Ch 1: My Saving GraceHanna bit her lip and fought back tears as she listened to Caleb's footsteps head towards the door. A single tear trickled down her round cheek as she heard the door creak open and then close behind him. He was gone again. The one person she wanted to just cling to more than anything and she had had to let him walk out of her life for a second time. It was necessary though. He'd used her, hurt her... Even knowing about the letter he'd given to Mona didn't change that fact. She took a shuddering breath and took a moment to compose herself before going to find her mother to work out a deal over the six pairs of shoes she'd just bought. Her mother didn't say a thing and for that she was grateful. As soon as they worked out a deal on who got to wear what, Hanna climbed the stairs to her room and fell onto the bed. She sighed and hugged her pillow to her chest and cried herself silently asleep.He'd come back on a Friday. The weekend passed slowly and painfully. She wanted to cal
Chapter 1: The beginningShe'd never planned on getting pregnant at eighteen. The whole thing was the result of a rainy afternoon. They'd been out walking when it had suddenly started to rain. They hadn't tried to escape it right away. It was one of those warm summer showers; the kind that felt hot against your skin but instantly froze you to the bone the moment you stepped out of it. They had taken their time, walking slowly with their arms around each other. They talked about anything and everything, only paying attention to the weather when a bolt of lighting flashed through the sky. His house was closest so that's where they had gone. He'd given her some clothes, shorts and one of his numerous button up shirts to wear while hers dried. He put on a dvd. If you asked her what that particular movie had been, she wouldn't have remembered. The only thing that she remembered was being with him; his arms wrapped around her abdomen; lips pressed to her temple. It was the warmest thse'd felt in a long time and she
First DateGrace: -grace is standing in front of her full length mirror, stretching to make sure she didn't tie the shirt over her bikini top to tight. She's wearing a blue and white plaid shirt tied up and open to reveal the bikini top of the same colors. Bare midrif. and denim shorts that fall mid thigh. different clored socks that match nothing she is wearing and sneakers that are white with silver zebra stripes. Her hair is pinned up in pretty ringlets save for the two tendrils that frame her face, twirls once, taking it allcarefully in-Gabe: -sitting in his car outside her house, looking at himself in the rearview mirror; brushing his hair out of his eyes and fixing the collar on his green polo shirt. Absolutely terrified of what he's doing without understanding it in the slightest bit; getting out of the car and pushing his keys into the pocket of his dark fitted jeans-I can do this...-chuckles at himself a little, glancing down at his nearly mint condition black and white chuck taylors
You're backWhen Maxxie had prodded him awake, he was mad at first. He hadn't slept very well in almost a week. Why was someone making him wake up from the fittest nap he'd had in quite some time. Who was waking him up? Then, he saw it who it was. Maxxie. His body had been numb, not feeling anything. Uncomfortable, icy coldness that he couldn't chase away no matter how many blankets he piled on top of himself. He'd technically been dead. A stiff corpse asleep in the spare bedroom. He didn't eat, he slept a restless hurtfull sleep, and he was so cold. He needed Maxxie. He couldn't pretend like he didn't need his best friend. He'd be a bastard if he even attempted it. Max wasn't there though. He'd had too visit family and Ryuu had no idea when he was supposed to be back. Oh, he could have asked Aunt Em, but he didn't know how he would handle it if she said he'd be gone for a long amount of time, so he didn't. He wasn't expecting Max back anytime soon and he wasn't expecting a rescue from this living
Ten things I think...Rain pelted down on her as she searched frantically for him amongst a vast sea of vehicles. "God... please... Don't let him have left yet." She turned just in time to see the tail of his blue leather coat disappear around the corner. She took off at a run, her heels sending dropplets of water flying as she raced after him. "Jazz! Jazz, please wait!" He throat, tired and swollen, clench, not allowing the words fly very far from her. God please! Let him here me! She prayed as she raced around the corner, hoping against all hope that something would cause him to turn around and see her. Her heel snapped, causing her ankle to twist painfully beneath her. She cried out, stumbling while she kicked off her other shoe. She HAD to get his attention. She could see him. She could see beads of water clinging needily to each spike of his black hair, the chill bumps on the back of his neck... she was so CLOSE! She worked up all her strength and screamed, "JASPER WYATT GRANT! PLEASE, STOP!" This time
Rivals?I say I love you a thousand red skittlesbecause they're the only rival you havefor my love.jealous?
AnswersI don't write poetry.I just let the pen DanceAcross crumbled pages.I let my soulBleed into ink.As my way of askingStatues and glowingScreensFor answersBut They never answer.
we used to fly togetheri've got a good memory,but i was surprised to find the box;full of our scribbled conversationsand protestations (no, that's not right)declarations, no, dreamsof what the future might look like.we were young, vibrant, andbeautiful (and inseparable, once)and we thought we knew how totake hold of the future.for my part, i struggled withage as if i had a chance of winning;our battles were the talk of the town.you, you took to the passing of time with an eagerness that showedjust how ready you were to put away the notions of childhood.i've got a good memory,but it's easy to be selective,pick and choose the momentsthat i want to relive.we were foolish, confident(and oh, so alive)and we fell into our roleswith a predictability that is near miraculousto behold.i doomed myself to the role ofthe forever-child, always looking back,always dreaming of the carefree days.you quickly ran out of adventures,and set about finding new myst
Empty But Alivebreathing you in, octoberi taste the numbing agentseven on the very surfaceof your conspiracy, thisprepping of the patientthis unworking of the earthsealing it as-ishardening the sitesof future graves, forced shallownot harvesting, just weakeningarranging late-year stacksof blurry panic, while disablingthe defensive responseso much decline to wagebefore the winter killsoctober knows i'm a foolfor the dark underbreathof its dead open airthe howl of the breezethrough its night fields, emptybut alive, and so very not emptyits rhythm of silencebetween barks and callsstalls my heart mid-beati used to pray for its enginesto restart, before it hit groundbut now i realizethat there is no floorto this dreamand no bottom to this fall
To The Boys Who Died In Their SleepTo The Boys Who Died In Their Sleepc(h)ords s n a g cadence in codasplaying andromedawaves over tideswashing lives into over timesitting ondeadlines dead lieson the otherside oftimeand time folds like old laundry over clotheslinesfade into two endpoints like closed lines this is ad nauseum not ad infinitum adding sicknessto
decodei pinedunequivocallyfor the quillin soft shadows:the swallow's smileand toothyflightthe curveof treebowsrotting-freshto planta buduphigh andhemlocking-mebetween a dreamand sleepand sleepand sleepyou musn't worryI have foundan ink-sourcethus:a quibblingcreek -my soul!It willblossomlike poppieson the pagebefore me,myfingertipthe pen
hummingbirds only fly in the sun hummingbird girl,you are the sunlight twinklingin my eyes. a letter addressedto no one ended up on nobody'sdoorstep, dancing around odysseusand his iliad. the gods whisperin your ears at night, lending youtheir words to paint onto brittleparchment. you are a mysterycloaked in fragments and fabricatedwings, the taste of the universeon my tongue. if i could unlockthe cage i would set you free,but my nimble fingers aren't goodfor anything except tying knotsin heartstrings that aren't my own.
ten.why don't we sit underthe hangmans noose;contemplate lifefor a bit.watch the crows hustle aroundthesefrayed ropes, and listen to thewind rustle dirt'sleaves.there's a cool breeze comingthrough,almost too cold, its...bitter.so let's just walk away and seek thewarmthunder these charcoalfeathers.[its a comforting feeling to have life, anddeath in your control. ]
My Personal PreferenceI don’t careFor pretty heartsI like the onesThat are scarredStitchedAnd taped togetherBecause those are the onesWho have been through HellAnd have the courageTo keep beating
dextrorotatory doxologiesI once was a heavenly body, I think.A sharp crystal in the veins of God.I swam about in bliss fluidand rambled all truthsin new shades of deep blushas he brusquely introduced meto others more potentand livid.I felt myself nearing the heart of all matterand panicked, lodged painfullyin vein, dangerously ingrainedinstead of ascertaining thatthe truth of self is not heldbut given.And as I ventured slowly closerI posed but one query:"Tell me, what powerdo you haveto spare me?"
Ready?ready to make that step?ready to take that fall?ready to be yourself?cuz i'm ready to do it all.