1. 21:11 27th May 2012

    Notes: 10

    Tags: poetrypoemspilled inkcreative writingoriginal contentshort poem

    Broken Road

    Tarmac burns on this 
    broken road.
    Stones and glass slice, 
    my mood will shift -
    on the roll of a dice.
    I was a little girl with
    daisy-daydreams…
    He loves me, He loves me not.
    Now lies become the truth,
    and a single smile -
    can mean a lot.  

     

  2. 20:55

    Notes: 16

    Tags: poetrypoemspilled inkcreative writingoriginal content

    A New Disaster

    My pen feels like a stranger,
    and you, a clear and present danger.
    We run on fumes,
    on resentment we fear to lose.
    Because then we would have to be friends,
    and act of social cues.
    Just like everyone else.  
    It is rich, this resentment,
    that will ooze.
    Greasy and sickly to the touch.
    Everyday, in your presence
    is a new disaster.
    A car crash on loop,
    always moving faster.
    I’m tired of this -
    my accelerated anger.
    Yet I never put my foot on the brake.
    Because when this is all over,
    what will remain when I wake?  

     

  3. 21:49 23rd May 2012

    Notes: 37

    Reblogged from mobbleberry

    Tags: prosespilled inkcreative writingoriginal contentshort story

    Stephanie

    mobbleberry:

    In the winter, he became a wolf. One without fangs, or a coat of fur - just a living  hunger, a look of the feral about him. He had been deprived of red meat for too long and stalked the streets on the glass trodden edges of his paws; kicking beer bottles every chance he got - just to watch them explode. You could see his rib cage, poking out. He is the deadliest creature in this concrete jungle, for his madness knows no bounds. He. Will. Not. Listen. To. Reason. Even though every Little girl in a Red Hood thinks she will be able to change him…to make him better. That spittle of starvation collecting in the corners of his mouth, is self-inflicted. There is nothing he likes more than the hunt, and its no fun if the hunter isn’t gagging for it. 

    And when he speaks…it is a howl. An aria of fear made audible. The wavelength will surge through each knuckled bone in your back and make a cracking noise in your head.

    He loves alone, and not at all.

    He has a chip on his shoulder, where a tattoo whispers: ‘Stephanie’ once inked into his pores. That skin is ripped now, with his taloned paws…and lies on the pavement… leaking his blood, and wafting a scent to all us females: ‘Come save this Lost Cub, this Huntsman in Disguise.’

    He is a starving wolf, and those delicate fingers tangled in his hair, are sausages.   

     

  4. 21:37

    Notes: 38

    Tags: poetrypoemspilled inkcreative writingoriginal content

    Solar

    I exist, within the fault lines of his thoughts. 
    I hop, from one shadow to the next,
    playing hop-scotch with his heart.
    On sunny days like these,
    he takes an ice-pick to my hard edges,
    and grips, grasps and grapples for dear life.
    A solar eclipse collapses into view,
    and whether it is cold, dark, or whether we
    are dancing on the surface of the sun,
    turning our feet to soot -
    nothing seems to be important.
    Not in the face of such desperation.  

     

  5. 19:54 21st May 2012

    Notes: 21

    Tags: poetrypoemspilled inkcreative writingoriginal contentlove

    Birdsong

    He smelt of summer,
    the pollen in the air,
    got under his nails.
    I followed him, 
    buzzing around his 
    atmosphere
    like a bee to a flower.
    Attraction, made my nostrils 
    widening at the smell of
    his cut grass smile.
    I sunbathed in his embrace,
    like a lazy child
    waking up to birdsong. 

     

  6. 17:01 10th May 2012

    Notes: 18

    Tags: poetrypoemspilled inkcreative writingoriginal contentfree verse

    Car Crash

    Love doesn’t shatter. 
    Two people going separate ways
    is a collision.
    The time between them,
    is the crumple zone.
    The head lights crack with
    loneliness,
    and the bumper that protects their
    hearts?
    Splits in two.
    Oil leaks in black tears,
    and glass litters the pavement
    like words unsaid.
    Smoke billows,
    on that final goodbye.
    And sirens call out,
    when he turns his back on you.  

     

  7. 00:17 8th May 2012

    Notes: 13

    Tags: poemshort poempoetrycreative writingoriginal content

    The Difference

    He will cough,
    when I would kiss.
    He will ebb,
    when I would miss.  
    He will purr,
    when I would hiss.
    He is cross,
    and I am nought.
    Nothing,
    will change this. 

     

  8. 12:04 4th May 2012

    Notes: 24

    Tags: poetrypoemspilled inkcreative writingoriginal content

    Dreams, on the flip side.

    Some dreams…
    They shatter like
    tea cups falling
    from a china tree.
    Others, feel like an
    empty stomach…
    that is clenching
    onto some hope that
    it will be made whole.
    Some dreams, when
    broken, feel like a
    grinding numbness
    in your brain, for why
    did you ever dream to hope?
    And with how much heart
    ache, can one girl cope?  

     

  9. 23:31 2nd May 2012

    Notes: 57

    Reblogged from mobbleberry

    Tags: poetrypoemspilled inkcreative writingoriginal contentpersonalfree verse

    Gentle Blues

    mobbleberry:

    Never lose your gentle blues.
    For they suit the frothy 
    sea green of your eyes.
    Never groan, when the sun slips
    its calling card under your door.
    Beckoning you to play hide and seek,
    in broad daylight.
    Just embrace the loves you have.
    Enjoy them, while you are able.
    But most importantly,
    Never lose your gentle blues.
    You possess shades only comparable
    to the ocean.
    In the depths,  
    out of reach of whirlpools and tidal waves,
    right at the very bottom of the sea bed.
    Is where you will find your humanity.  

     

  10. 23:17

    Notes: 35

    Tags: poetrypoemfree versecreative writingoriginal contentpersonal

    Plucked

    He plucked her, 
    like a polished pebble 
    from a bubbling river.

    Stroked her forehead,
    as if she were the 
    feather of some wild 
    thing. 

                 Blinking in amazement
                 that he could tame such 
                 as she.

    In his palm,
    he held a tiny sun.

    A girl, who only wanted 
    to fit his fingers perfectly
    to mesh into his life,
    like the seamless current 
    of the water.

    She wished, harder than she
    had ever hoped -  
    to escape the serpents 
    that swim the river - 
    The very one he plucked her from.
    And exist in the sunlight, 
    where murky weeds don’t obscure
    where her hands finish, and his 
    begin. 




     

     

  11. 20:16 1st May 2012

    Notes: 18

    Tags: poetrypoemspilled inkcreative writingoriginal content

    Lips Are Made For Kissing

    That is what they are for.
    Without, they become deprived.
    Withered and burnt, cracking on 
    sandpaper tongues that don’t 
    belong there. 
    Yet, they can be revived, 
    become pump with anticipation,
    and pink with gratitude. 
    Lips are made for kissing,
    but only yours can heal. 

     

     

  12. 16:28

    Notes: 26

    Tags: poetrypoemspilled inkcreative writingoriginal content

    The Friends Zone

    They say good love, 
    is hard to find.
    Always out of reach,
    out of luck, out of mind.
    I found it right under
    my up-turned nose.
    In the smell of crumpled, 
    tossed aside clothes.
    In the midnight hour,
    when time simply froze.
    They say good love,
    is hard to find.
    But as it turns out,
    I was foolish, lost and blind.
    To a man of dignity,
    strong, honest and kind.
    Trapped in the friends zone,
    unrequited hearts,
    left well alone.  

     

  13. 17:16 24th Apr 2012

    Notes: 15

    Tags: prosecreative writingoriginal contentspilled ink

    Constrict

    Its like a hold, a grip on my throat. When I see you, walking about your everyday life. When I spot you hauling a laundry basket, or see a flash of blue in the rear view mirror…the grasp loosens. I can breath again, yet you’re gone too soon. Finger by finger the grip creeps up my throat and throttles me with your absence. 

    Your love is a sweet constriction. It strangles me in blissful kisses, and whispered promises. Never have I been at someone’s mercy so completely, never, has life and emotion been tethered to a flick of a wrist, or a squeeze of a weather beaten thumb.