hyperion_giants, posting in creativewriting:
In an instant the walls were caving in. No one said a word because they were all too busy noticing their haircuts and shoes. The padded walls breathing in tighter and tighter. Arms pressing together, bumping into strangers and awkward giggle and mumbles. Skinny bones pressing into soft peach flesh.

No one smiles. Everyone is looking down. The mental patient bedroom walls slowly soaking with tampon blood spreading out like crimson explosions.

There you are. In the middle of the people you hate. There you are in the midst of human suffering and pain being choked out of existence by throngs of others in this feminine hygiene elevator.

Be sure not to use the same words more than once or else you'll sound boring.
No one.
Wants.
To.
Sound.
Boring.

I think you are afraid of it. Either you're reading this looking for tips, or you're trying to see who's better than you. We're all just rats in a big maze carved out of the world ever loving pussy. Humanity is the rape victim of trade. How much does it cost to be the people in your mind's painting of the perfect life. How much debt does it cost to get there? Do you work full time?

You need a master's degree for that.

And Now, something completely different.

You, sitting there. Reading this. All alone like me.

You sitting there reading this all alone.

Like me.

Like me?

Do you like me?

Are you like me?

What is this to you?

Did you notice how I changed the focus, do you think it'll go well in your writing, or maybe it's too cliche and you'll wait until you think of something better. You're too scared to comment. So what? So this. Sew this. What's a woman's place but in the home? What's a man's place but in the work place slaving for hours until he can go home and be told he doesn't do enough for his family.

I understand now.

The real world is more terrifying than anyone can even imagine.

Health care is something you only notice when you're sick. What republic cares for the penniless when they are in single sheet matress sheet dresses wearing paper shoes and waiting for the reaper to collect his toll.

But I digress, because you're getting bored. The tampon walls are closing in, and you're starting to notice that the radio only plays the same 3 songs over and over again until you hear the one song you like.

And you have to wonder, what kinds of people listen to those same 3 songs. Do you know that you are one of them, to the person who listens to the other 2 songs?

I'm throwing this away, it's irritating me.

midorismells, posting in _haiku_:

Some words can't be said
when night beats me black and blue,
but you brought the sun.

nishamar, posting in _haiku_:

someone will read it
and think "damn that's a good one"
won't leave a comment

nishamar, posting in _haiku_:

One can infer that
solitude is better than
loneliness always

an abandoned bridge
my personal paradise
only known to me

I am not afraid
to embrace the solitude
a wife of the night

Solitude is a place where
there are no interruptions
only the streams song

eddue, posting in creativewriting:
She had always depended on the kindness of others to get by.
Looking back on how far she had come, and where she was now...
she didn't think she could keep going on this way.
Or if she should!

Miranda never thought of herself as someone in control, of anything!
She was never the person she wanted to be, although at times she was everything else.
A child, sister, friend, lover, wife, mother, supporter, comforter, cook, maid, chauffeur, nanny, secretary, helper, worker, martyr, and follower.
She could do anything and did everything, except what she wanted to do.
Be the person she was meant to be. And even though that was all she could think about, she couldn't remember who that person was any more!

Somehow, thru all the years of being there for others, sacrificing so others could chase their dreams, her dreams were put on hold. She always thought that her time would come and she could live her dream.
But now it seems that time has past her by...

Now she was just Miranda!
Dependable, helpful, caring, supporting, sacrificing Miranda!
And she didn't want to be that person any more!
But that's who she was. And so it seems...all she would ever be!


Miranda wasn't even her real name!
It was just a name she had given herself as a child.
A child with big hopes and dreams! A future!
But it seemed like her hopes and dreams were too big for a small child,
at least that's what everyone told her.
So she would become Miranda, someone who was smart and strong and could do anything and everything. As Miranda she could make dreams come true.
Not just her dreams, but she could help others make their dreams happen.

And so it started. She started calling herself Miranda. At first others thought it was odd, even for a child. But soon it would catch on.
First her friends, then her family and soon she had everyone calling her Miranda. After weeks and months as Miranda, no one would refer to her by her real name any more, only Miranda.

Miranda, the girl who would make dreams come true.


And so it began...
A little girl, with big dreams.
Became a woman, with big dreams.
Who could always find a way to make things happen.
And could makes dreams come true.
For anyone, and everyone....

but herself!

barbiesxaxbitch, posting in creativewriting:
I don´t feel like writing today...

because what is it, that words can do?
Words are just words, are just... words, are... just... words...

A unit of language,
consisting of one or more spoken sounds or their written reperesentation...
so the dictionary says...

I express my emotions in words.
Words are carrier of my emotions.
Emotions are what I feel... if I feel.
I feel (sometimes, I really do) - therefore I write...
Words can be soothing, can be angry, can be hostile.
Words can be love. They can also be hate.

Sometimes words are my weapons;
they make me feel strong and in control.
Sometimes I hide behind my words;
they give me shelter from reality as I create my own - with words.
Sometimes your words hurt me, pull me down and make me cry.
Sometimes words are useless, almost wasted
on people who don´t listen.

Words are power - the People Have the Power, have the words
but they hardly ever use them like words should be used.
Today the words are black.
They only use them to denounce, to complain, to criticise and whinge.
Don´t they know the beauty of words?
Don´t they know the colour of words?

I didn´t feel like writing today...

notodette, posting in _haiku_:
Branches, bare and black.
The streetlamp light casts shadows.
Misty winter nights.

hyperion_giants, posting in creativewriting:
Don’t dismiss this outright as the work of some raving lunatic. There’s some sense to this story, if you’ll just hear me out…

Look, we all wonder if time travel is possible, right? Well, let me tell you something… it is. I’m from the future, actually. I know you probably don’t believe that, but seriously, I’m from the future. It’s a really great thing; getting to see the past, watching events unfold… stuff like that. We know more now than we ever would.

Behind all the fun, though, there’s a more serious aspect. We aren’t supposed to go in our own lifetime, and we are never allowed to contact our past selves. Let me tell you, I’m breaking that rule right now. Yes, kid, you’re talking to yourself. Your future self. I’m going to be executed for this, but you know what? I accept that. I’m preventing something by talking to you that is worse than death. I can’t tell you outright what to do, because the filters would catch it. This is the closest I can get, trust me. I can, however, send a little message.

You should probably read the first word of every paragraph, now.

aphroditeskiss, posting in creativewriting:
Safe and Sound

dark,
romantic eyes
flash glances at me
as they slowly and tenderly
caress my body
with their warmth.

they stare deep into my soul
and i find myself
having to
look away
scared of the power
they have over
me.

this feeling causes fear
to spread throughout my body.
because while there is
so much to gain,
there's just as much to lose.

but i force myself to
refocus my eyes on yours.
because i know,
you'll never lead me astray.

notodette, posting in _haiku_:
Sheets of pelting rain.
A shot of light on the street.
December's wet sheen.

barbiesxaxbitch, posting in creativewriting:
I puke rainbows
and walk on clouds of cotton candy.
The Cheshire Cat smiles at me from behind the curtain
and by the time I meet Tusko the elephant
he tells me the 297 milligrams were too much
and that the world has stopped spinning for him.
I cry red tears and let them run down my wrists.
You hand me another ticket to my sanctuary
and I hastily swallow it.
I see music in colours and waves
crawling up my legs, into my stomache, into my heart
warming it a little. It´s always so cold.
We are holding hands on our way to the daffodil field
and when we pass the yellow lemon tree
you tell me about Birmingham by night.
When we walk by Gua the chimp she tells us
that Little Albert doesn´t like rats anymore and it upsets us.
You hug me and tell me, that Timmy never once fell down a well.

barbiesxaxbitch, posting in creativewriting:
It was January
and 2008´s hangover lasted till the 17th.
I spent the rest of the month with snowball fights and
prepairing to leave behind all the memories of a painful past.
In Febuary I found my new sanctuary, painted it
in rainbow colours and wrote
"FREEDOM!!!"
all over the wall above my bed.
The only good thing about March
was walking through the park and lying in the misty grass with him.
By April we started wearing T-shirts again and held
hands beneath the
old oak tree where I used to sit and read "The Shining" alone.
The girls´night out in May
made me realize, that
there might still be hope for me - somewhere out there -
and by
the end of June
the summer sun wasn´t the only thing to tickle my nose in the mornings.
I loved the turquoise shirt he wore in July
and we went skinny dipping and I tried my best not to lose those
daisies he picked for me.
August was beautiful and warm and
we played thumb war and I talked about
how bad that Chinese food in Cologne was
and on the 24th he said the
three most scary words
I hadn´t heard since 2005 - and ignored them.

I´m sorry I hurt you!

Even though September was rainy we ate
way too much candyfloss and argued about Radiohead
and our favourite books.
By October I just left,
knowing [I wasn´t ready for love]
we weren´t right for each other.
That month I also started to
hitRECord and found my muse again.
I would say that was one of the "happiest" moments of this year.
November´s soundtrack was
"How to Disappear Completely" and I cried alot.
December is beginning to get really cold and lonely - at night
and I am waiting for the first snow to paint the world innocent again.
This is also the time where I begin to
c
o
u
n
t

d
o
w
n
the days to say
Goodbye to 2009.

chartreusechalk, posting in creativewriting:
When the harp starts and my mind is lost, I cry.
I hold the music inside of me, like water.
I let it fill me up, the strings pushing my stomach between them,
sliding through my organs like hot liquid metal.
The guitar is electric,
repetitive building sound that swells inside of me,
my chest,
my lungs,
my spirit,
and I burst as it screams out,
piano growling low and guttural,
violins warbling desolate, painful sounds
into the empty air.
I burst,
the music is lost,
and I cry.

unmixythings, posting in creativewriting:

I'm new here and I just wanted to share a creative writing anthology, "Seven Layer Dip," done by my Creative Writing class. It has poetry and short stories. Please comment after you read and it would also be nice if you mentioned that you came from livejournal!

http://sevenlayerdip.blogspot.com/

This is a link to the blog where the anthology is kept. It's still a collection of creative writing pieces, so I don't think this is against the rules...

Thanks for giving your time!

bohemianbadfish, posting in creativewriting:
You could ask love to save you, but he's busy in eden
eating apples with pale skin and sky painted ceilings
licking lips that have nothing to do with your teeth
and saying so many somethings you thought he was sweet
apple juice in the summer, cobbler in fall
the red ones, the green ones, he's tasted them all
And there you stand sweetly, all covered by leaves
waiting for something that he'll never be

alessandra_lee, posting in creativewriting:
For My Mother

I’m starting to accept
That we’ll never have
A real mother-daughter relationship.
There’s just too much anger and disappointment
And resentment between us.
All it does is build,
So there’s no hope to heal
And I just want to stop,
Stop hearing all the ways I’ve fucked up.
I’m insecure enough
All on my own.
I can’t keep being
The one who isn’t good enough.

jajunk, posting in _haiku_:
my mind is strong
my hands could use some work
one syl'ble short-

roman_spring, posting in creativewriting:
Anne Whitehouse is reading her poetry on every radio station NPR related with her latest release, Blessings and Curses. The spirit of her voice is embedded in the words of this collection of 40 blessings and 24 curses. Read our review of Blessings and Curses here and find out more about Anne and her life as a poet.

lady_shadow98, posting in creativewriting:

bodilygeography, posting in _haiku_:

those "almost" kisses
are the best kinds of kisses.
they make my heart melt.