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12-21-12The Mayans said it first, but
tea leaves said it second, her palm
said it third, and the boy
down the road, the one with the blue,
blue eyes, said it fourth.

The world was going to end and she
could not be happier.

Her affairs were easy to arrange:
money sealed into envelopes,
the microwave unplugged, and one
last kiss for the blue-eyed boy.

She called her mother,
and her mother did not answer.
(But she did not expect her to.)

That evening she hid beneath
a blanket with her dog and told stories
about the good times and the bad times
(but mostly the bad times, and how
now there would never have to be
bad times ever aga
march 24th, 2008.there is a chinese proverb that says your teeth will fall out if you tell lies.

i used to always dream my teeth would crumble from my mouth and lay glittering on the street like coins. i used to dream that the slightest touch jarred them loose, knocked them from my jaw leaving only swells of broken tissue behind. i used to dream of rivulets of blood streaming from the corners of my mouth, of thirty two pieces of myself lying naked on the ground, thirty two tooth fairies that would never come. i used to dream of screaming.

"you know," said my psychology TA, "to dream of losing one's teeth is very common. it typically means that you're concer
serbian mermaid.in five years i want to move to georgia
or serbia or atlantis and start a family,
name my children after odd numbers
and teach them russian lullabies and
the art of manipulating those you love.

in five years i want to marry you, but
i don't know if you like odd numbers,
or even if you like me all that much.
maybe you'd like me if i tell you
that i'm a mermaid, but i'm not
and you can always tell when i am lying.

in five years i want to be seventeen,
but wishes don't work like that.
i tried.

in five years i want to be on a plane
and i want the plane to crash
into the ocean and i want everyone
to be okay except me, but if i w
throwing rocks.so i want to grow up and get a job and make happy, make money, make forget. i can't though, i'm too concerned with windchimes. i mean, fuck windchimes, right? i lie awake at night and listen to rigs on the rumble strip and the windchimes, (mostly the trucks), but damn, the tinkling is enough to keep me awake all night. but sometimes not, and then i dream i drown or maybe i marry a serial killer who props up corpses in rocking chairs or sometimes i dream about my ex-boyfriend's little sister because why not. then i wake up and it's taxes and credit cards and grades and people dying and shit.

and windchimes.

i don't know what is wrong with me
trilobite.look:
don't ask me to prove to you that evolution is real,
because i lost the notebook with the proof written
out in pen. i could try to sum it up for you anyway,
about how i didn't used to love you and then one day
i did and how whales used to have legs.

also i was once a flower or a seven year old
and my hands didn't know how to hold yours
or how to draw sunsets and make sandcastles.

evolution was you one year ago saying i was perfect,
that i should never change myself for anyone.
now you say that you are trying to fix me,
which means that perfect things could always
be trying harder. and that's evolution.

i'm tired of my hair
Writer's BlockA writer's block is something nobody can bear,
That's the truth, that I swear.
We all have a specific goal that we write for,
Even if it sometimes start to feel like a chore.

When our minds are shrouded and we can't think clear,
That's perfectly normal have no fear.
We might not be able to write about the things we like,
Then sometimes the most brilliant inspiration will strike.

Until we get inspired we should practice writing more,
Even if it's just a simple story about how you went to a store.
We must broaden our horizons for new themes and such,
Maybe we find a subject for which we have a special touch.

So prepare for your insp
NaPoWriMo: Day 10    Have you ever been so cold, Sweetheart,
   your knees q u a k e d like that Jenga piece
   that buckled just before your whole foundation

                           t  
                       o
                  p
              p
         l
      e
   d
              over?

                              I have.

  & no matter
  how many times
  I've restarted your heart,

  one would think
            I'd grow tired,
  eventually;

  I'm still writing you in poetry

     (in the most inappropriate of places.)
  You forced yourself beneath my blades
                                & my fingertips,
  Licking unsta
interstate 81.there's a metal star that is wasting away on a hill overlooking interstate 81. it blends in with the surrounding area; you can't really even see it unless you know it's there.
and no one does.
i like to think that it is a signboard from god, and i make tiny little prayers on it. my religion is in curling wires and burned out light bulbs, and my lord is the same colour as the sky and the treetops. honestly, i believe that rusting metal has as much a chance as anything for inspiring faith.

there's a deer lying broken on the side of the road. it's sprawled in a shallow ditch with its four legs splayed awkwardly, hooves plowing tiny furrows in
Abortion - Dead Before BornToday, I will face my indelible death
My life will be silenced, though I am still unborn
My Momma’s eyes, stained with sorrow
As she wipes away the tears, her cheeks have worn
But she promises to herself, that she won’t mourn
For I am a product of her illegitimate mistake
A consequence of a love, forbidden and torn
And eradicating me is her only route of escape

Though there is no glimpse of light where I am hidden
I know the world beyond this womb is filled with colour
That there is transcendental beauty my eyes will never see
And a life I will never have the chance to savour
Defenselessly I will descend to ashes
By a
kitestrings.you confessed that when you were little you would pull apart monarch butterflies because they were much too beautiful--
so beautiful that they made you feel uneasy.

(you always did call me the most beautiful thing you'd ever known.)

it's almost december now, and the only reason i wish you were here is so you could make snow angels and i could rip off their wings.

---

you wanted a kite for your birthday, so i got you one that was shaped like a bat and we took it to the beach, watched it crash into the surf over and over until it was bent and broken. i rescued it from the tide and surfaced dripping saltwater -- you told me i looked like t
heart crossed.
"who's that kid?" i ask, pointing at the boy whose hair cannot decide if it is red or gold. he holds a basketball in his small hands, bouncing it, once, twice, before putting it through the hoop in a perfect arc.

"james," the counselor responds, and leans closer. "he's a foster kid, you know."

i don't know.

the boy turns at that moment and catches me watching him. unthinkingly i form my thumbs and index fingers into a heart and flash it at him. he nods to his teammates and leaves the court, climbing the bleachers to where i sit.

"did you see my shot?" he asks.

"yes." pause. "i'm kelsey."

"i know," he says, and runs back to his game.

at
NPR three minute story submission She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk through the door. That low rumble had been Tom's temperamental engine; she was sure of it. The sound had tattooed itself on the inside of Anna's ears ages ago. Maybe he was sitting in the front seat of his car, trying to work up the courage to knock. Maybe his brows would knit together and his mouth would quirk and he would say, "I missed you, Sunshine," though he had never once called her by that nickname. Maybe she could apologize, and he would kiss the insides of her wrists, the back of her neck, her eyelids.
Yes, she could hear a car door opening. If she listened
tiger sharksYou take what you can get. You always find a way to make do. Your mother taught you that. Your mother drank wine through a straw. When you were fifteen, you watched her take down your father's hunting rifle from above the fireplace and shoot your dog, your best friend, that had got run over by your neighbour's truck and had to be put down. When you were fifteen your mother held you as you cried about your dog, your best friend, that had got run over by your neighbour's truck and had to be put down. She didn't say a word as you did but when you were fifteen, you caught her weeping in the middle of the night to your father, who apologized that
paper cranes and picket fencesi am folding you one thousand paper cranes because it is all we have left.

legend says that if i fold one thousand paper cranes, i will get a wish. i could wish for a pair of iridescent wings or an ocean in a teacup or just to finally be happy again, but i don't want any of that--with every crane i fold i am imagining you. one crane for the circles under your eyes, one crane for your jutting ribs, one crane for every seizure.

i love you and you're dying and i will run out of paper trying to fold your broken pieces into birds.

-

you drew me a picture of us in the future.
our houses were next door to each other and a white picket fence sep
Browse More Like This

More from ~estallidos

heart crossed.
"who's that kid?" i ask, pointing at the boy whose hair cannot decide if it is red or gold. he holds a basketball in his small hands, bouncing it, once, twice, before putting it through the hoop in a perfect arc.

"james," the counselor responds, and leans closer. "he's a foster kid, you know."

i don't know.

the boy turns at that moment and catches me watching him. unthinkingly i form my thumbs and index fingers into a heart and flash it at him. he nods to his teammates and leaves the court, climbing the bleachers to where i sit.

"did you see my shot?" he asks.

"yes." pause. "i'm kelsey."

"i know," he says, and runs back to his game.

at
march 24th, 2008.there is a chinese proverb that says your teeth will fall out if you tell lies.

i used to always dream my teeth would crumble from my mouth and lay glittering on the street like coins. i used to dream that the slightest touch jarred them loose, knocked them from my jaw leaving only swells of broken tissue behind. i used to dream of rivulets of blood streaming from the corners of my mouth, of thirty two pieces of myself lying naked on the ground, thirty two tooth fairies that would never come. i used to dream of screaming.

"you know," said my psychology TA, "to dream of losing one's teeth is very common. it typically means that you're concer
the soccer game.the thing is, i need
the deer to mean something.

-

i go to the soccer game and smile
and nod while something furious
inside of me is screaming.
a deer appears while the sun
is setting and it's like a scene
from a movie: green grass and gold rays
that spread out, tingeing our feet
with one last bit of wednesday.
everyone watches the deer and makes
noises of appreciation and i look
around and i think to myself
"okay, this is it, i am happy."

-

the deer is watching me and i try
to decide if it's a metaphor.
i want the deer to be death, see,
to represent fucking or blacking
out or apathy or loneliness.

someone does something

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neverland

:iconestallidos:

i'm giving myself ten minutes to grow up,
and with every minute that passes i am remembering
balloons and party hats and streamers
and the second star to the right,
straight on 'til morning.

every year i write myself a poem for my birthday,
but this year i think i'll write a poem about
peter pan and he'll die in the end and everyone
will be sad. i'll be the saddest though,
because there comes a point in your life
when you realize that you're not peter pan,
or wendy, or even a lost boy.

(how sad, i think, to be lost but not a lost boy.
it doesn't matter though, because neverland isn't
real and now look, i'm another year older, and what
have i even done with my life?)

today i'm twenty-three and peter pan is dead.
my ten minutes have passed and i still haven't
grown up. people around me forget how to talk
to mermaids, and no one claps because no one
believes in fairies, or flying, or themselves.

today every birthday candle looks like a bone
and i still have so many wishes left to make.
maybe i should know who i am and what i am
doing by now, but i don't know. i don't care.
i'm twenty-three and this is all i have, it's all i
will ever have. you can keep your careers and cars
and aspirations. i will be waiting by my window
for a little boy with stars for eyes who can
never grow older because he is dead.

9,237

1,086 196 159
:iconestallidos:

neverlandby ~estallidos

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say hi to steve irwin for me, pan.
©2012-2013 ~estallidos
Category: Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

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September 4, 2012
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love 14 14 joy 5 5 wow 2 2 mad 0 0 sad 9 9 fear 0 0 neutral 0 0
:icontheemptychest:
~TheEmptyChest Apr 2, 2013
How is it that I have just now discovered you? You are made of awesome. And your writing... it's unreal. My utmost respect to you, ma'am. <3
Reply
:iconestallidos:
~estallidos Apr 4, 2013  Professional Writer
well thank you! that is rather kind :)
Reply
:icontheemptychest:
~TheEmptyChest Apr 6, 2013
You're more than welcome.
Reply
:iconilovechez:
~ilovechez Mar 30, 2013
But to die would be an awfully big adventure
Reply
:iconminninnewah:
=minninnewah Mar 13, 2013  Student Writer
Wow.. Every single part of this is breathtaking!
Reply
:icondribeltneg:
~driBeltneG Feb 21, 2013
just wow. really good. it makes me sad, but i love it so much.
Reply
:iconshidifenni:
~shidifenni Jan 29, 2013   Photographer
speechless
Reply
:iconestallidos:
~estallidos Jan 31, 2013  Professional Writer
<3
Reply
:iconquauhtli123:
Mood: Wow! ~quauhtli123 Dec 22, 2012
wow
Reply
:iconancientfire33:
~ancientfire33 Dec 21, 2012  Student Writer
To never ever grow-up! But I believe he will still be their with you, for once a lost boy always a lost boy, just keep that faith and if you believe in faeries...oh well suckz for the other people!

Peter Pan will always be their to look after his lost boys, even if they grow old with wrinkles the magic stays forever!

And awesome poem, your writing is simply breath-taking! :)
Reply
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