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VolkesWagondaOtaku

Published: Feb 1, 2016

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Literature Text

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Literature

Animal Sisters

My sister is not an animal. I am very clear about this when I introduce her to people and she starts rubbing her hands over my hair and making weird chittering sounds and, every now and then, turning into a raccoon. “She’s absolutely still a human. It’s just an Ozzy thing,” I say to our middle school principal when I have to drag a fluffy bandit out of the janitor’s closet before pest control accidentally kills a student. “It’s just an Ozzy thing,” I explain to my first boyfriend when we find a ball of gray fur spinning in circles on the living room couch. “It’s just an Ozzy thing,&#

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Reason

What stops love? Restraining orders. Possibly...

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trespassing slip

the soul is numbered into a cohesive pattern. graphed for the mathematical masterminds and swallowed by the sea. it is drawn on earth-colored paper and taped to backs; for no one has the right to see their soul or steal it, just to roll it in mud or take it off when they feel overdressed. she's always overdressed for you but strays, too afraid to slip her hands down, over, off. she replies with tiny licking phrases and sheathes her eyes behind a clear mask. so useless. so so ashamed. to blame. we blame you. talk is nothing but meal to fill the empty stomachs of air. we make it fat with nonsense and diseased desires. the others are just fifte

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Trouble in Paradise

"Adam..." "Dearest?" "You're not my type."

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My Wish

Mary always liked a boy in here class named Chase. She would always try to confess her love but always chocked up. She didn't know why. She was just about to give up hope when... "Huh?" Mary was startled when a flash of light filled her room. Before her stood a silver haired girl with white angel wings who smiled before her. "Who are you?" Mary asked. "I'm here to help you with your dilemma. You wish to confess to your true love but can't." The angel spoke. "Your right I do. I like him so much. I wish he was the ideal person for me and I was the ideal person for him." Mary spoke as a light flashed in her face. "It is done. Just meet up w

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Time never stops

The woman in the mirror smiles with her tired empty eyes. Deep sadness now behind that smile she wears as her disguise. Without you, her time ticks slowly by, her minutes turn to years. Life goes on relentlessly like the drip, drip, drip of her tears. Another breaking dawn without you, it breaks her lonely heart. Another day alone without you, another day apart. How could she just live on without you, how could she just go on? Each passing day she longs to see you, each waking minute gone. Her life, it will go on without you, if she wants it to or not cos just like her endless love for you, the time will never stop. Poetry by Suzanne Karba

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an atheist's prayer

dear god, i planted no tulips in autumn and no tulips came in spring. how silly of me, then to mourn the empty garden, to long for fields of amsterdam, to kneel at night in cold dirt, hands folded. i’ve learned there is a certain ache in lacking a thing never had, that small itch whose relief is two seasons past – so god, if you can hear me, know that i am homesick for amsterdam, whose name, like yours, i know but whose flowers i cannot see.

ALL FICTION poetry, stories

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Broken

Internal desperation of pain and loss unable to break the emotional and physical impotence to overcome the mental barriers needed to cleanse and heal cry HELP and I will come be silent and bleed away the pain until it returns rampant again and again its bitter conclusion short and satisfying but eternal and broken

Literature

Hangnail

Hangnail, hangnail, Thorn in my hand, What glory shall ye yield? Thorns in the side gain biblical verses, Or are necessary evils of roses beloved. Sand grains in oyster shells become pearls, Rough turned into diamond, Bane into beauty. But what of you, oh blessing of stepmothers? Some fairy tale of plaguing those toiling stepdaughters, Insult to injury? Or perhaps some lore bespeaking the mothers-die of the lace of queens, Or the fathers-die of black widows… But in the end, it shall matter not. For to me, ye shall yield nothing But voicelessness in the jaws of clippers.

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eighteen.

. i. nyctophilia; i'm in love with the night. lips red from kissing the sun goodbye, hands powder-white from holding the moon, eyes drowsy grey because i've been up all night counting how many stars remind me of you. ( 94, 95 because one wears your face, polaris. ) and i fall asleep with a threadbare blanket that twinkles, and i wake with stardust in the hollows of my eyelids and i twinkle- i gleam, and i shine, and i twinkle like the galaxies are accepting new-born beauties. ii. i was born a starchild; indigo in the eye, indigo in the lips, indigo in the heart. i had sunlight hair, and hot-headedness, and a brain of endless summer brea

poetry

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Featherdance (Poem)

Listen closely, and you may hear The sound of sacred fire. Its ancestry flickers in a thousand Colors, all within the hearts of unborn heroes. Somewhere deep inside legend, A fringed master slumbers. Its breath sequesters beneath its beak As it dreams in molten gold. Six score, it has lain in wait For its kaleidoscopic guardian. A spirit akin to its veined own, In suit and solemn as he. The skies grow dapper without The grace of its marbled wings And the elegance of the feathers That heal the lame and the ungainly. Its dogs look toward the heavens, Listening for its sacred fire. The hours and the days atrophy And crumb

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Lavender Town

What is that? What do you hear? You look as if You've seen a ghost. Let them speak to you; All their tormented souls Wish is for a living heart To become one with theirs. The plague of sorrow racks These doleful townsmen, As they wander vacant streets With hunched shoulders. He is crying for his mother; Can you feel his tears? You cannot, for you—you— You are like all the others. Please, be their guest, And let them creep beneath your skin. They mean you immortal joy, And no harm shall haunt you. No harm shall haunt you, But they shall instead, Their stoicism patient as they Wait for you to crumble. He is

Literature

Trust

Trust. It's something earned, Not given. It's like an ember of my heart, Placed inside yours To hold and protect. Extinguishing it or throwing it away Will break our bond, It may never be repaired. Don't try to steal an ember, For it's not rightfully yours Until I personally place it in your chest. Once it's there, It grows and strengthens Until it's a fire. A fire of trust That can't be extinguished That can't be thrown out. It will always be there, Linking me to you.

grimmfairytales littleredridinghood

Based off of the extremely disturbing fairy tale, obviously (www.eastoftheweb.com/short-sto…). Originally the idea was inspired by selkie myths, transposed onto the werewolf genre, but then it turned into something...weird. I blame the brothers Grimm and the crazy stuff parents used to teach their kids.

Mature

Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License

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