“something inside me is energy, and it was not created, so it cannot be destroyed….” from
the girls by Lori Lansens
we stood in front
of my childhood closet fighting about the course that i was on she was positive i would never make it into the kingdom of her god and to tell you the truth to this day, i am ever thankful i will not..
“i will never die!”
i remember yelling at her, knowing full well that my physical body would someday expire.. but i knew then with the clarity of an epiphany, that the force that i called “i” would never die, but just move on..
i have received no further revelation. no moments of insight, no visions in the night.. yet, each time i recall that single apparition of teenage clarity, it rings with a truth i have never found in any god…
you will never know the scent of baby powder transports me back to the first moment i held you in my arms (inhale) (exhale) in an instant i am once again breathing in the scent of the waxy white vernix that protected your fragile foetal flesh from the waters of my womb.. and reminded, that you should never have had to protect yourself like that from me again..
Chelsea Ann Owens’ Terrible Poetry Contest. This week we could the subject was open, so I found this rather absurd subject in my …why paisley?? archives and decided to go with it.
He was a mountain of a man, storming around the room, blood lust in his eyes, retaliation in his gait, “Where is it you stupid bitch- you know you stole my dope- where is it??”
She could see the headlines, ‘STUPID WHITE GIRL FOUND DEAD IN CRACKHEAD HOTEL’.
“Would you stop thinking about what you are going to do to me, and start thinking about where you put it?” she could think of nothing else to say.
What if he had beat her to death before he remembered he hid it in the tissue box holder that was built into the bathroom wall?
But he hadn’t, he had found it- and she lived to steal his dope another day.
Girlie on the Edge’s Blog Six Sentence Story, prompt: Mountain.
a jealousy green as winter grass grows succulent, lush, and full on the long dead, barren jagged cliffs, of my aching, envious, soul.
i watch you live, your chalice full-
as in emptiness i am bound crackled leaf and bitter root, the thistles with which i am crowned.
desires incandescence burns-
fever squelched, paralyzed with fear sweet aria sung, life’s siren song so weak, i strain- but cannot hear.
in this theater of my own parched soul
shut out all, but temptations moan i watch you glide among the living while stained, i stumble on, alone…..
Gangsta by wise kctus on deviant art -If you have an aversion to raw street language, run while there is still time-
so you be thinkin’ you all gangsta
you fuckin’ straight up thug always one uppin’ yo homies got da sweetest drugs got all da bestest bitches you run da sikest hos ain’t nobody gon’fuckin’ wit chew cuz you cap a bitch, yo! well brutha let me clue ya i was once like you smoothest playa in da ‘hood had all da ill crazy moves one night dis punk ass poser start to fuck wit’ my shit mutha fucka didn’t realize who he was fuckin’ wit’ dood, i whipped out my gat i went all al capone and widout a moment’s notice both our lives was gone ten years ago dey buried him but life, was my decree yo, even if dey let me out, i can’t never be free all dat fuckin’ attitude all dat pent up strife don’t mean fuckin’ shit to no one when you take a nigga’s life…. true dat….
Chelsea Ann Owens Terrible Poetry Contest’s call for Cliche Rap. This was last weeks prompt, but since I didn’t write one to enter in this weeks competition, and had this one ready before I moved, i thought I would post it today.