No matter what I do, it comes back to this
And I sit and I know that the uncontrollable,
Terrifying feeling inside
While I cry
Is my heart tearing apart and
The blackness is too great to overcome.
Welling, deep, springing forth,
When will it come, I feel the imminence,
But in its cruelty it wanes and returns, stronger waves
With each tide.
I’m chained to this rock and
My mind,
My heart will never be released.
And the knowledge, the positiveness I know in that
Is killing.

What fear would you most like to conquer?

hmm..fear of death and mutilation.

Ask me anything

Devine

Lemme amaze you,

Grab your hands and twirl you

Set your head for a spin

Strap yourself in

I'm sugar, baby, sugar

Making your days fuller

And opening your eyes

Bedroom Counselling.

There have been several of them.
They are not all alike.
Of course they are similar,
They all house the same thing.



Me.

Tears.

Pain.

anger, frustration, loneliness, depression, insanity,
happiness.

Fear, hopelessness, surrender. Elation.

7 out of 10 things are not happy.



What does this tell? Can you understand?

The place is familiar, loving. self-loving. private. Locked. It should stay locked


Filled with tears and pain. Filled with hopes and dreams.


It smells like me. It smells like my perfume; my candles.

It is cold.

That is from my open window,
It’s so drab that it’s depressing,
So old that you want to knock the walls down,
So small that I feel suffocated.
So crammed that I feel like my life is filled with worthlessness



So, Why Do You Think I Cry?



Like a drug, it consumes me. i am swallowed into it.
Others Try to Save me from It.


i don’t want to be Saved.


It is saving me.

From Them.

It is the only thing that listens. That supports.

A bed soft enough to be surrogate. Walls hard enough to be pounded. Shadows dark enough to empathize. Looks sad enough to mirror my Soul.

It represents me.
i need Love, i need to be violent, i need someone to be in my shoes.
For one. God. Damn. Minute
i need to hide.

And through it all, it is silent, strong and unmoving. But it listens. Without giving anything, it makes me understand what is wrong.

If only it could give the courage to do something about it.

mmm.

if only.

(This was a poem written during my writers craft class when we had to come up with something for the school's literary magazine, and this was all I could come up with. )

E(xceptionally) A(mazingly) S(illy) Y(ou've got to be kidding me) Service Happy Fun Times Rhyme!

Welcome to Staples!
We sell desks of Maple
hard drives cheaper to buy
than from those other guys.
Pencils and pens galore,
all you could want and more!
Our service is friendly and nice;
we'll definitely get you the best price.
All your copying needs
end at our paper reams.
We'll put your carts away
and keep HST woes at bay.
Spending money's not that hard;
so let us sign you up for an Enterprise card,
just look at ink, we'll agree
how overpriced it be.
We sell stamps too,
but packs or rolls, not one or two.
know your numbers for a discount,
to avoid paying the full amount.
Yes, the debit is slow,
we know, we know, we know.
But the best part of all this be,
Yes, our plastic bags are free!

(this is what happens when I have too much spare time on my hands at work. Darn you slow Friday nights!)

Dreams are Made In Dusk

I walk towards the graveyard in the fading light.

Dusk, my favourite time of day. The worst of the day is over, but the night is still young and full of promise and opportunity. My shoes click on the paved walkways as I slowly meander past the rows of graves.

I am approaching the middle of the graveyard when I see him. Finally. I've been waiting for him for so long.

He turns and sees me. He smiles. My heart lightens.

I Missed You, I say.

I Missed You Too, Very Much. It's Been Too Long.

He kisses me on my mouth. I shiver all the way down my spine and it works it's way to my toes peeping out from underneath the white skirt of my dress.

Suddenly, I wake up.

Andrew never knew why he had this dream. He didn’t know why he had it from the perspective of the woman in it either. He didn’t even know what she looked like, he was always in her body. The fact that he was in a woman’s body creeped him out a little. He hoped she was beautiful, if she was in love with him. He knew it was him who was also the man in the dream, the man who missed this woman and who kissed her.

Slightly awkward receiving a kiss from his own face.

Andrew looked at his clock. It was 3 in the morning. Coincidentally, it was also the third time he’d had this twilight trip. He adjusted his pillow, checked his clock to make sure the alarm was still on for the morning, and then tried to fall back to sleep; dreamless this time.


Is He Ready ?

No, No He Isn’t. But I Can Wait. There’s Plenty Of Time.

Is There Really?

What, You Don’t Think So, Mathieu?

I Think He Should Get His Ass Moving.

You Know He Doesn’t Have A Conscious Choice, Mathieu. That Was A Silly Thing To Say.

Human Men Have Never Been My Favourite, Fiona.

I Know. But Let This One Be, Mathieu. He’s Not Your Concern.

Poor Little Valentine

This sickness in my stomach, this nausea in my throat, this gripping in my chest

It’s caused by you and it’s terrifying

The power you have

Over me

I don’t understand.

I need to hide my face

But I want to shine in front of you

I can’t win I can’t win I can’t win

And you didn’t even know you made me lose.

Flipping like a leaf in autumn

My mind whirls thoughts in my head

Too fast for my heart to keep up

And eyes shut tight to control

My loss of equilibrium

Made by you

How do you do it?

My face is in my hands,

My heart is in my throat,

My mind is topsy-turvy,

Imaginings out of proportion with reality

As my feet touch the clouds and my eyes look upon the dirt below

I know I’m working with rules beyond simple gravity,

And you’ve broken them without being aware

And I’m jig-sawed in pieces that need to be fit back together

But I can’t do that,

And you don’t know,

So I stay,

Scattered,

Puzzled,

And incomplete without you.

Please fix me.

My apologies Dear

This pain, it hurts.

But it’s necessary.

I’ll be okay

Don’t worry sleep tight.

Wrap yourself in golden slumber,

Full of dreams

Ones you don’t remember

But keep you smiling upon awakening.

I’ll grow up

I thought the weight was always unbearable,

Pounds upon pounds of invisible fright,

Walking with crutches on a leg that’s just fine;

Weight I’ve been measuring with a broken scale;

It’s fixed now.

This uneasiness is only due to the medicine,

Needed to calm my feverish sleep,

And this is just a side effect of the bottle

But it’s necessary.

I need it,

You need it.

Sleep tight, little angels,

This divorce is nearly over.

Mitch.

It's not the fact that this building is old that gives me a depressed feeling of nostalgia. It's that the whole town seems to be stuck in the '70's, '80's.

The signs are wearing down--the lettering decrepit. The old, tiny school doesn't encourage advancement and leaves one to harbour feeling towards its students and staff as ignorants.

Walking down the streets wearing shiny jewelery, carrying a pretty purse or nice clothing makes you feel rich and ritzy and out of place.

You wonder why people live here.

You wonder how it sustains itself.

You want to leave, but you're afraid it will crumble behind you.

Standing on a corner is a familiar house.

Half of the town is familiar, the rest is not.

It looms.

Everything that was once big is now small.

I don't want to walk alone. I'm glad to leave soon.

This is my Hometown.

Pas De Deux

I’m a snowflake,

Strong out in the cold but at a minute’s touch,

I’ll melt in the warmth it would make.

Sometimes the world is just too much.

I know you think I’m strong

But you’re wrong.

The world weighs so heavy,

It kills me because I feel alone

You see a smile and a laugh from me;

Thinking that I’m simply not prone

To be sad like our general population

You don’t understand that smile’s motivation

I hurt so badly From your unintended neglect.

Life’s not kind to the young,

And you can’t seem to see that effect.

There’s a smokescreen blocking your view

I’m completely fine according to you.

I want to cry

To curl up in a ball

You hear me sigh

And think there’s nothing wrong at all

I’ve tried to make you see

But you just can’t seem to care for me

And I still can’t quit

Smiling and laughing every time you’re around,

Misleading you with it

Accidentally with the looks and the sound,

Telling you I’m okay and it’s all fine—

When I’m just so glad to be on your mind.

It’s put me in the situation,

Where you always see me and I lose my problems.

Lost in the safety of you without hesitation,

I even forget what causes some of them.

That is, how much I would wish you could care,

But how I can’t seem to get you there

Because you see me full of smiles and wind chimes,

And I can’t tell you where it comes from;

Can’t say it’s not that I’m fine,

But that I’m unable to do anything but love

When I melt as I’m caught on your tongue

Nothing else to be sung.

Please I’m begging you

See that it’s hurting me

Hiding what’s true

Because I’m afraid if you’d see

I’d be let to fall on the ground and freeze

In a drift of unease

I’m sorry I love you.

And I’ll do my best for you

To keep it from you

So that I won’t hurt you

As much as it hurts me.

To not be with you.

Debout Sur Ma Tête

My brain wants to know why I'm making such a big deal out of it.

why I seem to find it so Difficult.

Important.

Why I care about it so much.

Abandoned my Common Sense

I'm left in pieces on the floor,

bits that get crushed over and over again,

Crushed because I allow this. Because I can't seem to figure out. Because I'm lost.

Because I'm sad and tired and wish you would stop. Stop hurting me.

it doesn't seem to matter

and you don't seem to care.

You're

An

Asshole.

WR

Daymian got off the couch at six. He’d done a lot of thinking about Helena, but thoughts of Dahlia kept interrupting his, making a strange sensation and consistently causing that glow he felt before to pop up each time. Eventually he’d just turned on the TV, quiet enough so it wouldn’t wake Dahlia up.

But he still couldn’t focus on anything for more than five minutes without it coming back to her.

Finally he just gave up, and getting up from his blanket, he raided the fridge. He laughed at the bra inside that Dahlia had tried to hide so surreptitiously.

He looked behind him, was convinced Dahlia was still fast asleep, and, feeling slightly perverted, held up and inspected the piece of black lingerie.

Nice, he thought, his eyebrows rising. He tossed it in the sink. Ok…milk, eggs….

He found a pantry. Flour…

20 minutes later he had a workable batter and a pan heating on her stovetop.

“The least I can do is make her breakfast,” he said to himself. He looked over at her, and choked a laugh. No wonder she told me to close my eyes…

Her duvet had half fallen off the bed, and her underdressed body was almost completely visible. He spotted a housecoat and set it on a chair near her bed. Then he set back to work making her breakfast again.

“6:44…fifteen more minutes or so….” He said, looking at the stove’s clock.

Dahlia reared her head like a lion being awoken from sleep; her tangled waves flew everywhere as she sucked in a deep breath and a clump of hair at the same time. She pulled it out of her mouth.

Daymian had to stifle another laugh as she flung her head around, her eyes wild and open wide. She looked at Daymian with first a look of pure confusedness, then recognition, and then amusement as she caught sight of her favourite hot-pink leopard printed apron tied around his waist and a splatter of batter on his face.

She laughed. “You look…like a sight to behold.”
Daymian let his laughter burst out. “Speak for yourself, sweetheart.” He poured batter onto the pan and then pointed. “You should always wake up like that, it’s quite attractive,” he teased, grinning.

Dahlia followed where the flipper in his hand was directed and saw her red velvet housecoat thrown on her chair.

“Oh shit,” she said, realizing she was almost naked, her blanket had eluded her, and, on top of that, she looked like a cyclone had just run through her hair. Daymian laughed again good-naturedly and turned his attention back to the kitchen. Dahlia quickly tied her housecoat on and stuck a head band in her hair. She walked over to the kitchen.

“Crêpes?” she said. “They look really good; mine always flop.”

“Well, these are all for you. I don’t exactly eat.” He handed her a plate loaded with thin, crisp crêpes topped with icing sugar and syrup. They reminded her of edible doilies; if there was such a thing, this is what they would look like.

“These look delicious. I didn’t know you were so talented.”

Daymian shrugged. “I avoided my parents a lot, and the kitchen was always a good place to go. Our chef was always willing to teach me and get my mind off things.”

Dahlia took a huge bite and smiled. “Well you were a good learner. These are superbe.”

Daymian smiled. “And you have icing sugar on your nose.”

Dahlia smiled back. “You, sir, have batter on your forehead and a neon apron on.” She tilted her head and laughed.

Her laugh hit Daymian like a tidal wave. The glow inside him that he felt went from merely a glow to a bright starburst. Dahlia had stopped laughing and she now was looking at him. She looked concerned.

“I’m fine,” Daymian said. “I just thought of something about…Helena.” A lie, but, he didn’t know what else to say. Dahlia went from looking concerned to disapproving.

“Oh. Ah, well, I have to start getting ready for school; my class is in an hour.”

“What do you do in school?”

“Journalism and language arts at the University. I have classes ‘til Thursday and then exams start next week,” Dahlia said, standing up and rinsing the syrup off her plate.

“Nice, nice,” Daymian said.

“Yeah. And after such a weekend I’ll probably need to use my entire arsenal of makeup, so I have to start now—”

“You look fine the way you are.”

“Thanks Daymian,” Dahlia said, half-smile on her face, “you don’t have to feel obligated to say anything, I’m sure you’re a perfect gentleman already.” She shrugged. “I know I’m not anything special, all the good looks in my family got spent on my sisters,” she smiled and then raised her eyebrows, “even my mom says so.”

Daymian just stared at her, not quite believing what she’d just said. What, was she four years old and still thought what her mother thought? Although, she said it with such conviction. Her eyes looked like she really believed what she was saying. He thought of all the other little side comments Dahlia had said about her mother. Her mother probably abused her then.

“That’s bullshit,” he said to her aloud. “Your mother’s a bitch then.”

Dahlia looked a little defensive. “My mother’s not a bitch,” she said.

Daymian sighed. “Sorry. But if she were anyone else you probably wouldn’t think that way. I can at least guarantee you she’s probably got issues.”

Dahlia looked at him. “Everyone has “issues”,” she said. “We have issues, for fuck’s sake.”

“You got that right.” Daymian laughed in spite of himself. “We got enough issues to make a feature length film; me being a ghost who likes to make French food, you with your “I’m-not-beautiful” complex.”

“It’s not a complex…just, true.”

“Right, about as true as if Pam Anderson said she had real tits. Listen to me Dahlia, in my parent’s social circles they throw girls at the boys like tennis volleys. They almost pray we impregnate them for a shotgun wedding. If even one of those aristocratic “beauties” had even half your looks, they wouldn’t have to fuck the judges to win all the superficial pageants they enter.”
His look softened; he felt he was being a bit harsh. In a lower voice he said, “Having no one tell you you’re beautiful can wear you down though, I guess.”

Dahlia didn’t know what to say, but her cheeks had started blushing since he’d first said she looked fine, and now she had to turn her head to hide her burning face. She faced the bathroom and spoke slowly, embarrassed under Daymian’s intense eyes and quietly angry voice, and her own muddled feelings.

“I’m going to go get changed.”

She ran to the bathroom, grabbing jeans and a shirt on the way. The door shut quietly after her.

“I guess I’ll tidy up.” Daymian said to himself, looking at the messy kitchen. He started filling the sink with water, tossing the bra in it on top of the fruit basket, and muttered to himself. “I can’t believe her. Or her mother. That girl is gorgeous; hell, she’s prettier than Helena.”

He thought back to when she had been sleeping, right before she woke up with such violent force. Her penny coloured hair was a beautiful wavy mess framing her creamy freckle sprinkled skin. Her eyes were shut in a peaceful way that made her angelic looking, and her full lips were almost closed and flushed a sultry red from sleep. Her bare shoulders were relaxed; clothed only in her bra. Her bare chest heaved up and down slightly in her sleep.

Daymian swallowed and blinked.

“Damn, girls can be so stupid some times. And now she thinks I’m a jerk.” He rinsed a plate.

“Not that it matters what she thinks of me but…” He stood up straight, confused with a wet plate in his hand. He put it into the dish rack and dried his hands angrily.

“God, I’ve just got to find Helena!” he said, rubbing his face in his hands.

The Girl

My kisses are like sugar on your lips,
With that fuzzy feeling in between your hips,
You ask for more,
And though,
You are the one that I adore,
I want you to know
That I’d rather you took it in sips,
Than just let you score.

I love you, baby,
More than just maybe,
I want you to be mine,
Forever with each other,
Leave our pasts behind,
You your town and me my mother,
Be together you see,
Pick up on my signs.

I know you want it too,
I can tell you do,
You say it with your lips, your hands, your voice
We haven’t been together this long
Without me knowing I’m your choice,
That you are my song,
So there’s something I will tell you,
Before you use that voice.

My emotions run too deep,
For our relationship to be made cheap,
By simply physical placebo
Because we can’t control ourselves,
Acting like animals won’t do,
Be with me, silent rebels,
Promising me that we’ll keep
This way till I’m ready too.

We are too much made for each other, and meld too perfectly,
For us to worry about taking things too slowly,
The good things in life don’t happen quickly,
So wait till I’m your bride to be.

When Catholics can't find God.

I feel like I just can’t win.

Every time I try I just get pushed back down.

My faith tells me to be strong,

But my sadness tells me there can’t be a God.

Because I can’t believe anyone who loves me

Unconditionally,

Would leave me so on my own

And alone,

Stuck in a rut I can’t escape.

I want to sing to release my pain,

But there’s no song that can describe,

The betrayal I feel

From a deity supposed to be real

But who can’t seem to love me like everyone else.

The times are supposed to be changing.

I’m supposed to enjoy my independence;

My adulthood.

This is supposed to be my debut.

But how can it be

When I was never allowed to be normal before.

When I was punched down time and time again

And no one intervened

Where was God then?

I’ve been led as an outcast

By the closest people in my life

And told to pray to better myself,

Because I was always the one to blame

Why am I the one who is wrong?

The blackness keeps getting blacker.

Cries for help don’t work

Because no one who is close enough cares

And it only strengthens the conviction

That those who care have been put in place and do care

But if there is a God, he likes to toy,

And puts them out of my reach,

Teasing and taunting me with them like candy I can’t eat.

And oh, I am so fucking sick of it,

But there is nothing I can do with it.

One day, I'll Fly Away. Leave all this to Yesterday. Maybe.

I thought I was over it.
By all accounts I should be; I am.
But,
My life likes to throw these horrible bones to me.
Bones that should have been chewed and buried ages ago.
So that it doesn’t bring up all this hurt.
Like an onlooker,
Watching something they can’t help happen
Something they wish they could be a part of,
But they just have to watch as it goes by, while they sit alone behind the glassed in sidelines.

I don’t know if I want to cry,
Just disappear forever,
Stop the cycle of pain,
Of heartbreak,
That my heart knows is inevitable.
Every time it sees someone new.
No, not every time.
Just every time it sees one of them.

The ones who could be mine.
The ones who could live forever in my heart,
And mine in theirs.
The ones who would bandage my heart,
Stitch it all back together and let it heal, once and for all.
The ones who need to read this, but never will.
The ones who could care, if only they knew,
If only they understood.

But they don’t.
And I’m too tired to cry anymore.
They’re killing me and don’t even know it.
And I’ll never get them to patch it up.
Never get him to patch it up.

Opening Scene of "Goddess" [working title]

She stepped off the plane and walked across the private landing site into her family’s shiny white limousine. She sat down in a comfortable leather seat while her bags were taken into another, less stylish vehicle. She was clean and fresh from the shower she had taken on the aircraft. The chauffer shut the door behind her as she slid her seatbelt into its lock.

“Isn’t this a nice welcome for the prodigal daughter’s return?”

Daphne turned towards Michelle’s intense look, and smiled ironically.

“Did you slaughter your best calf for me then? Oh, wait, you can’t kill your son, he’s your ticket, isn’t he.”

Michelle sipped from a champagne glass.

“We’ll see.”

“You’re revolting. What are you going to do with him if he isn’t what you thought he would be?”

“Then he’s as worthless as you and disposable as your father.”

“You’d kill him?”

“No,” she put on a face of false torment. “I might just have his memories erased and put into an orphanage or something.”

Daphne rolled her eyes at a typical, heartless Michelle response.

“And yet you tell me all this because….”

“Because if you live past tonight, you will not be living in this country, and you will never be able to come back to this country.”

“You do realize that I am 19 and you have no legal power over me…you never did, remember, even when you married dad.”

Michelle twitched in irritation.
“Trifles. I have powers over the airways and in the government. Don’t forget that Daphne.”

“Whatever. Just try, you obsessive whore.”

Daphne had not seen Depp for over a year and a half. She had learned not to miss him, but when she saw his cute face, his enormous brown eyes, and his floppy golden hair, her heart melted again.
“Daphne, you came for my birthday!!!”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” How true that was.

Ian came into the room and spoke, “The birthday ceremony will take place in ten minutes. Please come to the Banquet Hall.”

The two step-siblings walked along after Ian. There wasn’t much changed in the familiar hallway, except any pictures of Daphne had been removed, Daphne noticed. There were none of her father’s favourite paintings, either.
The Banquet Hall was huge, and decorated for a boy just about to turn ten years old. But it was so sinister to Daphne. She noticed that the cake had already been cut, and there were thus no knives in the room. There were spoons to eat cake and ice cream with.

“Damn,” Daphne said silently. The only weapon-like things she had were her high heels, nails, teeth, and a cell phone.
Michelle hugged her son. If you didn’t know her, you might have actually thought she loved Depp.

Daphne looked at the clock. Five minutes left.

She looked over at Depp and his mother. She was helping him up onto the dais of the “Birthday Chair” the one specifically built when he was born to be used every year at his birth moment, to see if the prophecy was true.

The five minutes slipped by as they sang “Happy Birthday”, and started to have the cake distributed and the gifts come in. Then the timer rang.

As soon as it did, Daphne felt dread enter her heart and knew right away that Michelle was getting her wish tonight, and that she had to be prepared to escape.
An unearthly radiance took over the room and Depp was flooded with a burning white light throughout his entire body.

Daphne backed to the door.

But what about Depp, she couldn’t leave him here…

She ran out of the room, and no one noticed. She ran to his room, and packed a bag with his stuff, and then she ran to hers and grabbed her clothes that had not been unpacked.

Now she just had to kidnap Depp.

She ran back to the Banquet Hall.

She knew what could happen to Depp.
She remembered when Michelle hadn’t hated her so much, back when she thought that she could use Daphne. She had taken her into the room with the door made of some iridescent, non-solid stuff. The room had no smell, and was simply a round room made entirely of glass. She had seen pictures float in and out of sight on the glass. She was amazed, and thought it the best treat, especially when Michelle had promised she could visit here anytime, just as soon as she turned ten. And that was just two months away! Daphne had thought that maybe her new stepmother, already almost nine months pregnant, wasn’t going to be as horrible as she imagined.

“Daphne, love, I want you to try something, just to make sure that you will be able to come here again…sort of like seeing if you can figure out the password, because you always have to unlock the door before you can come in here.”

“Ok!” Daphne said as she looked at her stepmother. Michelle really was beautiful, she thought, especially when she looked so happy. And it really didn’t seem like a ridiculous request, it made sense, didn’t it?

“What do I have to do?”

“See how there are pictures on the glass? Pictures of people doing things?”

“Yea, it’s like a bunch of movies playing at the same time.”

“Exactly, darling.” Michelle grinned. “I am glad you pick up so quickly. All right, so what I need you to do is focus on that picture right there…”
Daphne looked to her right at a man who had a worried expression. “That one?”
“Yes, Daphne. Now, I am going to tell you a story. A long time ago, this man made fun of me. You know how I am going to have your little brother soon?”
“Yes!” Daphne was overjoyed at the prospect of a sibling, especially when the doctors said it was a boy. She longed for a little brother.
“Well, this isn’t the first time that I have expected to have a child, that man made me pregnant years ago, and then, when I wasn’t sure of what he was doing, he made the baby die before it was born, because he was a selfish man.”

“He killed your baby?” Daphne said, troubled.

“Yes”

“That’s horrible. So she never lived to see anything?”

“No, she never saw the sun, or trees or birds or anything at all, Love.”
Daphne started crying.

“Don’t cry Daphne, it was a long time ago. But I wanted to kill him, He deserved it, and no one would blame me, it wouldn’t even be illegal.”

“Really? You wouldn’t have got in trouble if you killed him?”

“I wouldn’t, because he had killed someone first, so I would just be making it right.” Michelle lied, false tears in her eyes. “I guess I should have, when you see it like that. He had no right. I even had a name for the baby.”
“What?” Daphne asked.

Michelle sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Emma.”

Emma. Daphne’s mother had been named Emma, and she had been killed too. Just like the poor baby. What an evil man. The thought of the baby being killed and her mother being killed, and never finding the murderer for the mother, and never punishing the murderer for the baby, started to make Daphne sob. She was so angry, as she looked at the man, calmly reading a book in his big chair. Why did he deserve to be alive? Why did Emma have to get killed? Why did her mother have to get killed?

Her angry tears flowed faster, blurring her vision. She blinked them clear.

Using one of the words she had recently picked up from her nanny, “You asshole!” she yelled at the man. She could feel her body vibrating, and remembered moments from her life before her mother died. She remembered her funeral. She imagined if Emma was alive, she would have had her as a step-sister right now.

Michelle looked at her step-daughter, a small grin forming on her face

“Don’t you think he deserves to die? Just like he killed Emma. Just like someone killed your mother.”

It never occurred to Daphne to wonder why Michelle knew her mother was killed, when everyone was told it was cancer. But the words she said took effect.

Daphne yelled at the man. “I want you to die!”

She felt a strange, huge energy she couldn’t control run throughout her body. She stared at the man and screamed at him. Instantly, she felt the energy flow towards the man on the glass wall. The next instant, his calm facial expression had turned to one of terror. Then, he was writhing on the floor, pain all over his face as his body spasmed.

Michelle laughed. “Do it, Daphne, he deserves it! Do it for your mother!”
Daphne closed her eyes, the power humming in her body made her unable to hear the man’s screams or Michelle’s triumphant laughs. She squeezed her eyes even tighter, tears dropping like acid on her cheeks.
She screamed one more time, and then, suddenly, the power left her body and she fell on the floor panting.

She got up slowly. The Man in the Glass was dead, lying on the floor with blood coming out of his nose, his ears, and his teeth. There were no eyeballs in his sockets, they had exploded.

Daphne realized she had done that. She felt triumphant, especially when Michelle hugged her.

“Oh, you did so well! Now, you can come and visit here anytime!”

“But how do I make the door open?”

“All you have to do is stand in front of the door, and think of someone you hate. Then, you think about them dying so hard that the door will change to what it is right now,”
“That’s all?”
“Yes, sweetie, that’s all.”

And then Michelle and Daphne left the room, while the man lay dead on his carpet.

There are too many of you to mention.

There's a burning smell coming from the hallway.

A coffee pot left to sit too long.

A smell that burns in my nostrils as thoughts burn in my head

burn with bad memories as I think of you.

It's not just the drink in my hand or the toxins in my liver that are repulsing to me.

You have always disgusted me.

Your arrogance, ignorance and insensitivity are combined in degrees worse than a KKK member.

only when you lynch me, it's in ways the rest of society can't see.

You've broken my heart,

and I don't even love you.

You've crushed my Spirit,

even though you think I have no soul.

I want to damn you to hell,

but that would only be doing

what you do to me.

Except my hell is here on Earth.

And you've convinced me that there's no Heaven to look forward to.

There can't be a God who would let someone like you

exist.

A poem when I just needed to write.

I tried to think of something witty,

something funny,

something revelation worthy,

something to talk about,

something to match the intelligence of a YouTube comedian--

But I couldn't.

so you'll have to deal with imagining what something like that would be like.

I suddenly found it important to write out the fact that, sometimes

I just have nothing really to say

(except ramblings such as this)

which most likely means I talk too much.

Thus makes me think I am annoying.

Whether or not I am.

Which probably means I have some deepset personal insecurities.

meh.

I don't feel pulled to suicide--so I must be okay.

What I will leave you with is wonder

(which every good poem should do)

wonder

(like a magical bridge)

How the hell is this a poem?

(it really is a wonder)

What is love?

Does anyone truly know what love is? It is so subjective, my iPod claims up to 8 gigabytes worth of different types of love. My psychology class tells about six different types of love.
Which is the best?

How can any one person determine the answer to that question, when there are 6 billion of us sharing this earth, something, which some would say, is the ultimate love? That being God, who created us, simply to loves us, and we are told sacrificed his only Son for us. Is that true love?
Perhaps, but a little too gruesome for me.

But does that in turn mean that I only want the love of warm fuzzies? The different parts of my brain have all decided to play Devil's Advocate.

If we can find someone attractive one day, decide we love them, and then turn around and fall in love with someone completely different later on in th road, what does that mean?
Does it mean that there are different loves for different people, or does it simply mean that we have developed, and alond with us, our love?

Does love, therefore, evolve. Has it changed so much that once upon a time it was some Darwinian perhistoric species; Did love mean hate at some point and now, in some twisted version, we love those who drive us crazy at the same time?

If you love someone once, truly love them, however you define it, does that ever go away. Wouldn't true love, being true, stay forever, and even though the person may fade out of view, the love never leaves? Perhaps if it did disappear, it wasn't love, or it never did disappear, we just tucked it away somewhere else so that we could love more, again, and our brain just keeps it on file to build on for the next thing in our spectrum to love.

If Love hurts, is it really love. Why would something that is supposed to be so wonderful, something everything is supposed to pine for, consciously or subconsciously, ever hurt us?! Maybe we are simply so masochistic that we feel there must be a price for something so ultimate and definitive, and that a little bit of pain is simply what goes along with the bargain.

It is for these reasons that I am cautious to ever seriously say I love anyone who is not related to me. Family love is a given, and I do not say I love someone in my family who I do not. But for those not in my genepool, lov, to me, is something that is so confusing to me, it is better left alone until I am sure what to do with it.

Ode to an...Ode

oh Ode!
You do praise so highly.
Nothing is beyond your grasp,
Your adoration knows no bounds.

Selfless you are,
It brings tears to our eyes,
One thing in this world,
unafraid to show its feelings.

You delight in delighting others,
And expect nothing in return,
Honour and glory you speak,
Flattery shown with words.

Long or short,
Beautiful you will always be
Whatever paper you grace,
You make any page beautiful beyond mere words.

Words that are only mere
Until You weave them
Into exultant epiphanies
Of incomparable enlightening excellence.

Oh Ode!
Is there no subject you can't praise
Oh Ode!
This is simply returning the favour.

^_^ Dea