his face where there should be something.
Or if nothing on your face, at least say SOMETHING.
SOMETHING REAL...
and SAYING "Nothing" doesn't count.
Just letting you know.
And no, I'm not being a hypocrite.
Monday, October 6, 2008
You make me want to hurl...
I'm sick-blue in the face
With the lies you fed.
I've been run down and let down
and presently,
...on this street...I'm lying down
where you have abandoned me.
I can feel it's rough surface,
chisling away at my face, my lips...my heart.
I think I'm allergic to your counterfeit;
Your facade has made my throat swell...
And no longer can I breathe at the sight of you.
You've taken away my once existing knowledge
and now I'm no longer certain.
You've strained my heart of all its' blood,
It's turned a deep purple...
A purple heart;
to show the world the damage I undertook in this battle.
You see my skin is grey because
My soul has disintegrated.
You took what I knew was life, love, and trust.
With the lies you fed.
I've been run down and let down
and presently,
...on this street...I'm lying down
where you have abandoned me.
I can feel it's rough surface,
chisling away at my face, my lips...my heart.
I think I'm allergic to your counterfeit;
Your facade has made my throat swell...
And no longer can I breathe at the sight of you.
You've taken away my once existing knowledge
and now I'm no longer certain.
You've strained my heart of all its' blood,
It's turned a deep purple...
A purple heart;
to show the world the damage I undertook in this battle.
You see my skin is grey because
My soul has disintegrated.
You took what I knew was life, love, and trust.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
It's called the past because I'm getting past...
I awoke with a cringe.
I shuddered at the thought of the sun...the blinding...
too hopeful sun. (He's normally my let-down.)
too hopeful sun. (He's normally my let-down.)
He whispered me my morning song.
Reluctantly, I surrendered my hand to the slice of the cool air.
I pulled down the sheets exposing my neck... I felt naked.
My ears have never heard this sound before.
A sound so piercing. So full of mystery. Silence.
My eyes still faced the darkness,
I knew it was time to turn,
And turn I did.
His answer: a slap in the face.
I knew it was time to turn,
And turn I did.
His answer: a slap in the face.
Extending my arms...my fingertips kissed the clouds.
My eyes shut for a moment only to return....
My eyes shut for a moment only to return....
return to the shadows.
Wishing I hadn't faced his black curtain,
I revealed myself to the light...the world...
And I knew that I would never surrender my cheek again.
Wishing I hadn't faced his black curtain,
I revealed myself to the light...the world...
And I knew that I would never surrender my cheek again.
My dreams pointed onwards
and I knew that the darkness would be no more.
I sensibly got past my bed and dove head-first into the world...
mid-dive...with his songs rushing past my body...I prayed to myself...
...hoping to slip immediately past the waters' boundaries...of hate, masks, bees and clowns.
and I knew that the darkness would be no more.
I sensibly got past my bed and dove head-first into the world...
mid-dive...with his songs rushing past my body...I prayed to myself...
...hoping to slip immediately past the waters' boundaries...of hate, masks, bees and clowns.
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