RustyMutt

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half-centennial

i thought i had grief down to an art: throw the ashes to the wind, catch them in your mouth, and move on but i can't work through this as if it were a checklist loss is not linear, a recipe reading: simmer in sorrow, sadness, anger until it is reduced by half, a glaze of grief at the bottom of the pan my doctor can keep his Kubler-Ross model, give her five stages another five years because i am not finished tearing at my shirt, painting mascara Roschorch on my pillowcase, letting my blood of the oxygen we both breathed i hear the respirators when the rest of the house is asleep your funeral flowers still hang in the rafters of the at

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A sincere thank you.

Jan 7, 2014

So....today we hit a 1000 watchers... I've been wondering what to do for this occasion for a while, and didnt really come up with anything, to be honest....I could hold a raffle and paint a bunch of cool stuff for you, I dunno.... SO first of all, I'm going to ask you to comment below with some ideas, I'll make a follow up to this journal about that (: But back to the main point. I'm perfectly aware of the fact that...it's just a number, and you all represent something that simple digits will never be able to replace. A simple number couldn't even remotely describe the insane amount of support you show me every single day. So a sincere t

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half-centennial by AlloenDreams, literature

Literature

half-centennial

What happened to your voice? by DearPoetry, literature

Literature

What happened to your voice?

your thoughts are jackals, yet their twilight howls sound like cries in your head; you have been finding yourself & not- while trying not to sound so sad. so, Dear Heart, you can write. yet, you stopped wearing your words on your wrist & all that hair you chopped off this day a year ago, refuses to grow back. you turn, try to decode your encyclopedia of powerful spines, tearing at the pages you wrote them upon. angry, You were so angry. & now? nothing but an untamed, wild thing you leave collared & quiet in a cage.

ma mere by Alleyana, literature

Literature

ma mere

i think my mother thinks i'm blind, that i see only my own faults and forget the fractures in her composure, the fissures in her failing heart that keep her awake at night. i fear she thinks i do not see the strength in her scars. i think my mother thinks i'm deaf, that i cannot hear her silent sadness; it has always echoed in the halls of this family home. maybe she thinks i do not hear the wisdom in her words. i think my mother thinks i'm numb, that i do not feel the eternal love in every touch; i know with absolute certainty that no one will ever love me like my mother does. every hug is a blessing that brings me home. but

22 by reechy, literature

my father lived in India by learningtobefree, literature

Literature

my father lived in India

my father is a man of many colors. on the nights when the moon stays asleep, he lotions his palms with pomegranate juice. the sugared blood pools in the creases of his skin, staining it India’s red. sometimes, my father scrubs his hands until they are nothing but flesh & fruit rinds. when he was younger—all skinned knees and pocket knives—he must've slipped on a thousand marbles. my father’s father was a welder who rolled and spun steel into tiny spheres. when he died, my father’s hands became blue and free of pocket knives. to this day, he keeps a bag of marbles on our mantle. from time to time, he s

Don't Think. by 0hgravity, literature

Literature

Don't Think.

it's meant to be listened to: http://sta.sh/022gwea0ee6o https://soundcloud.com/gravitycorner/dont-think I remember in Psych 101, when the professor proposed a game called Don’t Think. He said, “For the next minute, don’t think about red elephants.” So the trick was to think about anything else but the red elephant. That was the longest minute of my life. I thought surely I will die under the weight of this-- No don’t think about it! The sweat dripped down my temples and my lips got dry and I couldn’t stop blinking or thinking about purple giraffes and orange hippos and polka dot ostriches and red re

shrinking by AlloenDreams, literature

Literature

shrinking

please, don't tell me how beautiful it is that i've parted my thighs like the sea. because there is nothing pretty about the tears in last nights dinner, or the way my hands shake around silverware. i am not poetry, but a language lost --in the spaces where flesh used to occupy lies everything i needed to say, kept as the only thing i could ever bear to swallow. if you try to write sonnets about the scars on my knuckles or the arch of my ribs, i will tell you in nine syllables less that this is more than abstinence and foggy reflections. i will tell you how my little sister can carry me in her arms like a child, and how my father can hardly

Reverse Poem by Dracosphere, literature

Literature

Reverse Poem

I will never be accepted by my peers Because it’s a lie to say that It is my right to be an original person My flaws do not define me Is a lie I am not beautiful I am not perfect Because I refuse to believe that I am worth it I have no power over my destiny And I am lying when I say that I believe in myself Because of my skin, hair, and tastes I should be an outcast And I refuse to believe Someone can understand me If they just listen to me My size matters And no one can convince me that I am pretty without makeup, fashionable clothing, or attention And we will never love ourselves if we believe that these stereotypes define us

Eaten by a Dream by enigmaticsmile, literature

Literature

Eaten by a Dream

"I was eaten by a dream once." The girl, and I say she was a girl because she looked to be in her 20's, sat down next to me in the waiting area outside the gate for my flight to Houston. I had been reading an article on my iPad and not paying attention when she sat down. But, my memory tells me that I might have taken slight notice of her out of the corner of my eye as she came out of the "Sports Bar" across the hallway from the waiting area a few minutes ago. I figured she was slightly tipsy because of the way she moved. She didn't look to be entirely in control of her motions. I normally would not have responded to a stranger in the a

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