[x]

lemongrass girlSlipping through rain
lemongrass girl
spicy like saffron

I'm the lazy lacy tumbleweed
hooked to the undercarriage of your car
because iloveyourstory

i'm a lemongrass girl
I turn cartwheels and smile at trees
and keep memories in a suitcase
next to a sandalwood fan

i like the sun
i like yellow
i like to smile
until my eyes crinkle

can I be your friend?
because sometimes i feel lonely
outside and removed
will you take this tumbleweed inside your car?
i would like to ride shotgun
Man the stereo so you can drive
open the windows -- see my hair is curly
and i like ice cream
i like to smile
until my eyes crinkle
but I want t

Grandfather's BirdGrandfather had a pet bird. Just a small, yellow and white parakeet; he named it Georgie, after Grandmother. Every morning, he would wake up at 6 o'clock, make a pot of coffee, grab the newspaper, and feed the small bird a small pile of birdseed. And he would gently carry the birdcage, and place it on the table and talk to her as he drank his coffee and read the newspaper.

"Gas prices are up again Georgie, geez, remember when we could pay 20¢ to fill up our car?"

And sometimes the bird almost chirped in response. Years and years went by, and Grandfather grew older, and he could no longer carry the bird off the shelf, but he would still

The Man in the Coffee ShopThe man who works at the coffee shop looks like you. I noticed this some time ago and have since frequented the place. He recognizes me now. He smiles at me when I come in. His smile even looks like yours. He doesn't say hey though- you always said hey.

I still work at the library even though you're not there.
Sometimes I look over to your desk and expect to see you typing at your computer, but someone else is there now. It's not you.

Sometimes someone will come in who looks like you. Maybe he will have the same hair, same stature, same profile, same laugh, same voice. It's never been you.

Sometimes I drive myself crazy. I pull at my hai

Baby, If You're Still Awake
Sorry, but the person you are calling is unavailable. Please leave your message after the tone.

Hey you, it's me...Rae.

I..I don't know where to start, but I guess that doesn't really matter right now, especially after what happened. After what I did to you, I wouldn't be surprised if you, you never want to speak to me or see me ever again, for what I did was, it was...

And I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry.

I don't know how to be what you think I am, I don't know how... to love.
It's funny, you know, because I can write poems - poems about tragedies, seasons, and anything, anything at all,
but almost

Empty skies"Doesn't it look empty to you?"

What do you mean, little girl? It never looks empty, because in an expanse of sky there can be clouds and rain storms and blue turning to green at the edges. It's a diaphanous green, an almost-there-but-not-really green, and it melts into the ground sometimes. The change in colour has something to do with the atmosphere, I think. There are too many gases in the air and that causes the world to look larger.

And yet here you are, little girl, and you're telling me it looks empty. You're asking me whether I agree. And how can something so full of rockets and stars and a million suns be empty? Well, maybe not com

Brutal BeautyI am about to die, about to cease to exist.

And I am not afraid.

As I wait for the moment when my tenuous tie to life is snipped, as I wait to grasp the elusive idea of death, I feel so alive.

The sky is bright and blue- the kind of sky for happy days- and nowhere can I find the bleak gray horizon that should accompany battle.

The air is sweet and delicious, tasting of delicate little wildflowers and new spring grass, and I cannot smell gunpowder or death yet.

And this moment, the one before all others are stolen, may be the most lovely scene I have ever set eyes on.

The brave boys are running towards us, towards me. They scream a ghast

HomelessIt's got to be said, that using a cardboard box, with its sides split, as a shelter from the rain isn't the best idea ever. After receiving so much moisture, it begins to sag and raps around you in your sleep, often without you realising. When you wake up, and you push away the sodden remains of your temporary home, your entire body shakes. Often, certainly half a dozen times in my case, this will later be followed by a severe cold, or on two occasions for myself, pneumonia. After going through the ritual of checking you're still alive, it's off to work. If you've ever been so unfortunate as to lose everything, except the clothes on your back

Ink VoiceWhile the other children spilled into the playground, Ren stayed inside. She sat in her beanbag and leafed through a book. Ren loved stories as much as she hated talking. This late into the year, she had read and reread every child-battered book on the shelf several times. And she loved them all.

They smelled like . . . magic.

Stories were doors and Ren used them to fall into other worlds.

Except, not really. She only pretended to do so, and it was hard to pretend when grownups decide to interrupt her quiet reading.

"Which book are you reading today, Ren?" Miss Payper asked.

Don't say a word.

Ren did not look up at her teacher. She cont

Dear VictorI will not apologize because I knew you
when your own ghosts turned their backs to your weeping
or because I thought I could love the bird-shaped organ
calling from inside your chest
or because
I clipped its stubborn wings
when I realized I had been wrong.
I am not sorry for it.

But listen, Victor:

I'm sorry I remember a time
when we were beautiful, our bodies
made luminous by the bitter light collected in our lungs
like ash,
the atmosphere shaking violently as it
sank
into our displaced skeletons.
We could not recall
our own skin.

I'm sorry I called out for you
in the dark
when no one else was there to hear,
each shaken syllable making a

ActuallyHeard that you were flying away
to a corner of the world
where the apartments were filled
with ghosts of people
who pretended they were dead
because they got more than what they wanted
and they were tired of people
who pretended they were alive,
but before you go,

I just,
I wanted to,
um, also,

heard that you were allergic to words
and that numbers were more your thing
and I wondered
if you ever considered
the other things that could be your thing,
that time could be more
than asymptotes and facebook statuses,
and I wondered
if you could be more,
well, more than that,

because I just,
I wanted to,

let you know that I
h

VaingloryI watched Daedalus cradle his ivory child,
melted, winged bronze crowned in seaweed:
he released his reckless child,

threw him to the winds in hopeless abandon
watched as the sea ruined him.
Decadent in ripped seashells,
he escapes into obscurity,
exalts the lamented to the point of notoriety -

Tell him I saw his face again
...in Picasso in art in war in despair,
lo, Daedalus:

he hid his face, a disgraced Eros
(still winged, still winged,
these wings bind flesh from stone,
from sea-besieged rock)
but still so naked in his shame.
"So desolate, o desolate,
O, so desolate, Daedalus?"
croons the wicked wind,
and the crooked man's back hunches

The Architect's DaughterGrowing up, the drafting table was a strange contraption lording over the basement and over the crown of her then small head. As she slowly came to understand the table's function, it came to teach her that A) work and home are inseparable, and B) the world is flat. Skyscrapers collapse into thin piles of layered printer paper and torn, pen-marked transparency sheets. Mountains and forests reduce to stacked shapes. Fathers compile into cramped calendars.

Now the early lessons are thoroughly embedded. Art and architecture are inseparable in her mind. The easel is her own table, similar to a draughtsman's and yet completely different in

RainIt rained again last night.
And I could have sworn I saw your face
In the rain,
Heard you tap, tap, tapping
At my mind's window pane,
Heard your wailing through the walls,
Begging me to let you in again.

I heard the rain
Shriek your name
As the water set fire
To my soul.

The rain, rain, rain
Fell, fell, fell
And faded, faded, faded
Into nothing but a bittersweet
Memory,
As you did, so long ago.

But it wasn't you, out there-
Or anywhere;
It never is,
And never will be
Again.

Even after all the times
I've bled your tears
And cried your blood,
My heart beating heavily
With mistakes,
The tears you had left to cry
Spr

a last wishI dreamt i was dying
And the only thing i wanted
in those last, precious hours
was to see the sunset.
Through the window
White rays filtered
rays of a sun that had not yet begun to boil.
Lets leave now,
i begged my friends
If we left now we could get
to the top of the bluff in plenty
of time.
"Friends" that had been so dear to me in life
were now torturing me as my sun set.
They told me the street lights had come on hours ago.
They assured me it was already midnight.

Jones Gap, JulyIt will have been estimation mostly: my return to you
this way, just this: like the decline of a body,

all dolled up—smiling, anyway, of course smiling—
and full of something: you can tell; when I am addressing you,

I can tell: you feel a yellowness in me, a kind of hope: an envy.
I watch you when you are eating, when you are watching me

prove myself in eating: how you manage your silver; where, when
I have finished, I fold my napkin. I suspect

something will be put to death here, soon, and then dinner,
plated and served—that these will be the years of two mutes

between us, our organization of hands in the air silentl

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You Deserve BetterI saw enough and heard enough that night to make my stomach turn.

I heard an argument.

I heard you scream.

I heard you cry.

My heart dropped and I ran upstairs to see what happened.  He was leaving the bedroom as I entered and there you lay...

Your hands covered the side of your face.

I couldn't believe it.  I COULD NOT BELIEVE IT!

I asked you what happened, if you were alright, but deep down, I already knew the answer.

I've tried over the years to reign in my temper.  I've tried so hard to be good and for a very long time, but this just put me over the edge.

Rage.  It had been a very long time

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Mr. Lizard

by ~Laugh-Till-You-Bleed, Apr 18, 2011, 12:17:36 AM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives / Short Stories

I remember when I was finally able to convince my parents to buy me a pet lizard.  I was so excited!  It lived inside a wooden cage with a wire mesh in front.  I named it Mr. Lizard.  I wasn't very good at coming up with names.

Everyday, when I came back home from school, I'd go to my room and would feed Mr. Lizard a cricket.  I thought that was the neatest part about having a lizard.  It was fun to watch as the cricket hopped around inside the cage as Mr. Lizard eyed it.  I kept thinking, "Oh man, I wonder when he'll eat the cricket!"  Then "Munch!"  It was done.  I was somewhat disgusted by it, but at the same time fascinated.

One night, I was watching a nature show on TV and the people in it were trying to rescue some animals that were captured illegally and being sold as pets.  They managed to save a few and then released them back into the wild.  Everyone was happy and patting each other on the back.  I thought it was a wonderful story and it made me smile.

Later that evening, as I lay in bed staring at Mr. Lizard, I thought how cruel it was to keep him.  I got up and went over to him and said, "How would you like to be free?"  Mr. Lizard wasn't very talkative, but I could have sworn he nodded at me.

With the cage under my arm, I snuck past my parents' bedroom and quietly made my way outside.  It was a very dark night and I was a little scared, but my desire to free Mr. Lizard helped me overcome my fear.  I set the cage down and opened it.  Without a moment's hesitation, he bolted out of the cage and ran off into the night.  I was a little disappointed because I thought, at the very least, he could have said, "Thank you."  Still, it made me feel good inside.  I went to sleep that night with a smile on my face.

The next morning, I went to go play in a field that was across from my house.  As I was walking past a tree, I noticed a bunch of ants at the base of it.  There were so many of them that I couldn't see what they were eating.  So, I got a stick and poked them.  They scattered and then, to my horror, I saw Mr. Lizard.  I felt really sick.  I dropped the stick and ran home.

Once I got home, I sat on my bed and covered myself with a blanket.  I was so very sad.

I learned something important that day:

Not all stories have happy endings.

Mr. Lizardby ~Laugh-Till-You-Bleed

Literature / Prose / Fiction / Philosophy & Perspectives / Short Stories

Just another daydream I had.

The following is for

Critique [link]

Thank you for taking the time to read this!

I'd appreciate any and all feedback.

1. I hope you enjoyed the story! If not, what didn't you like about it?
2. Was it too slow in some places? Did the story keep you interested all the way through?
3. Any errors I need to correct?

Thanks again!

~Clevina Aug 28, 2011 Writer

I like everything about this story. Except the last sentence.

It sounds cliche and, in my opinion, is a disappointing end to an otherwise fantastic story. Since the lizard dies after being freed, why not have the narrator learn that freedom isn't always a good thing? It is more relevant and specific to the story than the general "not all stories have happy endings." And it is not as cliche.

~Laugh-Till-You-Bleed Aug 29, 2011

XD Yeah, it is cliche.
I put that in because, in my mind, it was the first time the child had learned that lesson.
I'll think of an alternative ending, though and post it up under the story.

Thank you for taking the time to read it and critiquing it!
Glad you liked the story otherwise, despite the ending. XD

~Clevina Aug 30, 2011 Writer

Hmm, that's a good point actually.

But I'm also looking forward to reading the alternative ending.

~Laugh-Till-You-Bleed Sep 10, 2011

After some thought, I came up with this alternative.
"Despite good intentions, there will always be unforeseen consequences."

or

"Who knew the price of freedom would be so steep?"

or

"I should have asked for a dog."

~Clevina Sep 11, 2011 Writer

I like the second one, but I would like it more if it were phrased as a statement rather than a question, like the first alternative!

And

, the third one is funny.

~Laugh-Till-You-Bleed Sep 12, 2011

Ya, you're right about that. I didn't quite like it that way either, but as the statement, it also seemed cliche. XD

I'm glad you enjoyed the last alternative. Haha!