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You'll Understand When You're OlderYou’ll understand when you are older
Once the sun has set
On your innocent days

You will see you are like a tree
As a sprout you risk being stepped on
But as you grow the wind can blow you down
Child your roots will grow in
Making your claim in the wild woods

I must warn you the wind is howling up here
But the air is so much clearer
I'm not yet fully grown
A little battered, somewhat scarred
Still reaching out
Digging my roots deeper
And finding myself closer to the sky

Soon you’ll understand my warnings
And soon you too
Will reach for the sky
What If?What if this were the last word that my hand ever wrote
The last line I ever drew?
I try not to take myself too seriously but
I hope that someone would care.
Every now and then I feel I should give up
Better off if no one knew
But the fact is that I hate how I work inside
Sometimes life just isn't fair.

What if I could just
Whisper goodbye to it all
And let it go dark?
Colorful SorrowOrange clouds,
Stone grey life,
Shim'ring shrouds…
Green mist haze,
Blood-red tears,
Empty gaze…
Full pink lips,
Blackened heart,
Sailing ships.

Heated blood,
Tender words,
Emotions flood…
Cold hard mind,
Warm body,
Words so kind…
Open grave,
Beating rain,
Standing brave.

Gone forever,
Empty rooms,
Ties to sever…
Time's a blur,
White roses,
Are you sure?
Crystal drips,
Absence felt,
Blank fear grips…

Beaten gong,
Moonlight grass
Sad little song…
Silver lining,
Little bells,
A voice crying…
Long thin sighs,
Parted lips,
Golden eyes…

Ashen face,
Purple eyes,
Silk
AirshipThe wind whipped round him as he  balanced over the hatch in the airship's floor.  Eyes tearing, he strained to see a break in the endless stream of clouds.  There!  A glimpse of land.  They were on the right course.

He made a few final adjustments; lost in the coils of delicate machinery.  Satisfied, he allowed the engine's vibration to soothe his nerves.  And for a moment he expanded his vision and silently drank in the beauty of an azure sky.  Wonder filled him that today should be so perfect.

Happy and contented, he dropped the first bomb.

©EJHillson
Grizzly BearJune 4, 2012

       Love
is making me crazy.
An itch that breaks the skin
and peels away in flakes
      I can't resist scratching
      tearing apart my chest
as a mother who loses her child in labor.

      There's always the risk
that I'm a ghost to you.
That these fingertips
that whisper to you tales of imagoes
as they trail up your spine
are goose bumps
       (at most)
       that disappear
once the frost passes

My heart palpitates
CampNaNo Beginning: Glass HousesWhen Blip reached the age when he could be told such things, his mother said to him, "You never cried as a baby."

His full name was Blianip Harrigan-Westly the Third. This was not the only amazing thing about him. He weighed more than any other child his age in the country. He ate more than they did. Not because he wanted more, but because his family could afford more. At age one and a half, Blip's daily allowance could have bought him a small car every day. Blip's father made glass. And, yes, Blip had never once cried.

When he was told this, he considered it with the careful thought-weighing process he had been trained in his entire life.
April 28th Goth PrincessTwo and half years old,
Black dress with deep red roses,
Beautiful little one,
Don't let the world corrupt you,
With your red and black hair extenuation,
Keep that lovely little smile,
The mass produced is boring,
You don't have to be in her shadow,
Or follow her footsteps,
Just shine your own light,
Good luck little Goth princess.
April 26th Nobody Else is Going to Die for MeHe stood there bold and true,
Looked out at the world,
And said enough is enough,
Too many have laid their lives down,
All in my name but no more,
No more,
I'm sorry Teddy for making you an orphan,
This is for you my God son,
And for all that have been slain,
By the so called pure of blood,

My friends I must ask one more thing,
Be courageous stay true,
To the brightest witch of our age,
You're amazing don't forget it,
Taught me about friendship,
Showed me I was more than me,
To my ginger best friend,
Thanks for all the great times bro,
Always know you'd come back,
Glad you told her mate,

And to my beautiful girl,
Light o
Creed of the Non-Conformist (Six Word Stories)Today: rebel.

Tomorrow: rebuild.

Oppress? Never.
you can't break memy heart is your ashtray.
 i'm your trashcan where
 you toss your old garbage
 and i attempt to dodge
 your incoming problems:
 the fact that i won't
 let you fuck with me,
 your whiny girlfriend who
 doesn't like it when you
 cheat, your parents always
 kicking you out, no money
 to pay for the crack.

my mind is your punching bag.
 i take it all, i absorb your
 abuse like a sponge. i let
 you peel apart the layers
 of my mind and find out what
 makes me tick, what makes
 me sick, what softens my heart.
 i let you take me, i don't
care. i don't.

my body is a work of art
 you bought to hang on you
tokyowhen moths wear tight black dresses and
jackals prowl the aisles of best buy
on the hunt for the latest kanye album--
that is how we know our
threefold utopian dream has ended.

the spires of our glass-capped hearts are dividing into an endless zero. the warmth is growing faint and
the skyscrapers grow ever-taller, pulling us farther from the earth. the martini-
stained underground is painted a fluorescent pink by the tail-ends of a thousand fireflies
dressed in the latest versace and ripe with lemon-flavored aphrodisiacs. yellow
permeates the atmosphere and fills the evening with the lustful air of a triple-homicide longing. the cr
HeroesThere are no heroes, but ourselves.
NaPoWriMo: Day 12- The JournalShe was thirteen when her mother gave it to her
it was lovely, and she never so proud
to even just hold it, let alone own it
filled her head up with light
The things I will write!
and sent her to live in the clouds.

It was bound in soft leather, creamy light tan
"Feel how soft it is? Your grandfather made it
he made more than clocks
see, there's a key to this lock
and I've a book to match, though mine's faded."

The girl at once desired to write in it
to pour her words all over a page
But it'll be ruined, spoiled and wrecked
I'll mar the clean paper
in eagerness or in anger
I'll destroy it in some dimwitted rage.

Her mother so
africalet me tell you about the fire, boy
you were the one who lit the match,
and you were the one who burned me--
oh, god, did i burn--
but hear this, foolish one;
you left me in that pile of ashes, yes,
but i got up and learned to walk again
and now i can say that you disappoint me,
now i can burn again, with my own fire, and
oh, god, do i fucking burn
netherlandslet's talk about the quiet things;
the significance of colors,
the forgetting breaths and
things written by j.d. salinger
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December 17, 2012
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Love is Love

:iconjiaroyale:

I wish

I want

I desire

I dream about
I obsess over

I hold my breath
I cross my fingers

I plan our lives together
I muse about our future

This is when I scream "It's not fair!"
Though the words don't slip from my mouth
I'm not that open

This is when I cry
Missing your hugs and kisses
Though you've never set your eyes on me


This is when I pray
Because God's will is the only way
I will ever be a part of your precious life.

My beautiful, loving, wonderful
Child.

I have never been graced
With the positive test

Never felt the panic
Because I'm not ready for this

We've been responsible

We've been patient

We're going to wait

As I hand the baby back to her mother,
my friend,
and wave good bye.
I wonder when my tears will end.
If my tears will end.
I do not need the first heartbeat,
Or the little kicking feet.
To make the child mine.
I just need to know
That we're not planning on saying goodbye.
That I'm there for the first heartbreak
And the studying,
And the arguing about chores,
That I get to be the one,
worrying about how my teenager shuts me out
Or when my toddler speaks full sentences.
I just need to know, it's me.
That's all.
You're eyes don't need to be mine,
Or his.
For me to know,
You are ours.
And we would give up everything
For you.


This is breaking me up inside.
This envy.
That, once more,
It isn't me.
:iconjiaroyale:
People sometimes ask me, when the answer to the pregnancy question is "maybe, I don't know yet" is which answer am I hoping for?

It's too heartbreaking to have hope. Because, logically, the answer is "no." We don't know if we want to have biological children at all to begin with, and even if the long term answer is yes, now is not a good time.

But, as I age, and my friends welcome their own wonderful babies to the world, as I notice the "Foster! Adopt!" billboards, as people around me can't keep their pregnancies by necessity, biologically, or choice....it's tearing me to little pieces, because all I've wanted since I was a child was to raise children, and it seems like madness to put that aside for the chance at a career. Heck, even an education at this point, the career is so far in the distance.

And everybody seems to come down into either the "Consequences be damned, have a baby/foster now," or "Wait until you're 40."

And all I really want, is for people to offer a hug and say, "Yeah, waiting sucks."

So, did I confuse you properly with the opening of the poem? I really wanted to display how desperate a love this currently is.
love 1 1 joy 0 0 wow 0 0 mad 0 0 sad 0 0 fear 0 0 neutral 0 0
:iconxsfanatic:
~XSFanatic Dec 18, 2012
See, this is how I can see a true writer. A true writer conveys a message to the audience, and makes them FEEL something. I felt a longing and heartbreaking desperation to reach what's being hoped for, and that emotion shows and shines through your writing. This is so well done, simply because it will make people THINK after reading your message. Keep writing, and I'm so sorry about what you're going through. I really hope that you don't have to keep waiting. You're in my prayers, for your bravery and hope.
Reply
:iconkikielric:
Mood: Love ~KikiElric Dec 18, 2012  Student General Artist
that is so heart breaking, it nearly brought me to tears. I think you conveyed the desperate love perfectly, I adore your writing.
Reply
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