writing for hours
through sunrise, no interruptions
dark roast at starbucks
sometimes burnt
why is this one so different
is it because she’s there:
hands, torn and retorn
opening moving crushing
dirty powerful reflexive
boxcuts repeated
resliced, too fast
scars vine around my fists
but writing
with a lust few know
biting the cap
breaking it
crushing its ink
my words tear away at the rough
passion smears off the pages
into a glance
want to see what I’ve been writing..
I think you’ll like it
The words that tell when I’m not there, when I’m not inside. The words reminding me I’m a wall, or at best a mirror. And I think back to when I felt I was a soothing whisper. Your words remind me I’ve nothing to say.
I’m reminded of the way the sky looked that day, the way the blue shown through the drifting clouds, at yet at the edges of the horizon in all directions, I could see gray threatening, like masses coming toward us from above and all around. I couldn’t have known at the time that it might prove to be an omen, how could I have known?
I was reminded of the time that I went out to dinner on my first date. It was a fancy restaurant and we had a little wine. He kissed me later on the pier, my first kiss. But it wasn’t wonderful, it was awful.
I was reminded of how much. I do care for this man that I have been knowing for almost 12 yrs and still love him, such a fool that I am. Will, I ever get over him
I hate this word. I love the phonetics of this work, though,but I hate being reminded of someone or something I wanted or tried to forget. If it is something important, I make sure not to forget about it. The worst part is when you desperately try to forget a person and then you run into someone that reminds you of him. I just hate that, all that effort vanished.
these days reminded me of last summer
when I decided to wake up from my slumber
hiked the mountain like a thunder hunter
left the last supper to discover
to find a brand new me, brother
no longer be any bread’s butter
to find a brand new me, sister
no longer suffer as a world’s lover
It wasn’t in the way she always smiled at everyone, or in the way she always seemed to be nice to everyone.
It wasn’t in the way she arrived in a room, and immediately made sure that everyone knew she was there.
Nor was it in the way she sometimes chose to turn up quietly in a room, just to know who was aware that she was there.
It wasn’t that she wanted to be noticed, or remembered, for all it mattered, had she not been anymore.
It was more in the way she desperately wanted people to be reminded that she was.
i swear i hadn’t ever heard of the word that came out of his mouth next. he told me to look it up, to google, and what happened? the link to it’s wikipedia page is already purple, and suddenly the faint memory of something shoves itself on the front desk of my consciousness. i had tried that already. i wanted to synthesize it, too.
I was reminded of the wind when the natural fan faced my way. Wind makes me smile and cringe. I grew up in the deserts of Southern Ca. Where I experienced the warm wind of the sun blowing over the dry dirt fields. Wind did not always mean jackets hats and gloves but rather plastic garbage bags and strings. The wind I grew up with was strong and fierce. It was known to bring with it fire wrapped in tumble weeds rolling down the streets. This scene caused us to cringe knowing that what ever to touched could bring it up in flames.
The wind I grew up with would clear the sky’s from and smog that covered the blue blanket above. It was so strong and by the time it did its job we could see the mountains all around us. It polished the sky like a machine polishes rocks. Everything for miles away looked bright and shining when the winds would come through. Still after all these years I can feel the warmth of the wind and see the sight of its strength. I miss those days of standing In the coulda sac as a young child with my brown Hefty bag, string tied to the end hoping maybe just maybe to catch the wind and fly away for just a little while. The wind of my childhood makes me want to smile and cringe.
She doesn’t know why, but everywhere she goes, everywhere she sees, she’s reminded that in this great big world, she isn’t important. Just a fleck of dust, just a goldfish in an ocean.
Usually I don’t like being reminded about things as it shows a lack to responsibility on my part. Especially if it’s a colleague or sibling. I don’t mind it too much if it comes from a position of authority. I hate reminding myself of things I should let go of.
It wasn’t quite the same, but it fooled me for a little while. Shaped with similar curves and corners, bumps and rigid lines, I wouldn’t have noticed the difference if I hadn’t traced it with my hands a million times. The thought of you clouded my head, but deep down I knew that this heart did not belong in your chest.
Your mercy reminded me of the faint flicker before the candle blows out–that last inhale of breath before giving up and floating away as a smokey memory.
It’s like your computer, when you plug in a USB drive and it auto-runs. Those memories have been opened on your computer a hundred times, though they aren’t physically there. That’s how it felt like, every time she saw him, was a USB drive stuck in the computer of her mind, except they weren’t happy-smiley pictures anymore, they’d been corrupted with some kind of virus, and her default was still auto-run.
There was a time when she reminded me of light. Of the sun, shining so brightly in the sky it hurt to look. Of long days and short nights, effortless – endless – summer days.
It’s different now – the years apart have been hard on her, even harder than they’d been on me. And it showed, in the shadows in her eyes, the sharpness of her smile.
She was darkness now, inside and out.
And it killed me.
I was reminded of the way that the tree seemed to be old and gnarled – i wondered why it was even there, i thought that it had been removed last year by the council. apparently not. the only way that this could be possible was if someone had protested, and for that i thank them greatly. this tree had come to symbolise what
Every time I go to a wedding I am reminded of how mother is always trying to set me up because I somehow can’t manage to get a decent guy on my own. I am constantly reminded that somehow I will forever remain single.
maybe it’s
the coffee
writing for hours
through sunrise, no interruptions
dark roast at starbucks
sometimes burnt
why is this one so different
is it because she’s there:
hands, torn and retorn
opening moving crushing
dirty powerful reflexive
boxcuts repeated
resliced, too fast
scars vine around my fists
but writing
with a lust few know
biting the cap
breaking it
crushing its ink
my words tear away at the rough
passion smears off the pages
into a glance
want to see what I’ve been writing..
I think you’ll like it
The words that tell when I’m not there, when I’m not inside. The words reminding me I’m a wall, or at best a mirror. And I think back to when I felt I was a soothing whisper. Your words remind me I’ve nothing to say.
I’m reminded of the way the sky looked that day, the way the blue shown through the drifting clouds, at yet at the edges of the horizon in all directions, I could see gray threatening, like masses coming toward us from above and all around. I couldn’t have known at the time that it might prove to be an omen, how could I have known?
I was reminded of the time that I went out to dinner on my first date. It was a fancy restaurant and we had a little wine. He kissed me later on the pier, my first kiss. But it wasn’t wonderful, it was awful.
I was reminded of how much. I do care for this man that I have been knowing for almost 12 yrs and still love him, such a fool that I am. Will, I ever get over him
I hate this word. I love the phonetics of this work, though,but I hate being reminded of someone or something I wanted or tried to forget. If it is something important, I make sure not to forget about it. The worst part is when you desperately try to forget a person and then you run into someone that reminds you of him. I just hate that, all that effort vanished.
these days reminded me of last summer
when I decided to wake up from my slumber
hiked the mountain like a thunder hunter
left the last supper to discover
to find a brand new me, brother
no longer be any bread’s butter
to find a brand new me, sister
no longer suffer as a world’s lover
What is wanting more
focused spelling it confused
stability contentment but yearning for more
breaking my psychotic halfcraze tempo
like the break that began it all
i broke a glass flower at work
its box gashed the boxcutter’s cuts all across my hands…with staples
It wasn’t in the way she always smiled at everyone, or in the way she always seemed to be nice to everyone.
It wasn’t in the way she arrived in a room, and immediately made sure that everyone knew she was there.
Nor was it in the way she sometimes chose to turn up quietly in a room, just to know who was aware that she was there.
It wasn’t that she wanted to be noticed, or remembered, for all it mattered, had she not been anymore.
It was more in the way she desperately wanted people to be reminded that she was.
i swear i hadn’t ever heard of the word that came out of his mouth next. he told me to look it up, to google, and what happened? the link to it’s wikipedia page is already purple, and suddenly the faint memory of something shoves itself on the front desk of my consciousness. i had tried that already. i wanted to synthesize it, too.
I was reminded of the wind when the natural fan faced my way. Wind makes me smile and cringe. I grew up in the deserts of Southern Ca. Where I experienced the warm wind of the sun blowing over the dry dirt fields. Wind did not always mean jackets hats and gloves but rather plastic garbage bags and strings. The wind I grew up with was strong and fierce. It was known to bring with it fire wrapped in tumble weeds rolling down the streets. This scene caused us to cringe knowing that what ever to touched could bring it up in flames.
The wind I grew up with would clear the sky’s from and smog that covered the blue blanket above. It was so strong and by the time it did its job we could see the mountains all around us. It polished the sky like a machine polishes rocks. Everything for miles away looked bright and shining when the winds would come through. Still after all these years I can feel the warmth of the wind and see the sight of its strength. I miss those days of standing In the coulda sac as a young child with my brown Hefty bag, string tied to the end hoping maybe just maybe to catch the wind and fly away for just a little while. The wind of my childhood makes me want to smile and cringe.
She doesn’t know why, but everywhere she goes, everywhere she sees, she’s reminded that in this great big world, she isn’t important. Just a fleck of dust, just a goldfish in an ocean.
Usually I don’t like being reminded about things as it shows a lack to responsibility on my part. Especially if it’s a colleague or sibling. I don’t mind it too much if it comes from a position of authority. I hate reminding myself of things I should let go of.
It wasn’t quite the same, but it fooled me for a little while. Shaped with similar curves and corners, bumps and rigid lines, I wouldn’t have noticed the difference if I hadn’t traced it with my hands a million times. The thought of you clouded my head, but deep down I knew that this heart did not belong in your chest.
Your mercy reminded me of the faint flicker before the candle blows out–that last inhale of breath before giving up and floating away as a smokey memory.
daily i am reminded of god’s grace,
and i show it to others
but daily, i must remind myself that i need to show this grace to myself.
i am so unbelievably enough.
I have to look through the calendar on my phone frequently to be reminded of birthdays or special occasions I need to buy cards or presents for.
It’s like your computer, when you plug in a USB drive and it auto-runs. Those memories have been opened on your computer a hundred times, though they aren’t physically there. That’s how it felt like, every time she saw him, was a USB drive stuck in the computer of her mind, except they weren’t happy-smiley pictures anymore, they’d been corrupted with some kind of virus, and her default was still auto-run.
me of rains and coffee.
There was a time when she reminded me of light. Of the sun, shining so brightly in the sky it hurt to look. Of long days and short nights, effortless – endless – summer days.
It’s different now – the years apart have been hard on her, even harder than they’d been on me. And it showed, in the shadows in her eyes, the sharpness of her smile.
She was darkness now, inside and out.
And it killed me.
I was reminded of the way that the tree seemed to be old and gnarled – i wondered why it was even there, i thought that it had been removed last year by the council. apparently not. the only way that this could be possible was if someone had protested, and for that i thank them greatly. this tree had come to symbolise what
Every time I go to a wedding I am reminded of how mother is always trying to set me up because I somehow can’t manage to get a decent guy on my own. I am constantly reminded that somehow I will forever remain single.
The smell of plastic reminds me of many things , but not what the robins bring. If he would bring me sugar, and all the sweetest….