This is as honest as I know how to be.
How To Become A WriterStare at the ceiling when MomHow To Become A Writer by *RiseandBe
turns out the light. Count sheep
jumping fences. Stop when you
can't help but image them impaled
on the fence post because they
just can't seem to jump high
enough. Shake it off. Count
backwards from one hundred by
threes: 100, 97, 94, 91, 8...
give up because you are only
seven and math is hard.
Wake up with a jolt, because you
just watched your father drown for
the 7 millionth time. Remind
yourself his cancer is gone and
"Daddy is going to be okay now."
Fall back asleep. Wake up with an
arched back because, you swear, a
thousand bees were just stinging
you all over, and you weren't
going to make it out of that
cabin alive. Tell yourself it was
just another dream and that
awful buzzing was just the air-
conditioner in the window. Fall
asleep. Wake up with a stiff body
because you were a kite, but the
wind died down. You were falling
and there was another fence post,
and damn those stupid sheep. Roll
Rub tired eyes as mother grounds
you for slee
The RunawayI am not the hero of this story.The Runaway by *RiseandBe
But I am okay with my villainous nature;
I've accepted my monstrosities, my
I've embraced my wild spirit, looked
myself in the eye, exclaimed with abandon,
"You are the runaway, the rebel! You are
both fighter and lover. You
are stronger for having seen your emptiness,
and built in it a home."
I'm not the snow white;
But, I am not the evil queen either.
I am the shadow-girl who loves without
restraint, the angel who trails destruction
in her wake. I am yin and yang, but
it depends on who you ask; I have
never saved a soul, and neither saved
This is as honest as I know how to be.
I thought you were the rain, but no,
I was the rain. I meant to drown you. I
wanted you to be inescapably drenched-
your trachea clogged, your mouth an 'O'
of desperate gasping, your lips parted
and blue. If I wasn't enough to die for,
I wouldn't ever be enough.
Your disappearances were noted with
darkened clouds- thick and heavy, tight
with waiting. You always returned with a
thunderclap, moving me to a downpour of
deprived longing. I was a flood and you
were a desert begging to be a sea. But
flood-waters river into oceans, and
deserts are meant to be dry.
It was selfish of me to treat you
like a boat- I liked you better capsized.
But in your shipwrecked depravity, you
sought sunshine and calm, so I took pity
on your seasick state and blew over lands
thirsty for my brand of nourishment. Then
when, with saltcaked skin and cracked lips,
you ached for my answer to dehydration, I
was busy raining over the lush.
In your time of drought, I placed the
blame in your ribcage li
LettersDear girl - Dear precious, lovely girl,
You have fallen,
and I have watched as you pressed your knees and palms into the dirt,
But you did not forget your strength.
I watched you raise your salt-water eyes to the horizon,
and push upwards, determined for a new dawn.
Why do you worry so?
These days are not endless and these nights,
they are no darker than when you lit them up with fireflies or
I know sleep finds you troubled,
but tomorrow is sure to change again,
and there is still so much life in your bones.
do you remember what the bottom felt like?
Have you forgotten what it is to be alone?
I was there when you imagined the reaction to your
disappearance - I listened as you whispered, "No one would even
notice for three more days. Three more days."
But on the third day you rose,
and went to work as if you hadn't rot in bed for two days straight.
Where is your strength now?
Why is your mind filled with questions and
your heart filled with doubt?
No, this doesn't feel like magic.
I used up all my magic when I was young,
wishing on stars that never fell close enough to home.
I don't want you to be magic.
I want you to be solid.
I want you to be the home I come back to.
You can't trust magic, you know.
Magic feels like light, but
it always leaves you with more dark
than you can breathe in;
like those effervescent ocean creatures,
they snare you with light and gobble you up
without a second thought.
I want to be your second thought.
I want to kick and scream and fall apart,
just to look up and see you still standing there.
Because magic stays for the light show, but
leaves as soon as darkness falls, and
my light is still too slight to
hold back all my dark.
I know I'm a storm cloud; I know
I'm thunder on the horizon.
But you are my lightning capitol, you
are where I rumble and curl, break -
you are where I fall and rest.
You are where I rest.
I've been running all my life, love,
all I've ever wanted wa
EnlightenmentWe were spotless;
silhouetted in sunshine
eternal where rapture
meets the mind.
Unbearable, and bright:
the lightness of being
On OptimismSometimes we fall apart,
and sometimes we breathe deeply
in an expression of limbs reaching
for a sun that never shines on us;
though our fingers harmonize with
the wind and our faces tilt ever
upwards, we hear only wings
flapping and see only empty nests.
Sometimes our roots grow deep enough
that flying is a figment, but home
is our lifebreath, is
A Fresh MouthShe was soft, watercolor pastels
on a summer evening; everything was
a warm buzz - alive but still.
Breath-taking, in a sense, there
was not enough breath
to stop my lungs
from gasping; I couldn't
breathe enough of her.
In that moment I was flush,
over-ripe for the picking, aching
to be bitten, tasted,
devoured by a fresh mouth.
a quiet, seductive
I was devoured
by a fresh mouth.
On Love UnconditionalSow your wild oats,
I'll leave the light on.
Haiku On Being A ChildColor the sidewalk,
play in the rain;
rejoice in tabula rasa.
Fall From GraceShe awoke to the jangle -
her silver spoon falling with the
rain in spades;
she learned to call a tunnel
home, and never missed the
irony in her name:
Women Like MeYou can hear me read this aloud on my tumblr.
We learned affection must be dramatic
so find our glory in night-lit words
that hold an impossible permanence.
They linger in the valley between our wrist
and fingers, stow themselves in our freckles.
Their presence cannot be erased,
nor their weight ignored, and only new lovers
burn away their shape.
There are depths to which we must sink,
must dig ourselves into, must push past with hand
and foot, hip and breast. It is not light we seek
but solidness. No spring air soft against
our cheek, rather the scalding touch of lava
worming through a cracked and weeping crust.
There, we understand.
His fingers printing a shadow across our spine
was never the definition of you are mine.
We are greater than the wan
Dandelion DaughterShe is my dandelion girl,
a graceful, yellow weed
with puffs for hair.
She tells me she isn't
trying to be beautiful.
Her moonstone fingers
are braiding hopes and love
into the strands of her
hair as she idly chatters
of how the sun seems to
shine a little yellower
with you there.
She becomes something
exceptional, a garden
filled with starlight and
teacups. She will remind you
the sun is also a star and
that we often overlook
those closest to us.
Before I Can Become a WriterDevelop insomnia. Develop
problems with substance abuse,
nothing serious, but enough
that I can say “write drunk,
edit sober” and mean it.
Drink tea. Write about drinking
tea. Take up smoking, ignore
the thoughts about it being
a slower suicide. Write about
suicide. Don’t mean it.
Write about sunsets and
ink veins. Mean it.
Fall in love with someone
who will never love me back.
Lament. Write a million
crappy poems and two good
ones. Never show him.
Move on. Write a few more
bad poems. Fall in love with
someone perfect. Screw it up.
Fall in love with someone awful.
Call him perfect. Screw it up.
Cry. Cry for the inevitable,
the way my family never
loved me right, the way my
first kiss was regrettable
at best, the way my therapist
says my depression is a demon
taking over me. Cry for the
changeable, the way
I hate my body and my writing
and everything I live to be.
Use clichés. Live clichés,
breathe clichés, be
a cliché. Write a poem
(we all are the) monarchwe are not born noble.
instead, we are thrust out
squalling and naked,
feather-dust fur instead of wings
and crowns built of flesh & bone.
as the caterpillar into her chrysalis
we begin lowly that we may grow.
Let the Sparrows InI.
Blackbirds rest on the power lines,
their silhouettes form the notation
to a dawn song set on the sheet music
of telephone poles contrasted by the sun.
Curled leaves are land mines littered
on the lawn where imprints of twigs
and a nurturing robin's tracks collect.
Branchlets and leaflets stem from
porch step railings and mailboxes;
the numbers read odd on the east,
even on the west side of the asphalt:
The engraved letters on
the siding reads, "Davis."
This house is home to family
so let the sparrows in.
with its branching hallways
furniture rooted to the floor
family, friends, the occasional
out from home.
Let the sparrows in; let
Let the door's
loosen—let the door stand ajar
be let open
the night owls and
let the doves
in pairs in the iridescent
Let the sparrows in.
Framed on either side
Flirting with PersephoneYou pop the pomegranate
seeds into her sweet mouth.
Her tongue on your index
finger makes you crazy.
She invites you to visit
her mother, and you move
in close to lick the juice
from her dripping chin,
wondering how this blazing
abyss could be hotter
than her snow-white skin.
CSS Commission (Open)Hello everybody!
Seeing that my Journal and css commission is getting quite popular, I decided to make a side journal specific for this matter as it does quite apply to the drawing side of my qualifications.
I hope you find what you are looking for in the list. If you are unsure, you can still comment below or note me to establish which category you would be included into.
I work with paypal and/or points. If I accept points for the said commissions, you can refer to my front page widget. Only those are available as point payment so far.
I will not give away my paypal details here. Once a discussion and an agreement has been formed, only then you will get a detail sheet about the price (in case it is a special commission or several elements) and my paypal address.
Payment will be only in USD.
I do not own Google Chrome, Opera and Internet Explorer on my own computer, to make sure your skin works on every browser you will have to wait for me to
Commission ListingHello everyone,
like you can guess, I need money. The money will be directed to pay my art supplies for my school projects and also for the printing fees of my final project as I do not want my parents to take those expenses on their shoulders anymore. I will never close my commission status, I will just limit the "currently on" to 5 slots.
Now, your big question is "How do I pay you?". Well, it's easy, you need a paypal (I will accept some commissions in points as it will be noted) If you wish a commission, please note me. Paypal informations will be exchanged privately.
I will not draw hentai/porn, erotism, mecha. Everything else is fine if you provide a reference of what you wish.
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