Comments Posted By tentwelvefourteen
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All I can think about right now is earthquakes. I thought about this earlier today. I talked about this with Bea. Didn’t I? Christ, I can’t remember anything.
Yes, I talked about earthquakes. I remember that. I talked about the end of the world, and how I can’t stop thinking about it.
Here is what I think about: earthquakes. Tsunamis (which are earthquakes, underwater). Aliens (the unfriendly type). Disappearing. I think about that more and more. I lean against the wall and envelop myself in the blue and then I’m gone. Or I disappear in a crack in the earth and the world smiles.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 08.21.2018 @ 5:59 pm
i am not afraid at age five –
my mother gives me two quarters
they fall like tears into the collection jug
we sing at the concert for the dead, and i
know nothing of the disaster
plastic bags for boots
i know nothing of the racial disparities,
of the failing relief programs,
of george w. bush’s face on the news
every night –
of anything but
my heart in my ears.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 02.18.2016 @ 2:43 pm
My fingers caught a bit of crumbling rock as I scrambled on the mossy face of the cliff. Squinting against the sun, I glanced up at the rest of the climbers. I was ten feet or so behind the slowest climber. If we wanted to get to the campsite before nightfall, I’d need to stop being so cautious.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 05.01.2015 @ 2:19 pm
Jesus Christ. He said that they were just his beliefs. He said that I couldn’t condemn him for believing in God, but Jesus, he literally thought that I should be stoned to death. He literally thought that I was going to burn in hell for that one time I kissed a girl. He thought that I didn’t deserve to live, that I was some mistake.
It’s great to be queer until you meet someone who hates your existence.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 04.27.2015 @ 2:26 pm
he said that he was just resting the time he lay down so i’ve been resting too for the past few hours even though it’s getting cold even though he always said that when it gets dark i have to run. i have to run.
but he said that he was resting and he hates it when i wake him up and he isn’t having the nightmares like he usually does so i can’t wake him up.
he isn’t moving at all so he’s resting well, and his body is getting cold, but he’s just resting and he’ll be up before sunrise tomorrow so i’ll just wait with him until he wakes up.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 04.22.2015 @ 3:04 pm
The thing is, they said that they would grant us the franchise to be like regular human beings, but the other thing is that the story doesn’t just stop there. The thing is that when they said we could vote, they acted like this was this giant act of freedom, but it was just a basic human right. And what about all the women who weren’t white? The thing is, black women couldn’t vote until decades after all the marches and protests and posters. And the thing is, they keep acting like we’re ungrateful for wanting more than the right to vote, and we have to act like we’re satisfied, but the thing is, we’re not.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 04.21.2015 @ 10:05 am
it’s on the edge of town if you look closely enough. we like to go there at night and stare at the water trickling through the pipe into the river, which might go to the other town, which might end up in the ocean, which might someday be turned into rain and fall into puddles and drip back through the outlet.
i feel like pieces of me are falling off one by one and all i can do it watch the water.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 04.15.2015 @ 2:48 pm
it feels like i’m not real anymore and the thing is i do not i do not know what to do any longer
my heart is a feather crushed by a rough hand
my brain floats out of my head and won’t return until it wants to
i do not think that i am connected to my body but i cannot tell anybody that
sometimes i just stare and stare and stare for hours and well i don’t know what to do but then who does?
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 04.12.2015 @ 12:50 pm
this is the thing:
i love her, i really do. we tell each other that all the time – voices gasping, desperate, almost greedy as we clutch at each other. i’ve told her that i want her to be near me all the time, and it’s not a lie – it’s not, because i do, i swear it, i do love her and need her and desire her company all the time- but god, i need her to stop hovering like some desperate bug. i don’t want her to go away. i need her.
this is the thing:
i am terrified of my own feelings and i don’t want to hurt her but oh god, she’s going to hurt.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 03.31.2015 @ 1:18 pm
I feel like my brain is being stretched into a million pieces all the time, like sweet rose bubblegum, wet with saliva, caught on braces, pulled by fidgeting fingers. I don’t know how to think on my own any longer. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with my life, but that’s okay–my brain does not have a mind of its own any longer.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 03.25.2015 @ 10:35 am
“You always make such a big production of everything!”
I heard glass shatter from somewhere downstairs. I paused, curling into a tighter ball on my bed. I tried to stare at the book, tried to read beyond the first paragraph, but there were loud footsteps downstairs now. My father’s voice.
“I make a big production? Jesus, who just broke half the mugs in the house because you came home drunk?”
The mugs. I wonder if she broke the blue one, the one I made when I was five. I try not to care and read the first sentence again.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 03.07.2015 @ 12:53 pm
I hate group projects. They think I know something about the life cycle of moths, think that it really matters to me, but really, I am not intelligent.
Group Partner 1, the one with the working beard and mustache, glares at me. Apparently, I am not working hard enough on my types summary of how long it takes a moth to weave a cocoon. I smile at him. I am so, so sorry, Awful Mustache Human. How terrible it is to have nothing to contribute to society. Trust me, I am fully aware that my life will only get worse.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 03.01.2015 @ 12:25 pm
I struggled to breathe, pressing my back to the wall. In the back of my mind, I tried to remember the notes. B, C, G, F–God, why was I doing this? I hated this. Anyway, my fingers were shaking so much there was so way they’d manage to play the piano piece right.
Ms. Wharton strolled past me, strides brisk. “Two minutes,” she mouthed, holding up two fingers. I gave her a weak smile.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 02.25.2015 @ 9:43 am
i wish that your eyes were not the color of red wine
and your hands like white champagne
i wish that your skin was not as clear as vodka
and your voice,
god, your voice,
like some greek god’s nectar
i wish that you did not kiss me with beer-soaked lips
and tell me that you love me
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 02.24.2015 @ 12:32 pm
i wish that your eyes were not the color of wine
and i wish that your hands were not so delicate
and i wish that your skin were not as clear as vodka
and i wish that i did not want to drink you in
and i wish that you would stop holding my hands so close,
god, so close,
that “i am like alcohol”
because God, i’m so in love
and i think i’m drunk
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 02.24.2015 @ 12:27 pm
I tilt my marshmallow-roasting stick in the fire. I’ve found a special pocket of coals, the type that are almost blue and just quivering with heat and the joy of being alive. The marshmallow has begun to smoke, but it’s not on fire yet, not quite ready to burst into flames.
It begins to smoke more urgently. I yank it out of the fire pit and gaze at it. It oozes sugar like a wound oozes pus and is blackened, though not quite burned. Perfect.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 02.22.2015 @ 3:10 pm
I sip the espresso, feeling the cool cream whisper on my lips before the hot coffee burns them. Shuffle the papers around. Click the keys on my laptop, wait for the words to come. And they don’t. They never do. So I order another coffee, watch the sun drip down the sky, melting like a white candle fading to red.
Someday, the world will burn and I will be the only one who knows.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 02.21.2015 @ 1:58 pm
I rubbed the flint against the stone. A few mellow orange flames flew in every direction, falling onto the pine-needle-coated earth. I sighed, rocking back and forth on my heels.
I was aware of somebody behind me, but resisted turning until he spoke first. “You really have no idea how to do this, do you?” he asked, crouching down next to me.
I tried not to blush. “Like you do.”
Sighing, he took the flint from me. With rougher strokes than I had been using, he created a small fire. I stared at him, a chill running down my back that had nothing to do with the crisp fall air.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 02.15.2015 @ 2:16 pm
Mom came home with bags under here eyes and three hefty shopping bags in her hands. She threw them on the couch. “Freebies from work,” she said. At least I think she said that. Mom always had trouble speaking after long days at work, and today had been an especially long one. A clearance sale at a grocery store. Apparently, there were a lot of people who wanted dollar hot dogs–Mom included.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 01.31.2015 @ 10:07 am
Study harder, even though you’ve been staring at the same book for three hours.
Study harder, even though your eyes are burning and your head may have been replaced with a thick hunk of concrete.
Study harder, because you want to get into a good university, don’t you? What’s wrong with you? God, just study harder. Study harder, because you’ll never amount to anything if you don’t understand the concept of two-dimensional motion.
Study harder. Chug your third energy drink. Study harder, because it’s all you know how to do, anyway.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 01.24.2015 @ 11:27 am
He hopped nimbly over the spikes poking up out of the earth at jagged, uneven angles. I was more uncertain, hesitating a few minutes before carefully stepping around the knife-like stones.
He paused in his mad scramble to glare at me. “Feeling comfortable, twinkletoes?” he said, slightly out of breath. “In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t really the time.”
“The time to make sure I don’t get impaled?” I said under my breath.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 01.21.2015 @ 11:29 am
The scientist picked at hernoodles. “Somehow,” she said, more to herself than to her colleague, “Chinese food isn’t as appetizing after you’ve spent three hours integrating worms into a new environment.
Her colleague glanced over at the tub of Oligochaeta, writhing happily in their new environment. “We didn’t offer you a job here so you could eat noodles.”
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 01.19.2015 @ 7:55 am
I wish I had wings. I wish they hadn’t been sawed off from my back when I was so little. But for the moment, I am happy that there is no chance I will not hit the ground. I need to hit the ground, need to know that I’m not going to feel anything any more. I don’t need to soar–I just need to feel that moment in the air for two seconds, that moment just before I hit the ground, just before I can’t think about wings ever again.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 01.10.2015 @ 8:49 am
I can see the wings breaking. I can see the cocoon cracking, its papery wisps falling in flakes to the ground. I want to throw up, or scream, because the moth isn’t coming out the way it’s supposed to. I know this, I know this. I did a project on moths in third grade, you think I don’t know how a moth’s supposed to emerge from the cocoon? It’s not like this. The wings are not supposed to snap.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 01.08.2015 @ 8:18 am
It felt like my entire being was coming apart. I couldn’t think, couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, could only breathe enough to stay alive. I took another ragged breath, wishing that my body wouldn’t force me to stay alive. I rested my face on the floor, enjoying the burn of the carpet on my tear-washed cheek. I deserved it.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 01.04.2015 @ 2:18 pm
His eyes were slate-gray, unreadable. They reminded me of the chalkboards I would write on when I was little, streaky from years of use. I struggled under his weight and tried to think of where they were now. In the attic? In the…
His lips found my neck.
“Did you ever write on those little chalkboards when you were little? Like, play school?” I was breathless, panicky, but I couldn’t stop thinking about those damn chalkboards.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 01.01.2015 @ 1:15 pm
His fist collides with my cheek. I tumble onto the floor, nausea bubbling in the pit of my stomach. Even from my place on the floor, I can smell the alcohol on his breath.
“What the hell were you thinking, trying a stunt like that?” he bellows, his voice pitching up somewhere beyond disbelief.
I wince, touching the bruise on my cheek. As far as I can tell, nothing’s broken, but it feels like my cheekbone has moved up several inches.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 12.23.2014 @ 1:01 pm
He grinned at me. “Well, I think it looks cute.” When I raised my eyebrows, he smirked, turning away. Inwardly, I sighed. It did look cute. Everything looked cute on him, even if it was some pink polo that made him look like the obnoxious rich kid he was.
“Hey, you going to play polo at your daddy’s country club?” I called before realizing he wasn’t standing two feet away from me any longer. He had gone on to talk to one of his other friends, and once again, I found myself wishing that I could just find the right thing to say for once.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 12.15.2014 @ 12:17 pm
My fingers tangle through the thread. I curse my fingers, wishing they weren’t so weak and shaky, wishing I could make the yellow thread weave through the red like everybody else could. Yet here I was, with a snarl of yarn that looked nothing like a blanket, wishing I could just get the yarn to look something like a blanket, wishing I was at least mildly aware of how to make patterns.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 12.14.2014 @ 1:04 pm
Back To Stats Page
I hardly dared to look at the stamp on my hand. When my eyes betrayed me and flashed down for a second, I felt my stomach fill with lead. My color-blindness didn’t prevent me from seeing that the stamp was most decidedly red. Not blue. Definitely not blue.
I heard sobs from some other room, then a gunshot, then nothing. I bit my tongue and told myself that I would not be that girl, that I would do what the stamp on my hand told me, even if it meant that a divide would be forever wedged between me and the Blues.
» Posted By tentwelvefourteen On 12.11.2014 @ 1:27 pm