ScaredAmbitious

i shuffle through your most prized poems, looking for something that doesn't feel so damn enunciating of every single word. i'm looking for something that spilled out of you, like a coffee cup tipping, scalding an innocent lap, something fresh like a slap in the face. it's nothing against you, dear, i just can't stomach any more artificial products, because i'm hungry, baby biological, man

i'm the boy-- no, i'm a boy. you're the boy who's just an empty seashell but convinces all that you hold oceans inside. (even though you're not really a boy.) i'm a boy who hates peeling off his shirt because it reminds him that he's just dancing bones (and that the skeletons in his closet are bad, even if he also uses them as coat-hangers.) i'm a famous boy who no one knows. i coined the phrase "air, air everywhere but not a gasp to breathe," but no one heard. all i am was anyway is just an empty seashell. then you came along and told me that i am me, and slowly i came to believe it. the shock widened my e

I hate the rain. Its bleak wet splatter stabs with chills that make teeth chatter, and I hate with passion giving speeches, they freeze me up. I say, to each his own, and it's not mine and never will be. Nor is dancing when the hardwood floor is watched by hard-eyed peers and critics. Their stares strangle; my poor heart ticks like a time-bomb. I hate singing when the silence stares back, ringing. Then I met him. His sunlight smiles set me free and taught me that the rain can be nature's massage; its raindrop fingers tickle with a love that lingers. With speaking out, he gave me ease. He taught me tricks, how to unfreeze, and

music is magic, love is a lie, the moon is cheese and i'm free of fate. my tongue is dripping the truth like corroding acid and not not double negatives. electricity runs laps up and down my fingers, never leaving, never leaving. dreams fry in my pan mind, curling black, unspent. sighs bubble. you asked, "how do your fingers move so fast?" and continue practicing the piano yourself (but you stared at his ass, tonight. screw you.) maybe one night i can soak in the moonlight without dwelling on sonatas or love, or lies that masquerade as truth. i'd choose fantasy because truth is too plain, but only if that fantasy doesn

you've made me mad. i told you to learn to love, but you've started learning… with someone else. what infuriates me is that i still want you. i want to love you up and down, sponge you with my heart, soak you in my eyes. your lashes are like slices of butterfly wings, and your forehead wrinkles in concentration like a flag when it's covering a brainstorm. i love your downy-soft hair and the way that, in half a moment, you can go from being sincerely serious to genuine laughter that sounds like a river of wine bubbling backward up a slope. but you're like a word caught on the tip of my pointy tongue--so close we're nearly touching, but

"i should've asked when i borrowed your parachute, but you should've checked before you jumped out of the plane." "i didn't jump out of a plane, i tumbled down a cliff and expected gravity to follow after me. and it did. it chased me to the ground." "you always expected the world to march to your beat, but i never did. and i never got to use your parachute." "and that's just one of the many things you did wrong. you knitted what we had into a web of lies and i got caught in it. it strangled me in my sleep and stuck my tongue to the roof of my mouth. i just needed to be free. i just needed to cut loose." "i never meant to cut you loose th

her steady stare snags his snake's-tongue-flicking eyes. they blush and look away. his confident look reels in her furtive glimpses. grins erupt: they know. a door flings wide, the door slams shut. muffled sounds come from behind thick walls. kisses went from "i want you," to "i love you." soon, long walks trump thick walls. soon, she learns his scent like the back of his hand. she feels complete for once. he brings not only roses, but sun-warmed smiles. she waits for a ring. one morning, he's gone and she's left crying, clinging to the open door.

The Burning Kingdom Chapter 1, Part 3 The Escape "There's a small chance that he thinks we're undiscovered and untrained," said Peter. "That's why I made sure not to sleep them while he was there." "Let's not leave empty-handed," she said slowly. A shiver ran down her spine. That decision could be her death, yet so could leaving empty-handed, inevitably. She didn't know the whole big picture of the intrigue at court--no one probably did, but she had very little information anyway, the boss was careful about that--but failure meant danger for king's spies. Always. "Can you break the lock?" "Yes, yes, I can." He paused for another deep bre

exhaustion stabs my egg-yolk eyes which dribble onto black skin-umbrellas hanging    underneath. this ungodly hour blends shadows into blue silence, causing cam-corder eyes to crackle with static black and gray. the humming of my house asks a relevant question, to which i have no answer. i'll ignore it and pretend i have reason to keep stretching my mind on the torture rack. i hope no one catches me pawn- shopping for long-faced minutes at the cost of bright-eyed hours. (bad deal.)