I'm going to let everything hurt. I'm going to walk through the day like a bruise too aware of its own purples reds blues. I'm going to crawl into the source of the bleeding and become it. Why was I fighting so hard to avoid it?
Ahaha, well, I suppose because it stings like a motherfucker. But besides that. Besides that.
Bleeding is as natural as sleeping, as filling as eating, as important as touch. And just because I do it, it doesn't mean I've lost. I'm as competitive as a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers and somehow the core of me still thinks in terms of tallied wins and losses, mostly involving a skewed sense of what constitutes as a vict
Fine, Fine, Fine
Nothing changed in the classroom when Maria Diaz went missing. It was as if she'd never been there, sitting in her spot in the corner where the teachers couldn't rescue her from the other kids. Whoever said words never hurt was a liar in denial. Maria would have preferred the sticks and the stones. A broken psyche doesn't mend as cleanly as bone.
"Yo, Clarissa, wake up." Before she could turn in the direction of his voice, Sam punted a paperclip right into her forehead.
"What was that for? I was totally awake already." She whined. Mrs. Benson wasn't even finished her lesson yet. The fat witch was still writing math equatio
.
the chimney smoke
blows like hair
like love
like you
in the wind
its ashen hum
rising through
the clouds
my reverend
heart beats
a trembling dove
a man without
love pinned
to a crux of spine
dear burden of mine
o father have i sinned
what fire turned
this bread to stone
what sent
my voice
to roam
without my ribs
that gnash
like children
weeping in the gloam
my chest is pried
a tongueless jaw
with nothing left
to steal
or say after
those words
how much
lonelier
i feel
.
No-one remembers how it started any more.
Perhaps it was a suicide bomber. A dead prisoner. An execution. Torture. Maiming. Mutilation. Humiliation. Some abuse of human rights and dignity that toppled the first domino, forged the first link in the chain. Something big, important, newsworthy. Something the world shuddered at. Something that made sense.
Or perhaps it was something small. A dead child. A crippled friend. A burned-out house. Friendly fire. Blue on blue. Collateral damage. Accidents happen. Something so small, in the grand scheme of things, that barely anyone noticed. Something easy to cover up. Something the world barely even g
What do you Want to be When You Grow Up? by InsomniaSquared, literature
Literature
What do you Want to be When You Grow Up?
We are taught when we are little that what only really matters is how much money we make. That's why most of us get asked "What do you want to be when you grow up?" They really didn't care what your ignorant little fingers splurged out; it just mattered that you had some sort of aspiration no matter how pointless it was. It just mattered that maybe it wasn't pointless to teach you. So when the smallest child in my second grade class responded with a scraggly "sparrow,” eyes turned and eyebrows furrowed.
"You have to be realistic," our teacher said.
That little boy (whose name is out of my mind's grasp) responded with a