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How Far Does a Child Stretch? How Far Does a Child Stretch?
A horrible question, I know, but isn't that what aging is?
Rising more paper thin after every scraped knee and memory scabbed over,
Yet taller and taller after each step?
We measure our lives in units of misery nowadays.
Showering ourselves with sparkling pieces of armor, calling them crystallized teardrops
When we all know that they're just rhinestones glued to the body like a mask.
Shouting through a bullhorn how quiet and meek we are--
It's one thing to wear the paint on our face, but to swallow it and swish it over your throat so it colors your words is a whole other.
We wear our remorse and regret on our sleeves, bracelets of slits and pocketknives,
Flashing every drop of sweat like a tiara for our adoring crowds, varying in numbers, to swoon over us in a massive wave of pity.
We stretch ourselves to the point that pity feels good and safe, until we are a flat line, buried in a flurry of mistakes like ill-advised tattoos.
When you're that thin, of cou
That song named Love
That song named Love
One last breath, setting me free,
A single note, one melody,
My sorrowful song will let me be,
And this time It will rescue me,
That single note, that melody
From death and pain and slavery,
Sometimes it breaks,
That melody, my soul awakes,
And though that note is full of pain
Through raging thunder, and heavy rain,
Becomes a white dove,
and mounts the sky
That song named love
And though this poem like always is sad
A few comments and faves won't be that bad
How to Alienate Your Readers in 12 Easy StepsWARNING: There be snark ahead.
Disclaimer: These steps assume that you have an intriguing premise for your story. If your premise is boring, overdone or just plain pointless, then you needn't bother with the following advice. You've already successfully alienated readers. Congratulations!
1. Grammar? Spelling? Ha! Who needs it?
Okay, so it's fanfiction. I mean, fanfiction for crying out loud. Why should grammar matter, right? because, srsly, its like noone expects this tobe the next great american novel or anything like that, i mean i'm just, writing a story about characters from a movie or tv show or whatever and my plot is super good so ppl will totally love it and not care if i mispel a word or something and who cares about comas or semicolons or stuff like that;and i no the readers will leave me lots and lots of awesome reviews cuz my story is badass take that bitches!!1!
2. The full page paragraph total
What's Happening?"She seems like a whore"
"You're kind of bitchy"
People say I'm--
"He's cheating with you, isn't he?"
What are you--
"You act like such a slut"
I haven't even--
"You sure you're not a lesbian"
"God, you're so lazy"
I am not! I--
"You never take anything seriously!"
Maybe, but I--
"You're, like, a 9 on the scale"
"You're so nice all the time"
"I never knew you were so deep"
There's a lot of--
"You're what this place is missing"
You really think--
"You're always so optimistic"
Well, yeah, I--
"Everyone loves you"
"I think you'll go far"
I dont know--
You ask me what I'm talking about
When I seem so so confused
Why won't you just make up your mind, everybody
It's not like I've got something left to lose
I'm beaten down and brought back up
Now, every single day
Is this some sick tric
Little BirdA little bird with broken wing
I saw one day, the poor thing.
I picked her up, took her home
made a nest of paper n’ foam.
I bound her wing to keep it safe
tied it loosely so not to chafe.
I nursed her, kept her out of harm
the little thing so full of charm.
Companion, I named her so
from falling leaves until the snow.
Spring too quickly found it’s way
I knew soon coming was the day.
I unbound her wing, she took to flight
hesitantly she waited, eyes so bright.
She looked at me as if to say,
‘do you want me to fly away?’
Sadly I shook my head,
left her there and took to bed.
I know she’s out there, somewhere free
not knowing, though, bothers me
Will she return to visit or stay
will she simply be on her way?
The company Companion keeps
is it full of hatchlings cheeps?
Why give care to one, a bird
incapable of sharing word?
Compassion guides my calloused hand
helping others is who I am.
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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