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Nothing 4.0Throwing the car into fifth shift, I floor the gas. Exhaust piles high out of the pipe, choking the outer walls of my rear tires and cascading around the intricate patterns on the edges of the windows. The pull of gravity throws me back against the seat, and I grip the steering wheel. I wont back out of this. I need to do this, to finish it. Glancing at the speedometer, I shove the car into sixth and place my hand back on the steering wheel.
Lights are dancing outside my window; they blend into each other and mingle, pressing close to the glass and to each other, high as a drug dealer in Bangkok. As I cling to the wheel, the colours spiral out of control. They seep in through the windows and push their way into my heated skin, into my eyes, weaving throughout my hair. I am colour.
The windshield is soon dotted with splashes of violet and lime, copper and fuchsia. Windshield wipers do nothing to eradicate them, and I lean forward. The road is lost in layers of clouds. Street lamps
Nothing 3.0[ 3.o]
Now, Nissa, explain how you feel about yourself to me. Be as honest as you can.
A typical base question. One that gets asked all the time. How do you feel about yourself? What would you change? What do you like? Not necessarily in that order. We all reply the same way.
- We think were fine.
- We wouldnt change anything.
- We like everything about ourselves.
Its all lies, of course. We tell them what they want to hear. It just takes too much time to explain how we really view ourselves; how much we hate ourselves. If they knew the truth, they still wouldnt know what to do.
Should've Stayed in BedFebruary 20, 2013
You wish you wish you wish you WISH that you could cut yourself out of this body. Or at least this damn writers block. You feel so trapped, so holed down in a pit that is crawling with maggots and dead flies. Tasty, isnt it? Its like you belong here; the bugs are eating through your skull to where your pit of creativity lies hidden behind brain tissue and whatnot. Soon there will be nothing left to use, and youll be left dumb. Do you want that? DO YOU? No. You dont. I know you dont. But youre not doing anything to prevent falling in that hole. Youre not looking where youre going; youre not watching your footsteps. Nothing. Good job. Youre failing at life. How much long are you going to keep doing that? Forever? Thats cool. I can stay here forever, too, reminding you of all your failures. Theres nothing wrong with that. After all If you really cared, you wouldve just stayed at hom
NothingThey ask me what I like about my body. I dont have to look down to see all that I dont like. The miniature water balloons that lay stacked inside the skin of my thighs squish together and jiggle every time I uncross my legs, only to cross them again. The bump of my stomach is squishy, liquefied, prominent. Absently I poke it under the blanket. My cheeks are too round, my fingers too swollen. I have obtained a sickening under-bite during my sixteen years, and I never smile. I am pale, not tan like everyone else was around here. I have childs nails, small and easily breakable.
Nothing, I whisper, my voice tense, icicles forming on the edges of my lips.
They look at one another, their expressions hooded. I look at the floor, studying the specs of fuzz from the shedding blanket that is draped over my body. One of them coughs to grab my attention, and I slowly meet his requirement. Nothing? His voice is hard, no-nonsense-whatsoever hard. I nod slowl
NothingThey asked me what I liked about my body. I didnt have to look down to see all that I didnt like. The miniature water balloons that lay stacked inside the skin of my thighs squished together and jiggled every time I uncrossed my legs, only to cross them again. The bump of my stomach was squishy, liquefied, prominent. Absently I poked it under the blanket. My cheeks were too round, my fingers too swollen. I had obtained a sickening under-bite during my sixteen years, and I never smiled. I was pale, not tan like everyone else was around here. I had childs nails, small and easily breakable.
Nothing, I whispered, my voice tense, icicles forming on the edges of my lips.
Fill This PageA blank page awaits to be filled;
Swirls of indecision shall swing about the corners,
tangles of uncertainty will bow and bend from the centre.
Ribbons of loss curl around despair,
frail string unravels around the edges.
How shall I fill this page?
The Sealed Kingdom-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sound of a lone wolf echoed off the bare tree trunks. It reflected off the silver of the moon and the white of the crisp, fresh snow. The girl thought she heard chimes, somewhere off in the dwindling distance. As she lay on the embankment, her white and crimson lace robes now spotted with deeper, lively red, drumming sounded from all around. Its soft beat poured out of every tree trunk, every crack and pore, every open available opening of space. The stars traded silent laughter as the wolf continued.
One wolf, alone in the blistering cold.
She and he could become companions. They could die together in snow melted with the heat of their blood, give their last sick-coated breaths to the moon to devour and purify. Just as her breath hitched into a final, desperate draw for air, the beat picked up; it spiked throughout the wooded area.
Patterns of d
Let. Me. Out.I should be used to this,
these strings that are cutting me off,
from the world.
But I'm not used to this hunger,
that devours me and keeps me from being around.
This chain that chokes me,
keeping my words prisoner.
I can't talk, can't walk,
no support, no balance.
Why can't people just let me in?
I have a voice, I have an opinion.
Instead of being a free sparrow,
I'm a caged finch.
I have no colour, it's not allowed,
give me a release, let me be heard.
Let. Me. Out.
Is This Fair?I'm dancing with a cunning mate,
locked in arms of metal links and shame.
Yesterday I was informed of this malicious fate,
it came to me in a square 4x4 frame.
Today I'm swinging into a mirror of lies,
hoping it's what they call a "nightmare".
I'm painfully facing my own wretched demise,
tell me how this is fair?
Unable to loveMy love was pure
I only wanted
But my heart
Because my love
Like a piece of garbage
And now I'm unable
Because the shreds
Of my shattered soul
now i see the stars.there was a time when i
couldn't catch my breath whenever i
thought about you , (crippled lungs and-
boy, you hit me like an asteroid,
there's a crater on my chest now that I can't ever seem to fill,
oceans of my tears cried on
nights when you couldn't be there to sing me to sleep.
thirty two poemless days after you joined the constellations,
i walked out into the yard and howled to the empty sky,
for a moment i was Gaea, rivers running down my cheeks,
weighted to the ground and
buried in myself, but
where there is no light there are no shadows, and
sometimes, i wonder if i miss me.
yes, yes i do.
i may not see the moon, but
MathematicsI am but the sum of my
F L A W S;
a network of
S C A R S
a disaster of
D R E A M S
a shield of
B O N E S
C A L C U L A T I O N
a void of
to the girl i lose my words aroundi have been meaning to tell you for years:
i think you’re beautiful. i have
seen nothing on earth that holds a candle
to the ocean you carry inside your body.
it spills over your edges sometimes, like
a rain shower around you, blurring your penciled-in
lines until there is nothing left of you but your natural
cliffs, valleys, and deserts.
i like that.
i have never met someone who is, somehow,
a sea and a storm at the same time.
maybe i never will again.
maybe you are the only one
who gathers clouds on her forehead
like a promise, or feels the push and pull of the tide
with her every step.
you are beautiful, honestly.
you are honest, beautifully.
it is in the way you talk, the way you hold ice
on your tongue but forget to use it—
you always forget to use it, i don’t think
you know how.
to be truthful, i’m afraid of your smile
and how it breaks over me, how it pulls
me like a whirlpool down, how it pushes me
like a current back to the surface. i’m afraid of
i am made of nights like theseativan boy, you cannot empty out this skull -
not with a pen nor with a bullet. you can
be my hallowed head(case) for spitting out
words like teeth; oh, but i will only love you
when you're weary. i will keep crows caged
between your lungs like veins, like palpitations.
i will rot you through bones & car radios,
but i will never get (you) out of your skin.
ScienceI am more than my
F L A W S;
a masterpiece of
S C A R S
a delicacy of
D R E A M S
a sculpture of
B O N E S
R E A C T I O N
a well of
Abuse Is Sometimes NecessaryPush and pull at her long hair, topple her to the solid ground,
elbow her sharply in the raw gut, shove her harshly around.
Scratch him in the pale face, punch him in the broken jaw,
do anything necessary to him that's considered breaking the law.
And when she cries because you've punched her, let her be,
and observe her when she returns to her habitual smoking.
When she passes out next day, because she's drunken too much booze,
slap her in the face once more, though many would consider it abuse.
When he can hardly walk because he thinks he's high in the clouds,
rip the needle out of his arm, and with your nails, slash him across the sweaty brow.
Grab them and shake them till their battered and bruised,
tear at their heart, scream in their ears until you've reached the point of verbal abuse.
And when she falls into your chest, and he collapses to the ground,
pull them closely, and whisper, “We can turn this all around.”
And rehab is a necessity for all of you, because you'v
surgeryi promised not to scar
my skin. so i cut out my
brain and hurled it into
just like cancer, the worst of me is dead.
Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)
I hope the title caught your eye,
because this is about you.
Many of us speak in superlatives
and ambiguous language.
In imagery-laden text masquerading
underneath double entendres
keeping us from a part of the truth.
But purple streaks and red bands,
harp strings and soft hands
don't begin to explain
the love I have for you.
So I lay these words down
simple in its vulnerability,
blemished and raw in its purity.
The term lissome fits you in many ways,
but not necessarily it its textbook form.
I speak on the part that is not readily seen
but what is easily most cogent.
Your consciousness' cognizance
is graceful in the way
you fold one syllable over
another, supple in its meaning
that can take many forms
going from idle lies
to how we idolize hollow eyes
and uncovered hip bones.
Elegance is an understatement,
but I refuse to speak in cliche superlatives.
I speak honestly
but not with exaggerated grandeur.
Because your immediate app
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