if love was a shadow, then sex would be a mystery
from crib to the cradle to depraved
depressed sunsets cloud the shapes erect
this momentary lapse of reason
calling out the perfect pain
and one day i’m sure i’ll be
free from the crime of an endless same.
i did the best i could
i wonder if the best is good enough
could cold tough
it is tired
it is liars
it is loveless lives
it is los angeles
it is in between the moments
it is to go so slow
it is every day before i go
to sleep
in a crib
listless listing all the times i can
forget the pain and circumstance.
the crib she wove from starlight held the child aloft. his sleeping face was as bright as the glow of the moon, his cooing sighs as sweet as the sounds of the universe moving in harmony.
“good night, dear one. i will see you in your dreams,” she told him softly, and then disappeared into the velvet black of space. in the obsidian dark, the child stirred, but would not know the feeling of loneliness that his departing mother left behind until he woke.
when the pimp is in the crib, man, go squeeze the eyeballs
of your soul like mad symptoms of April flowers, let the oils seep
under the smile of the sheets and smile yourself, rise the
sun!
The baby in the crib cooed while the frustrated mother sat beside it crying. Her babe would never know her father and with a simple signing of a paper would never not remember her mother either. She loved her child, she truly did. That is why she has to do this.
She cannot give her child the life that she wanted. She couldn’t afford to, not with her husband’s extra income. No, she would do this an then burn the crib. Tabby had given her a month of joy and now she would bring joy to someone who would love her and care for her.
Shrieks pierce the night. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I was supposed to travel. To see the world. To be someone amazing. I roll over.
The screaming continues. I push my feet out from the sheet to comfort her.
I pick her up, bouncing her up and down. She smiles.
When I was a mother I used to have a crib all picked out for my grown up babies. I knew just what kind of love they would receive. I wasn’t the kind of woman to talk people into things but with babies…I’d lie to them all day. I’ll tell the world was beautiful only at night. I’d tell them to keep their eyes shut and their hands open because there was so much more to feel than to see.
she laid her head gently on the pillow. a hushed lullaby sounding through the room. the mobile creaked as wind came in through the open window. The laughter as the other children climbed into bed was muffled by the closed door. The mother kissed her baby goodnight, as another starry night began.
yo’ would you like to hang at my crib- no really – I have 3 amazing kids and rarely used a crib with them. They were in my bed until they were old enough to be in their own bed. It is some of the best memories of waking up in the middle of the night with a warm little body hugging you.
The baby was sleeping soundly, placed in the crib that had been handcrafted by an architect that Kristen had met years ago in Hoenn. It was a gift, something special for the doubtless baby Pokemon that would grace Gaia Ranch’s grounds one day.
Kristen never expected that it would be a human baby.
She used to be so small. So gentle. So innocent. So unhurt. She grew up and learned better. People would hurt her. But she would inevitably grow stronger. One day, she would break, but it wouldn’t be today.
I think about a child as they lie in their crib. What dreams do they have? Who will this little person become. It is in their crib that a child is protected to dream the dreams that are necessary to become who they are to become. It is in a crib that I wish I could sleep.
The cold wind blew the through the window, causing the curtains to flap furiously and rhythmically against the crib. The child lay sleeping, oblivious to the cold,
We jumped up the two steps and fell into the porch, laughing. Today had been a good day.
It shouldn’t have been, but it was.
It had been raining, the most perfect rain. It was the dancing in the rain sort of rain.
We weren’t dancing now though. Now our feet were sore and in desperate need of a glass of milk and a sit down.
I chuckled at my little brother, barely little anymore though, as he tripped on the last step, falling into us. Margie shushed me as a cackle escaped my lips. I mimed zipping them shut and she rolled her eyes at me, but I saw the corners of her lips smirking as she looked for the front door key.
I heard a jingle, the turn of the lock and then we were in.
The adolescent girl sitting on their sofa got up and brushed away the guilty crumbs off her sweater.
She met Margie’s gaze and I began to creep up the stairs; mindful of the one creaky step near the top.
“How was she?”
I heard the smile on her lips as she answered, “Perfect. Your daughter is an angel”
I passed the creaky step and pushed the door slightly ajar, in the crack of light that streaked over her crib, I saw the sleeping girl with the teddy that I had given her earlier this evening under one arm.
“Good night baby” I whispered before closing the door once more.
He dipped his head into the crib. A boy, a beautiful baby boy. His breathing was even and everything seemed perfect. He wishd he could stay in this moment, he could hear someone calling him from the other room. It was his wife. Everything was perfect, he awoke with a shudder at his desk. Tears threatening to break through. He thought he had a family once.
come on over. I have a big screen tv. i have nacho fixin’s. i have maxims. We can hit the bong. i washed most of the clothes that were on the floor and s
She held the world in the palm of her tiny hands. His world, full of violence and hate and strife as it was. It should have been incomprehensible — this tiny, delicate, innocent thing being rocked in that yellowed lace crib by this mountain of a man with violent tattoos and scars like little earthquakes on his face. And yet. And yet….
The fluid rocking of the ship brings me back to simpler times; the gentle shift of a crib as I am serenaded by a loving voice and bathed in midsummer light.
He sat in his crib screaming at the top of his lungs. It was the most difficult thing she could do, listen to his crying in agony wanting to hold on tight to his mother. She cried and cried begging for him to stop as she watched through the baby monitor. Finally he fell asleep in the strangest position, kind of sitting up but leaning forward like a complicated yoga pose. She thanked God he went to sleep, kissed her husband, and went to sleep.
Gloria walked by the crib and stared on the creased blankets where the baby had once been. Not that little Joey had gone very far; his father had carried him, half-asleep, down to the den, where he had turned on a late night television talk show and was listening to a high-pitched comedian trying to squawk over pasta-strained laughter.
She let her fingers curl around the tiny bars of the crib and felt them twitch.
my mom likes to tell a story about me. she says i liked to store scrambled eggs in my cheek during my naps as a baby. i believe it now. only question i have is- was i destined for this eating disorder?
ive already wrote about this word pleaase give me a new one i dont want to continue writing about this word balrgh balrgh osafhsd;fohasdkfhs;dlkfhasd;lkfahsd;klfahs;dlkfsd;klfjasdl;kfjasd;lkfjadls;kfjads;lkfjdls;kfjsd;lkfjasd;klfjasd;lfjads;lkfjads;lfjkasdfjadkls;fjsdkl;fjasdk;llkfjasd;fkwequr0uq9r0erwueirouasdoipgysdpivxchv ihs;dlfhwqoid hz;idshf oiqwehio; hso;if;hio h;qifhaio ;sdhf;io ahds;ithqw ;ohai sh;fioah i;oqhwe;ioqhi; hweq;oifhqwe;ifo h;oisd fj;iowehf;qiaioh;irh iqh ;iowhf;i qhg;fqj w;io io;wqe ;iqwh oihsd;f ihwe;if hq;iq h;ih oiwer ioqhwe;iohf; iqj;vi; oijeriofh; ioh;weih ;oiwh;qih;qwoejfh
I peered down from my bed. Exhausted from the defeat. We were just 3 split seconds away from getting that one. One second from winning the game. We could have been there, at the finals. But we didn’t make it. As I tossed around my bed I saw one thing. That one thing. My younger sister. She lost her favorite rattle. And she giggled as she crawled across her crib. She didn’t cry. She just asked me. Buy me a new one!
“Hey little baby, why are you crying?” “Oh you want you ba-ba?” “Wait, what’s that little brown thing under you?” The mother lifts her child up, and under the child is a large spot of brown poo, left from the baby. “Oh, great.” The mother’s face wilts.
The crib is back, but we don’t have a use for it. While our neighbors used it we got pregnant, had a baby, raised a toddler and moved him into a bunk bed. There was, of course, supposed to be another baby, born before they even gave the crib back, but now there isn’t. The crib is in storage, so I don’t have to look at it.
The baby’s cries filled the empty house, reflecting the longing that her husband felt, as he tightly gripped the picture of his newborn daughter in his blistered hands. The weather was dry, and reflected the burning desire he had to see her, and not be out here anymore. It was his first deployment, and he had come to a huge sense of remorse with leaving her, alone with a new baby.
The cries filled the lonely house, she had spent one too many nights alone in. He was out on his first deployment, and at this same time, he held a letter of hers, with an attached picture of his daughter tightly in his hand. he thirsted to see them, regretting leaving her alone for the fist year of having a child.
if love was a shadow, then sex would be a mystery
from crib to the cradle to depraved
depressed sunsets cloud the shapes erect
this momentary lapse of reason
calling out the perfect pain
and one day i’m sure i’ll be
free from the crime of an endless same.
i did the best i could
i wonder if the best is good enough
could cold tough
it is tired
it is liars
it is loveless lives
it is los angeles
it is in between the moments
it is to go so slow
it is every day before i go
to sleep
in a crib
listless listing all the times i can
forget the pain and circumstance.
The crib of humanity, one could say, was Africa. As a species we walked, crawled, and stood upright first in the steaming desert sun.
But I think the true crib of humanity is when we learned to love, hate, and cry.
the crib she wove from starlight held the child aloft. his sleeping face was as bright as the glow of the moon, his cooing sighs as sweet as the sounds of the universe moving in harmony.
“good night, dear one. i will see you in your dreams,” she told him softly, and then disappeared into the velvet black of space. in the obsidian dark, the child stirred, but would not know the feeling of loneliness that his departing mother left behind until he woke.
when the pimp is in the crib, man, go squeeze the eyeballs
of your soul like mad symptoms of April flowers, let the oils seep
under the smile of the sheets and smile yourself, rise the
sun!
The baby in the crib cooed while the frustrated mother sat beside it crying. Her babe would never know her father and with a simple signing of a paper would never not remember her mother either. She loved her child, she truly did. That is why she has to do this.
She cannot give her child the life that she wanted. She couldn’t afford to, not with her husband’s extra income. No, she would do this an then burn the crib. Tabby had given her a month of joy and now she would bring joy to someone who would love her and care for her.
Shrieks pierce the night. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I was supposed to travel. To see the world. To be someone amazing. I roll over.
The screaming continues. I push my feet out from the sheet to comfort her.
I pick her up, bouncing her up and down. She smiles.
When I was a mother I used to have a crib all picked out for my grown up babies. I knew just what kind of love they would receive. I wasn’t the kind of woman to talk people into things but with babies…I’d lie to them all day. I’ll tell the world was beautiful only at night. I’d tell them to keep their eyes shut and their hands open because there was so much more to feel than to see.
The field had an old corn crib in the middle of it that held corn for years. But now it was barren and had only remnants of what once was.
she laid her head gently on the pillow. a hushed lullaby sounding through the room. the mobile creaked as wind came in through the open window. The laughter as the other children climbed into bed was muffled by the closed door. The mother kissed her baby goodnight, as another starry night began.
yo’ would you like to hang at my crib- no really – I have 3 amazing kids and rarely used a crib with them. They were in my bed until they were old enough to be in their own bed. It is some of the best memories of waking up in the middle of the night with a warm little body hugging you.
I can no longer get up anymore to go comfort the distant wails. My heart is heavy. How can one be loving to a fear?
The baby was sleeping soundly, placed in the crib that had been handcrafted by an architect that Kristen had met years ago in Hoenn. It was a gift, something special for the doubtless baby Pokemon that would grace Gaia Ranch’s grounds one day.
Kristen never expected that it would be a human baby.
The crib sat across from the sturdy oak wardrobe. White
linens were draped over the edge of the rail.
Yo dawn step into my crib. We got rattles to get crunk on. We got wet wipe warmers in case the po po shows up. Put on yo onesie and rock this bitch.
She used to be so small. So gentle. So innocent. So unhurt. She grew up and learned better. People would hurt her. But she would inevitably grow stronger. One day, she would break, but it wouldn’t be today.
I think about a child as they lie in their crib. What dreams do they have? Who will this little person become. It is in their crib that a child is protected to dream the dreams that are necessary to become who they are to become. It is in a crib that I wish I could sleep.
The door flew upon causing a rippling through the entire house. The crib on the second floor rocked back and forth calming the whimpering child.
The cold wind blew the through the window, causing the curtains to flap furiously and rhythmically against the crib. The child lay sleeping, oblivious to the cold,
We jumped up the two steps and fell into the porch, laughing. Today had been a good day.
It shouldn’t have been, but it was.
It had been raining, the most perfect rain. It was the dancing in the rain sort of rain.
We weren’t dancing now though. Now our feet were sore and in desperate need of a glass of milk and a sit down.
I chuckled at my little brother, barely little anymore though, as he tripped on the last step, falling into us. Margie shushed me as a cackle escaped my lips. I mimed zipping them shut and she rolled her eyes at me, but I saw the corners of her lips smirking as she looked for the front door key.
I heard a jingle, the turn of the lock and then we were in.
The adolescent girl sitting on their sofa got up and brushed away the guilty crumbs off her sweater.
She met Margie’s gaze and I began to creep up the stairs; mindful of the one creaky step near the top.
“How was she?”
I heard the smile on her lips as she answered, “Perfect. Your daughter is an angel”
I passed the creaky step and pushed the door slightly ajar, in the crack of light that streaked over her crib, I saw the sleeping girl with the teddy that I had given her earlier this evening under one arm.
“Good night baby” I whispered before closing the door once more.
Crib can be a verb or a noun. Verb: meaning don’t ‘shut in’. Noun: the sailor returned to his ‘crib’. A short word but one you don’t see often.
He dipped his head into the crib. A boy, a beautiful baby boy. His breathing was even and everything seemed perfect. He wishd he could stay in this moment, he could hear someone calling him from the other room. It was his wife. Everything was perfect, he awoke with a shudder at his desk. Tears threatening to break through. He thought he had a family once.
Petra saw her child in that crib sleep was sleeping like a baby well her child was a baby, a baby that was
come on over. I have a big screen tv. i have nacho fixin’s. i have maxims. We can hit the bong. i washed most of the clothes that were on the floor and s
She held the world in the palm of her tiny hands. His world, full of violence and hate and strife as it was. It should have been incomprehensible — this tiny, delicate, innocent thing being rocked in that yellowed lace crib by this mountain of a man with violent tattoos and scars like little earthquakes on his face. And yet. And yet….
The fluid rocking of the ship brings me back to simpler times; the gentle shift of a crib as I am serenaded by a loving voice and bathed in midsummer light.
He sat in his crib screaming at the top of his lungs. It was the most difficult thing she could do, listen to his crying in agony wanting to hold on tight to his mother. She cried and cried begging for him to stop as she watched through the baby monitor. Finally he fell asleep in the strangest position, kind of sitting up but leaning forward like a complicated yoga pose. She thanked God he went to sleep, kissed her husband, and went to sleep.
Gloria walked by the crib and stared on the creased blankets where the baby had once been. Not that little Joey had gone very far; his father had carried him, half-asleep, down to the den, where he had turned on a late night television talk show and was listening to a high-pitched comedian trying to squawk over pasta-strained laughter.
She let her fingers curl around the tiny bars of the crib and felt them twitch.
Comfort.
my mom likes to tell a story about me. she says i liked to store scrambled eggs in my cheek during my naps as a baby. i believe it now. only question i have is- was i destined for this eating disorder?
ive already wrote about this word pleaase give me a new one i dont want to continue writing about this word balrgh balrgh osafhsd;fohasdkfhs;dlkfhasd;lkfahsd;klfahs;dlkfsd;klfjasdl;kfjasd;lkfjadls;kfjads;lkfjdls;kfjsd;lkfjasd;klfjasd;lfjads;lkfjads;lfjkasdfjadkls;fjsdkl;fjasdk;llkfjasd;fkwequr0uq9r0erwueirouasdoipgysdpivxchv ihs;dlfhwqoid hz;idshf oiqwehio; hso;if;hio h;qifhaio ;sdhf;io ahds;ithqw ;ohai sh;fioah i;oqhwe;ioqhi; hweq;oifhqwe;ifo h;oisd fj;iowehf;qiaioh;irh iqh ;iowhf;i qhg;fqj w;io io;wqe ;iqwh oihsd;f ihwe;if hq;iq h;ih oiwer ioqhwe;iohf; iqj;vi; oijeriofh; ioh;weih ;oiwh;qih;qwoejfh
a crib is a type of small bed about 1 meter long that has a fence all around the sides. babies sleep in a crib.
I peered down from my bed. Exhausted from the defeat. We were just 3 split seconds away from getting that one. One second from winning the game. We could have been there, at the finals. But we didn’t make it. As I tossed around my bed I saw one thing. That one thing. My younger sister. She lost her favorite rattle. And she giggled as she crawled across her crib. She didn’t cry. She just asked me. Buy me a new one!
“Hey little baby, why are you crying?” “Oh you want you ba-ba?” “Wait, what’s that little brown thing under you?” The mother lifts her child up, and under the child is a large spot of brown poo, left from the baby. “Oh, great.” The mother’s face wilts.
The crib is back, but we don’t have a use for it. While our neighbors used it we got pregnant, had a baby, raised a toddler and moved him into a bunk bed. There was, of course, supposed to be another baby, born before they even gave the crib back, but now there isn’t. The crib is in storage, so I don’t have to look at it.
The baby’s cries filled the empty house, reflecting the longing that her husband felt, as he tightly gripped the picture of his newborn daughter in his blistered hands. The weather was dry, and reflected the burning desire he had to see her, and not be out here anymore. It was his first deployment, and he had come to a huge sense of remorse with leaving her, alone with a new baby.
crib
The cries filled the lonely house, she had spent one too many nights alone in. He was out on his first deployment, and at this same time, he held a letter of hers, with an attached picture of his daughter tightly in his hand. he thirsted to see them, regretting leaving her alone for the fist year of having a child.
Crib, growing
building, thinking,
defecting to a
Life,
sadness complete with happiness,
unpredictable mirage of complexity, but I’m
going, too fast,
unstoppable force,
immovable object,
grave.
Crib, growing
building, thinking,
defecting.
Life,
sadness complete with happiness,
unpredictable mirage of complexity.
Going, too fast,
unstoppable force,
immovable object,
grave.