• Her two silver earrings were as long as my pinky finger, swinging above her shoulders like halos to a sitting devil and angel. She smiled at me with thin painted lips, motioning for me to lean closer to her. I smelled rosemary in her hair.

  • I was stuck in the airport on a two hair delay. Stuck between tired mothers with hyper children, and overweight men trying to sit still I could not fathom a worse place to be. Everything was so rush, rush, rush. Either going somewhere or returning somewhere, like this air I was breathing had only the purpose of filling space before a new destination.

  • Brooke Fowler commented on the post, strike 5 years, 8 months ago

    I had never rebelled against her in my life. I was beyond scared of her, for I had heard what she did to other girls who refused her. I had always vowed to stay away from that. i thought I loved her. then one night we were sitting at the kitchen table and I told her I was done. I was leaving. She reached over the table, I thought she was going to…[Read more]

  • I was always wondering. It hurt a lot though. Wondering if things would happen. It would make my chest tighten and neon pulse behind my eyes but the back of my skeleton was a magnet dragging me in reverse. “No, it doesn’t work like that.” But I was always wondering, hoping, and it has begun to scar me much deeper than I am willing to admit.

  • Brooke Fowler commented on the post, single 5 years, 8 months ago

    I have a single card, a single set of keys, and a single woman. I have a single goal and a single method. As one it is nothing but when paired with another is becomes an incredible creation.
    While a single being is destructive to ones self, it takes two people to share the weight so only then it becomes bearable.

  • She was not a person people said no to. Declined is different from rejected but in very few ways when it comes to the emotional toll. Declined comes on a typed paper in a sealed envelope which you open with a hopeful and anxious anticipation. Rejected is a hasty text message sent at 3am because he couldn’t look at your face as he admits something…[Read more]

  • Brooke Fowler commented on the post, overt 5 years, 8 months ago

    Mister please come and make me better, Mister that rusty crowbar you keep in the backyard garage if you could just pry open my rib cage I have forgotten what color my heart has turned. Mister don’t worry about breaking bones, perfection is not a necessity I only want to be seen.

  • I was always interested in you. There is something about an interest that could be a cross between love and hate and you were the line lying between both. It was interest. Nothing more and frankly nothing less.
    I had an interest in talking and reading and possibly you if you ever belonged in a category like that.

  • Nobody believes an adolescent.
    I say I am in love, I am told I am too young to know what love is. I don’t mention that this feeling is like taking a bullet for another person.
    I say i am depressed. They say it is hormones and i don’t know how hard life is yet. I don’t mention that I have cried myself to sleep some nights because I want to kill…[Read more]

  • Cold nights. Bright lights. Cracking, sparking, melting.A sudden clap. A fuzzy face, blue eyes. Repressed memories, only images left. This was all she could remember.

  • Brooke Fowler commented on the post, active 5 years, 8 months ago

    My mind was always active. I would compare it to a gala thrown by Gatsby himself. Trumpet sounds would mix with orange cherries and the bubbles of champagne would break the surface with voices all I can think is that the meniscus is the top of a liquid and noble gases expand infinitely and… don’t you see… the gala has begun.

  • I have been called a lot of names, Been accused of a lot of things. I have a cold exterior. I speak in short sentences like the blades cutting air on a helicopter. Ungrateful was used as an insult towards me. I am grateful, but I always feared that showing it would make me weak. So I am above everything, untouchable. Steel on the outside,…[Read more]

  • Her image was forefront in my mind. Bullet fires, ricocheting off my cranium, creating small pockets of air where she flooded in. She was always like lava, beautiful but destructive and in that very same way I felt myself collapsing under unrelenting love.

  • Her personality looked like sour milk tasted. With the same soggy white complexion, her eyes were rimmed in a pink and her cheekbones a hollow yellow.

  • She always told me she was a swimmer. “It’s explains the arms muscles” She said, stroking her lean tan arms. “And the legs,” she bends down, nearly touching her toes.
    I always liked swimmers. I never liked the ocean, but swimmers could never be beat.

  • People always assume terrain is speaking of the surrounding land. The trees, the rocks, the dirt.

    She made it sound so different.

    She spoke of the mudslide in her heart, eroding the cavity of her rib-cage, tumbling emotions over freshly healed scars.

    Oh it wouldn’t be so bad if I was not the beast that’s roar first began to shake the foundation.

  • I was the only witness. That girl stood in the middle of the street, the man across from her. She shot words like bullets until the man was nothing but a paper shield standing on feet he seemed to have forgotten were his own. That woman shot him dead, broke a heart. After the massacre, she left with only a blooming red smile and gun smoke trailing…[Read more]

  • They called me a juvenile. Not worth the respect of people born before me but without the sense to treat those after me any differently.
    Juvenile remind me of juvy, the juvenile correctional facility
    I don’t want to go back but I don’t dare tell them that.

    Juvenile
    Definition: immature, reckless, young.
    I am two out of three and I hope…[Read more]

  • They told her it would be like living in nonsense. Climbing over the O’s and sliding down the S. Everything would be in a haze, where you were feeling your body but were looking above it like a bird flying in the sky. If you don’t feel happy, don’t be afraid, it was all nonsense anyway.

  • I used to sit in drivers ed, ready to learn all about safety and with rapt attention.
    Then I met my teacher. Scott was lazy, racist, perverted, and overall nauseating. He hated his job, hated teenagers, and hated his life. He used to call monster trucks “compensation vehicles,” and laugh with that chocking cough.
    He taught me more than any other…[Read more]