[x]

The RomanceIt happened that on midsummer day, when the sun was streaming down from cloudless skies and all the birds rejoiced for the beauty of the season, that Sir Esforcer took his leave of King Arthur, citing a need for adventure. This was most willingly granted, and the brave Knight rode from the castle as the sun began its journey back to the horizon.

Taking the main road west, Sir Esforcer admired the villages and farms he came through and graciously thanked the adoring populace for all their offerings of refreshment and rest. He declined the latter, however, telling all that he was determined to seek out adventure in the distant lands.

As the c

arent said - WhenThere will not be any words when the time comes. Emotions will circle back on themselves like the snake eating its own tail: an endless cycle. Existing, not existing, consuming itself into oblivion, only to expel, excrete, create itself again. Constantly extinguishing, constantly setting alight.

I let the ink melt away the words I write on my naked flesh. Lick my finger again, rub out my emotions. I wrote them; childishly hoping they would find you. Like the words I say quietly in empty rooms, in empty expanses on other continents, hoping the wind will carry my thoughts to you.

I wanted to tell you, but being the coward I am, I don't know w

Blood Flow"I can't stand you, Cora! You make her cry constantly. Sometimes I wish she would rip you out and throw you against the wall!" Orberec was furious. He and Cora were having one of their usual fights. Everyone loved Cora and thought she was so beautiful. But none of them had to live with her.

"You could always make her do it, you know," Cora said calmly.

Orberec just glared, refusing to respond.

"But of course," Cora continued, "we both know it wouldn't solve anything. And you would be the one to feel the pain, not me."

Orberec was losing this argument way too quickly. He needed to focus on being rational instead of on his anger. I

Iron Henry UnzipsIt was the early hours of the morning when they arrived at the castle Ferris called home. He was glad to see it--Henry could tell from his face.

Henry was gladder still to have Ferris home. His heart was still like a sledgehammer in his chest, still painful with every beat, and he knew that as soon as he had some downtime he would have to open up and adjust his settings. Not that he expected downtime anytime soon, what with a wedding and all scheduled for the upcoming day.

Henry extended his hand to the princess first, and she shyly took it as she descended from the carriage. He made her nervous--he was used to that. He did his best to smil

The Wizard of the ParkwayThe Wizard of the Parkway
The streets buzzed with an ongoing cacophony of shouts and chatter. The people of Gulf Breeze were busy as always, watching their pies bubble to perfection and their spices being organized. Scents of freshly baked pastries and the icing that dabbled over them so easily flew through the air, resting gently on the slightly reddened noses of passerby. It was, in essence, a perfect day to laze about at one of the many sidewalk benches and tables, talking with friends or enjoying the rarity of cool breezes the autumnal season had ushered in.
Every able body in this peaceful burg is pe

The Blue LadyI remember the Blue Lady and how her eyes glittered when she danced and her body spoke in words her mouth could not. Her eyes glinted like light on ice. Her body surged like the ocean at dawn and Brother was swept up in the tide.

Sing this corrosion to me

She would hold me when the bad dreams swelled behind my eyes and she would take me out onto the hill and catch stars and weave them through my hair. Sometimes she would take me and we would walk through the old streets where the houngans held strange spices and the sidewalks flooded with red.

Gimme siren child

Do you hear me call?

We couldn't spea

A Deviant Manifesto Why should we write poetry? Why should we read the poetry others write? In this day and age of academic poets, a lack of real best sellers, and a general societal silence on the art of poetry, it seems that more and more people are trying to write poetry today without having a clear idea of what they're trying to do, or what they're trying to say. So we get a lot of poetry around here that's half-assed, simplistic, whiny, and lost. That's a problem. People go around eating this junk food poetry, thinking it's good for them, when they should be reading something better. But instead of sending you running away from

Accident Captured the mammoth. With fire. A chiseled stone flew. Killed. We all did. Helped. The usual way. Not hard. We ate. Feasted. Firelight and firestories. Meat. Laughter. Girl glanced my way. Happy.

Not me. Bow to you and swear not me. Night like always. Stars and no fire. All sleeping. Had idea. Thought prepare hide now. Help out. Surprise. Happy. I nothing wrong. Swear nothing wrong. Sad swear nothing right also. Not me. Not plan.

Made torch. Cut at hide. Hide moved under fingers. Told me. Said move hand here knife this. I followed. Easy. Like sleeping.

Morning I saw was big. Like tree. Mountain. S

Impossible ExistenceMine is an impossible existence.

Every day, I do the impossible. I get up, eat Cornflakes, go to work. I work in an office. It is quiet. I like that.

I walk through the park on my way home. The birds are singing. The boys are playing football between the trees. Brown, crackling leaves are thick underfoot.

When I get home, I kiss my warm, flustered wife as she hurries past me out the door. She is heading to her shift over at the hospital. She works the evening shift on Wednesdays. She does impossible things there.

The kids - Annie and Michael - are playing in and out of the hall, chasing each other. The TV is on in the front room. Tom is

PromptA man stood by his window, all crossed arms and tired eyes. His dreams of flying like the birds had disappeared long ago. The night was swallowing him whole, but so was nonchalance. It was a suitable escape.

The cars ran down the street, their lights distorted in the post-storm puddles on the asphalt; the water spewed by their wheels rained on umbrellaed youths. It hurt to look at the vehicles crashing down the highway, crazy and epileptic and dancing in the rain. They were nothing more than a force of nature, he assured himself, suddenly cold and mechanical. They were machines with people trapped inside and what they did was uncontrollable.

Nano Day 02******

He grew like a young tree, like a pig fed on milk and molasses. Anwen watched him, unaware of her own growing, unaware of the maturity that was fed into her with this new, helpless thing in the house.

Her mother and father called him Idwal. For those first few weeks Anwen's time with him was limited. Her mother kept to her bed, and, once the midwife was gone, kept the baby close beside her, persuading her husband to move the Moses basket into their bedroom so that she could lie near him, could sleep when he slept and wake before he awoke. When he cried, his mother picked him up, wrapped in his wrappings, and nestled him to her breast

The Trouble with a Love PoemEver since that first cave man told the woman of his fancy, "Looking at you makes me want to say something where all the words end with the same sound," and then clubbed her and dragged her off to his cave to show her his etchings, most people's first poetic efforts have been expressions of fondness and desire.

And no matter how bad the poem is, when the feeling is mutual, the response is going to be very reinforcing. "You wrote me a POEM?! Oh, it's BEAUTIFUL! That's so SWEET!" Et cetera, et cetera, with kisses.

At this point, the love poem is perfect. It communicated the desired message, and it had the desired effect. But then, with the be

contrast and compare"You and I are very similar."

My frigid brown eyes are critical and they catch the calm blue of his. Something I've always hated is that, no matter what, my eyes stay the same. Something I've always hated is that his eyes are always changing from melancholy green to sea to fire blue to a cold color that can only be called ice. I am looking up and down his tall frame, well-maintained and rigid, unlike his growing hair. It curls arbitrarily and has long since reached past his ears.

"I'm serious. We are. Just listen to me."

He would have dropped out of high school if he could have thought of a better option. I sat in the front and the valedic

The Fox BrideThe sky is a kind of periwinkle; dusky and undecided if it is lavender or blue, and the full leaves of the chestnut trees are black against the sodium backlight from the streetlamps. Ethereal is the word for them, as within the wrought iron casings are nothing more than softly glowing orange globes. They may as well be faery lanterns.

But that is my imagination running away with me again, so I bring my attention back down from the sky and the leaves and the imaginary world that lies in the space between them, back to the quiet pleasure of my company. She's done up in scarlet tonight, which is my favorite color on her, and one she so rarely w

Niu eoa EinEin

The world is still.

The deer perk their ears up at the crunch of snow under my fur-lined boots, curious. One paws at the ground nervously before taking flight across the open expanse, the herd following in his wake. They spring lightly over twisted roots and disappear in the fog. Another day, another place, perhaps I would follow, take thrill from the zeal of the hunt.

But today has a different purpose.

The World Tree towers no less than before; if anything, it is wider than I recall. The bough reaches into the very clouds, past hills, past mountains; perhaps even past stars. It matters not. I slide the pack from my shoulder, landing

Browse More Like This

more ▶

More from ~otherwiseunbroken

Trigger.You decided at a young age that love wasn't something you wanted to get messed up in, just like the way i thought about drugs. We've both had a few close calls, but nothing major. Nothing life changing.
Friends for sale don't interest you. It's give and take and you do neither. I wonder at how figured out you seem to think you have youself. Let my sentence structure fuck you up. This is just a story about love, anyway. Nothing you'd want to touch.
It's hard to choke yourself when your body focuses on breathing so hard. Holding your breath from the day you get out of this stifling town. Imagine what it's like to be me; I came here years befo

Do You Love Me, Sparta?"Do you love me, Sparta?" he asks for the hundreth time in the morning at our lockers. Pushes the golden curls out of his eyes. Blinks a few times, bleary from not enough hours of sleep.
"Fag," I spit at him, pushing him out of my way. For only two seconds, my hands touch his wonderful chest through his tee shirt. Take them off of him and walk away.
Ash isn't a fag. I only call him one because then I'm not lying. Not telling him no. Ash wouldn't fall in love with a boy, especially not one like me. Not a runner boy with stick thin legs, too much bones, not enough voice. Ash doesn't fall in love with boys. Neither do I, according to everyone.

clichekey in the ignition, just like every day. it's saturday night and i have no reason to be killing myself, but here i am.
key in the ignition. just like always.
i didn't actually come out here with the intention of killing myself but it seems like a good idea, now that i'm not thinking about it. there's paper and a pen next to my registration so i write down something quick that makes more sense than what i'm doing.
i thought i got over this phase a while ago. but it's the last day of january and some blood needs to be spilt. i don't even want to die all that much right now. but it's like what my history told me yesterday about teddy rooseve

Hurricane Chapter 29:40 PM

"mika's back," dan told the mouthpiece in his completely ancient phone. he held the earpiece up to his ear. no one had a phone like that anymore but dan. "he started driving past my house two hours ago. he hasn't stopped. can you come over?"
i dropped everything i was doing and drove to dan's. mika's black lincoln navigator was drifting slowly by. i was tempted to get out, knock on mika's window and tell him, "dan's fucking a boy with a spotless white prius now. take your fucking tank and get the fuck out of his life." but I didn't.
dan wasn't fucking a boy with a spotless white prius. neither was i but i

Hurricane Chapter One11:28 AM
The first thing I thought about the girl was that she was familiar. The haunting feeling of deja vous had dogged my steps ever since I arrived back in my tiny hometown but she was much too young to be one of my memories.
She was shorter than me, with two long braids disapearing over her shoulders. She was wearing a pure white dress that was sticking to her legs as she walked, all across her back and up her arms, he could see henna tatoos twisting their way around her body, just a shade lighter yellow than her dark tan skin.

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

#Elocutionists
Artists of the Spoken Word

Details

Submitted: September 23, 2010
File Size: 4.3 KB

Link

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 16
Favourites: 11 [who?]
Views: 370 (3 today)

[x]

Better.

by ~otherwiseunbroken, Sep 23, 2010, 2:39:34 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Short Stories

I. White dress. You did your makeup in the upstairs bathroom mirror. There is hope on your lips and powder on your skin. You are hiding your imperfections because how else would anyone fall in love with you? White dress you wore to make Tyler put his hands on your waist. White dress you wore in the summer. And in the laundry room, you wash blood off of a boy's hand, licking it once. Red blood you wished would stay in his veins. Red blood that goes straight to his heart where you once were. Red blood in the laundry room, where you make promises you'd never get a chance to keep. White dress you're wearing in the winter. White dress you press against Him when you whisper, "I think You're very handsome." White dress to mark the innocence you wish you could shake. A brown shoe is lost in the snow when you lay next to the handsome boy with the appropriate hands as He whispers, "You're better than you think you are."

II. Black pants. You did your makeup in the airport bathroom. Your heart is pounding to be home. You want everyone to see your imperfections because how else would Shane fall out of love with you? Black pants when he puts his hands between your legs. Black pants you bought in the winter. And in his bedroom, you wash the illusion off of your eyes, screaming once. An illusion you wished would stay in place. An illusion that used to trick your heart, where he once thought he was. Shattered illusions in his bedroom, where you promise never to speak to him again. Black pants when you press against Him when you whisper, "I know this is all my fault." Black pants to mark the sin you wish you could shake. A key necklace is lost between the sheets when you lay next to the handsome boy with the safe arms as He whispers, "You're better than you think you are."

III. Short skirt. You did your makeup as soon as you got up in the morning. There's a smile on your face and cold wind on your skin. You want Him to ignore your imperfections because how else would you pretend to love you? Short skirt you wore when you wanted people to stare at you. Short skirt you bought for the spring. And in the car, you play your insecurities off, slipping once. Insecurities you wished would stay hidden. Insecurities that darken your heart, where you want Him to be. Insecurities in his car, where you promise to be businesslike. Short skirt when you press against Him and whisper, "I want to see You again as soon as You get back." Short skirt to mark the reputation you wish you could shake. A few hair pins are lost in the seats as you lay next the handsome boy with the broad shoulders as He whispers, "You're better than you think you are."

IV. Green shirt. You did and redid your makeup three times. There's something snaking in your stomach, something tightening your lips. You are forcing yourself to forget you are imperfect because how else would He know He loves you? Green shirt you stole from your sister's closet. Green shirt you wore in the spring. And in His room, you wash yourself of inhibitions. Inhibitions you wish would stay away forever. Inhibitions that crept to your heart, where He already is. Lost inhibitions in His room, where you promise to be His. Green shirt you press up against him when you whisper, "I want You to know I really like You." Green shirt to mark the new beginning you wish was never-ending. A headband is lost behind His bed frame as you lay next to the handsome boy with the careful fingers as He whispers, "You're better than you think you are.

V. White dress. You don't remember doing your makeup. There is love on your lips and a kiss on your skin. You don't care about imperfections because you know He loves you. White dress you've never worn before. White dress you bought for exactly this occasion. And in the bed, you wash your insides in gold. Gold you wish would glow right through your skin. Gold that makes your heart beat fast, where He has always been. Gold in the bed, where you promise forever. White dress you press up against Him when you whisper, "I want this to be perfect." Something you can't name is lost between the sheets as you lay next to the handsome boy with the perfect hands as He whispers, "You're better than you think you are."

Better.by ~otherwiseunbroken

Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Short Stories

you are always telling me that i am better than i think i am.
but the thing is, you're better than i could ever imagine.
Read here [link] by the lovely =TwilightPoetess, whom you should absolutely watch.

=TwilightPoetess Jan 22, 2013

Hi, hon!

I was looking through my favorites folder for potential reading pieces for

and stumbled back across this one. I would LOVE it if you'd give me permission to read this for our wordpress blog/group.

Let me know what you think?

~otherwiseunbroken Jan 24, 2013 Student Writer

Yes, absolutely! I'm very humbled.
Sorry it took me a bit to get back to you!

=TwilightPoetess Jan 24, 2013

Hi, sweetie!

I've got the recording posted in my St.ash. You can download and listen to it here:

Better by ~otherwiseunbroken

Just click the "download" button on the right; it should play on your computer. Let me know if I need to change or read anything differently, or if you approve the reading as it is. Once you've done that, I'll send a link to *disrhythmic, who will post it on the wordpress blog. From there, I'll have you add a link to the reading in your artists' comments and then we'll send this to the group gallery!

~otherwiseunbroken Jan 25, 2013 Student Writer

Oh my goodness, you are so, so lovely! Thank you so much for doing this, it sounds fantastic. Don't change a thing.

=TwilightPoetess Jan 25, 2013

Okee dokes, it's been posted on the wordpress blog. You can find it here:

Better. by ~otherwiseunbroken

If you could add a link to the reading in your artists' comments, we can then add this piece to the group gallery!

~otherwiseunbroken Jan 25, 2013 Student Writer

alright, my love, we're all linked up!
thank you, over and over again.

=TwilightPoetess Jan 25, 2013

Nonono, dear--thank you for letting me read this.

=TwilightPoetess Jan 25, 2013

Awesome, I'll send it right along to *disrhythmic then!

=TwilightPoetess Jan 24, 2013

It's all right! I had a few other readings to do, as well. I will get it recorded and sent to you to approve ASAP!

=Sammur-amat Nov 18, 2012 General Artist

Congratulations on the DLD, this piece is just so lovely!

More from ~otherwiseunbroken

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

Better.

Better.by ~otherwiseunbroken

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style