[x]

In ThreesI was armed with half a deck of emotions, two thirds of a heart and eyes of a broken mirror that offered no protection to my soul. I wanted to talk about it often and whenever I needed to, the words would tangle in my mouth, come out as a compliment of a shirt, an idea that had no relevance, a conversation about the weather. I was eighteen. I wanted to be stronger, brilliant, bright like a comet in the sky. Instead, I learnt about how beds could be the most loathed places in the world, bathrooms were meant to be soaked in blood...and men with eyes like knives sometimes used them against people they loved.

I was armed with shards of strength,

The Past, The FutureDo you remember when you were little and your best friend told you she didn't want to be friends anymore? It hurts like something was nesting on your heart and had clawed its way into your soul. There is an childish elegance to the sadness that you assumed only existed for grown ups when they talk about grown up things. In the glorious contant of humanity, the existence of her will corrode and become a faded memory that you will only remember when you hurt again.

And then you will lose your dog, your best friend, your confidant. It will happen suddenly and you will be left with nothing but the hole in your heart of a lost companion who you a

Skinny Wordslook:

he was winterish blue eyes and an autumn scarf dressed in an stupid pink summer sweater that made no sense on a spring day. His shoes were converse, the kind of the skinny intellectual who had just enough money to buy one pair of decent shoes. she never really liked skinny intellectuals, yet did find herself considering them sometimes, in the way she considered coffee that was tongue scalding (horribly and without excuse).

it is odd then, that she still doesn't regret his monsoon flavoured kiss, the kind that made your tongue bleed with its passion, its heat.

understand:

he drew in uneasy catches of breath as he snored in the heat o

Hemingway Would Hate ThisThe trouble with the Boy was that he didn't have the heart of Shakespeare, the voice of Poe, nor the soul of Wordsworth, nor the knowledge of Rembrandt in his darkest days. He didn't have a trace of Michaelangelo's spirit nor the angst of Carvaggio and this on its own was enough to dissuade him from understanding that technique was far better than solidarity and possession far more ageless than youth.

He didn't have any of this knowledge because his father hadn't had the courage to tell him that he needed all the qualities of these great men, to win over the heart of a woman who had the dreams of Austen, the ideas of Da Vinci and the scent o

Online"I have a problem."

"You always were a worrier."

"Don't you want to know what it is?"

"Not if it's going to worry me as well."

"That's precisely why you should know it."

"I really think I'll pass."

"But-"

"No."

"…"

"Thank you."

"But…this time it's a really big deal."

"Oh for the love of- All right. All right. You win. What is it?"

"What did you think the first time you met me?"

"That's not a problem, that's a question."

"I know."

"How am I supposed to answer it exactly?"

"I don't know if your mother explained this to you, but all you have to do is open your mouth and words-"

"Shut it, smart ass."

"Then answer the q

Cinnamon Souls"You're mixing water in your coke again."

"I know."

"You do that when you worry."

"I'm always worried."

"No, you're usually cinnamon-in-your-tea worried. This is water-in-coke worried and that is seriously beginning to freak me out."

"I know."

"..."

"What?"

"What are you worried about?"

"You're going to think it's stupid."

"Try me."

"Well...do you ever wonder about the kind of guy you're waiting for?"

"I think we all wonder about that guy, love."

"I've been thinking about him more often than not lately. What he would be like, I mean."

"Oh. Well...if it helps any, I know what mine would be like."

"Really?"

"Sure. He will be tal

Rebirth"You won't tell us then? What it's like?"

"..."

"Is it because you have something to hide?"

"..."

"Or is it because it never actually happened?"

"It happened."

"Then tell us. Tell us what is it like."

"I was always the girl whose family asks 'What is wrong with you.' instead of 'What is wrong with you?'"

"And this has nothing to do with my ques-"

"If they had all just asked...I would tell them. I would tell them that my heart was torn into hundreds and thousands. And my lungs were still crushed from footholds. And my brain still sees two little girls laughing and playing. And my legs hurt from dragging myself from basement

Never AgainThe rain boy had sworn that he would never again smile. His eyes always soaked the oceans with tears from his past and his heart was always dark and locked to anyone who could try and help him. His world had become so bleak and dark, that he stood in rooms of people that were a blur past him and a guitar that just no longer played.

So when the sunshine girl met the rain boy, for a second, the world stood still. In that tiny little balcony, where there was only space for two, the sunshine girl asked the rain boy, "When was the last time you smiled?"

The rain boy was startled for a second at someone talking to him, but he answered anyway, "I

Moments"You know what, my love? I think I'm going to give you the twenty third of March."

The little boy looked up at me from his cereal and tilted his head slightly, as though pondering this. Then, he frowned. "Mama. That's not possible. How can you give me a day? Days can't be gifts!"

He got that incorrigible logic from his father. I smiled and wiped my hands on the dishcloth, moving to sit besides him. He was at that age where his eyes were huge, questioning and innocent, that age where pain was sometimes only healed when measured in love. I ran my hand through his thick, dark hair. "Yes, you can."

The spoon filled with milk and chocolate cere

After Words"I wish you would give it back to me."

"Why? You'll just break it again."

"It's my heart. I will do whatever the hell I want with it."

"Yeah? Well, you take terrible care of things that are yours."

"Fine. Keep it. I am equal parts concrete and soul anyway."

"You say that, but I'm not entirely sure that you are. I think you're deep, and fragile and broken, and that makes you beautiful."

"Again, concrete and soul. "

"I wish you wouldn't make this so hard."

"So hard? I'm making this easy. You gave me dreams of half feathered swans and a stupid house on an endless beach and a city made of an ocean, and now you're taking it all away. But a

Bones"There are good days and there are bad days," you would say to me as you would try and explain away why the whiskey bottle was empty again this morning, why you smelled like her and why you thought it was best to let me know what you had done. At least that way, you were absolved of the gift of lying; the one your bones were too light to lift and just couldn't take, by bestowing me with betrayal.

My mother would bring me an encouraging cup of tea in a giant pink mug instead of a cup and explain, "There are good days and there are bad days." Her eyes were always full of positive energy and strength and good will. I look back to those days and

Running Away"What are you afraid of?" He had asked her as they lay there, under a bay window that showed a velvet black sky, sprinkled with sparkling diamonds. After a few minutes, a hand reached out and took his. He looked down at the soft hand, paper white with rivulets of sapphire under the skin. It had never occurred to him just how much he loved her hands until now.

"Would you like the truth? Or will a lie suffice?" A dulcet voice whispered. She had still not turned to look at him, but her hand in his remained strong.

"The truth." He always asked her for the truth. He didn't want rubies of falsehood, of lies, to ruin what they had taken so long to

EternityThis is to the child I loved, the one I lost before I was meant to.
This is for the little girl who would have danced with me to the songs we were both meant to love.
This is for the angel who I was meant to have changed for, the little one whose heart was in my own.
This is for the girl who would have skipped to school, the baby who would have laughed.
This is for the song I couldn't sing, the poem I could never write.
This is for the moment in time that never existed, in a car that never moved.
This is for the second that could have been a lifetime, the forever that should have been ours.
This is for the darling who should have bee

You call it Judgement, We call it SinEmily needs the words to understand that she isn't being unreasonable. She just wants them to mean something and not be a string of words which flows into itself over and over again.

She doesn't like her name either. Not because Emily isn't a pretty name but because she would rather be called something she feels like. (She has never quite forgiven her parents for choosing her name for her.) If she could, she would call herself Glass, because that is what she wakes up feeling like every morning. As if crystallised pieces of glass are edible and her insides tingle as she swallows them whole.

Emily lets the words call her names sometimes. She

A Snowfall CandlelitMy version of winter has always been flawed. It is controlled by the fall of snow and the exact amount of the ground it covers. It never ever covers the tiny little patch in the garden, right near the broken tin roofed shed. I suppose that is why I just like the idea of snow. But I do not love it.

(Realisation: I suppose that little corner represents the only part of me that even I cannot love.)

I met a man with candle lit wolf eyes and a strong, warm lion heart, who tells me Sea God stories before disappearing into a cold, cold winter's morning, fog cloaking his very essence.

(Addendum: Sometimes I think of five a.m. coffee, and wonder if

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 1.2 KB more ▶

More from *UntamedUnwanted

was she just a girl?imagine having the only girl who probably loved you as much as your parents do, telling you that she wonders how you can live with yourself after hurting the people who care about you.

imagine your heart being ripped out of your chest and your lungs placed on ice, you kidneys turning to dust, your brain absorbing blood and your feet in the snow.

now.

breathe.

SixAugust seems empty...

*

We parted in July. I loved you too much. I had not thought that would become too much for you to handle. And that we would part on a technicality.

It was a stormy eve. And the lightening broke us apart, so easily it almost made you glad.

I know. The storm outside matched the storm in your voice.

I'll always be surprised at what can happen when two people begin to hate each other.

*

We fought in June.

When your work was getting you down and your parents were putting pressure on you and your world seemed to be falling apart.

I wanted to help you. I tried.

You told me to leave you alone.

I did.

*

We talked fo

View Gallery · View Prints

Featured in Groups:

#Writers-Guild-DA
writers everywhere

#ink-slingers
Writing Community

#TwistedFairyTales

#LooseLacesPoetry
Poetry Feeds Our Souls

#Unlimited-group

#ArtistsPortal
#artitstsportal

#TheWritingObsession
You know you want to join!

#Inspiring-Words
Writing is a form of freedom.

Show all (15)

Details

Submitted: June 29, 2012
File Size: 1.2 KB

Link

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 100
Favourites: 221 [who?]
Views: 3,010 (0 today)
Downloads: 28 (0 today)

License

Some rights reserved. This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.

[x]

About Honour

by *UntamedUnwanted, Jun 29, 2012, 8:51:08 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

"Ever worried about what the world thought of you?"

"Nope. I only worry about what I think of me."

"What do you think about you?"

"That I am a broken-eyed, converse-reject-wearing wise ass."

"Really? And what do you call yourself?"

"I call me proud."

"Oh."

"What do you call yourself?"

"I am the grade school version of the heartbroken girl, who can't play the guitar so she strums a ukulele instead, who can't paint so she draws terrible pictures in graphite that keeps giving way."

"I see you doing it again. Put the fucking pen down right now and stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Doing that."

"What? I was just writin-"

"You're cutting yourself to pieces with shark-toothed words again. Just because a sword is a beautiful, glittering object of honour doesn't mean it always has an honorable purpose."

"Do you really think I am a sword?"

"Nope. I think you're beautiful, glittering object of honour. And the thing with honour is, it makes the world turn to stare in awe."

About Honourby *UntamedUnwanted

Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

So somebody stole my words today. He claims he wrote them. I was about to stop writing all together, and then I realised, that means he wins. He isn't going to take down my words.

I wrote this piece of Honour to remind myself what it means, and how what is honourable (the truth) always manages to win somehow. That there will always be justice in the world, even when you cannot see it.

EDIT: And he pulled down all the work! Thank you guys!! I could not have done this without your help!

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~breezybrutality Aug 24, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I could probably favorite your work all day but I must go to sleep
(Please let me sleep TAT)
You just have this way of turning things into stories and I want to consume them all--in a respectable manner of course, I don't steal pieces because that's dirty >:V

~read-draw-music Aug 13, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

That was so beautiful, you have such a way with words!

!ancientpoet Aug 5, 2012

"Honor and Pride" can do terrible things, but I know what you mean, you might read my poem by that name though if you will.

Patrick

~tiraluv Jul 30, 2012

"I see you doing it again. Put the fucking pen down right now and stop it."

"You're cutting yourself to pieces with shark-toothed words again. Just because a sword is a beautiful, glittering object of honour doesn't mean it always has an honorable purpose."
This reminds me so much of my best friend that I'm going to send the link to her RIGHT NOW. I used to date this guy that I haven't completely figured out how to live without (it's weird, completing a thought without his opinion) but he didn't understand me on the important things. He'd tell me it was just my ego or I was being stupid about something and I ended up believing him. I'd stop talking and tear myself down with my words. My bestie is not above using angry words (and a well placed smack) to stop me before describing me in a million wonderful ways. The guy who stole your work should be ashamed of himself. You are a great writer and I'm glad that you chose to continue even before the watcher army conquered

*astrangeallure Jul 26, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

You have a way with words...I love it...shame on the writing thief...I don't get the why of that. Anyways, beautiful piece...!!

=KreepingSpawn Jul 22, 2012 Professional Digital Artist

"There will always be justice in the world, even when you cannot see it."
Right on!

~Maerd7733SCAIP Jul 20, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

I can't believe I missed this! Someone actually dared to steal your writing?! Aadlihbsrflhibsrfhbilvbhilv I will mess up his face.

Beautiful, as always

~nightlyfurious Jul 8, 2012 Student General Artist

*speechless*

Great work anyway

~iceblade56 Jul 8, 2012

I can't believe someone would do that! But your work is simply amazing, so... I guess someone would feel the need to do that. Well, it's flattering I suppose. :/ I'm glad he quit

~cLaIrEbY Jul 5, 2012

Beautiful piece. Well done for using something that hurt you to create something new and lovely

More from *UntamedUnwanted

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

License

About Honour

About Honourby *UntamedUnwanted

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style