to all the dreamers:
go ahead and build your air castles;
let no one tear them down.
you are just as strong as they;
but your armor doesn't show.
Winter--4The kid is awestruck, and rightly so. The forest around us tends to have that effect, at least until you're able to see through the glamour. I myself can, if only because I've lived here so long.
Even so, I let the kid keep his delusion.
He'll need it.
I unlock the car, and the kid immediately gets out, not even thinking of what might be lurking.
Teenagers. They're always so oblivious. As it were, the only thing lurking is my daughter, Lilith, her hair tied back in a long braid of brunette. She takes after me, but pointed ears peek through her hair, a sign of her half-elf heritage.
"Daddy! Welcome back." I make a small 'oof' sound as she tackles me. This was not, I might add, my most eloquent moment.
"No problem, Daddy. Well I should probably get back...papa will be worried and he's got his hands full with Luci and Noah..." with that, she leaves me and the kid alone. Except, the kid isn't there. A trail of footprints winds off into the forest.
Just my luck.
Winter--3."Are you going to kill me?" the kid looks way too frightened at that prospect. Ah, suburbia, making teenagers into deer since....whenever.
"No, kid. Not going to kill you." I slip my keys into the ignition of the muscle car I'd been loaned, ignoring the fact that I had absolutely no idea how to actually drive the thing.
"...but you're a hitman! Aren't you going to, you know..." he makes a motion, drawing his finger across his neck.
"No. And why aren't you impressed by my portal? I thought that was cool..."
"It was but I'm more worried about you killing me than some cross dimensional folding."
"Okay valid point. Now how to I start this thing??"
"You...can't drive? Who are you?"
"The better question is what am I." I pull off the cap that hides my hair and horns, and finally let my tail free of my trousers. I thank the gods I can even get it out, considering how tight the pants are.
The kid, true to expectations, backs away as far as he can, trying to exit the car. Thankfully, chil
Winter--2The kid is small, and I can't help but feel pity for him as he gets shoved around. Not enough pity to, you know, do something, but enough to realize that he reminds me of some people I knew.
Dammit. I was actually starting to empathize with this kid. Bad move.
I close in a bit on the kid, enough to intimidate the preps around him. He doesn't notice, distracted as he is looking down at his feet. Something told me the kid was way too used to this.
The kid, aka Sam Myrtle, aka Chill hangs a left turn into the guys bathroom. I decide that this is my moment to strike, catch the kid with his pants down as it were. And no, not sorry for the pun.
I step inside, and find the kid looking in a frosted-over mirror, crying. Damn, I thought I had issues. He catches sight of me watching him (and lightly cringing) and takes a step back, holding up his hands in defense.
"Get away from me! I'll fight back, I swear. I..I know judo!"
"No, you don't. I read your file, kid. Now c'mon, please st
Winter--1.Dear gods I hate the human world. It's hard enough to hide horn nubs and pointed ears, even without all the stigma about tails, not to mention holy water, churches, and pop culture references.
I hate it even more when I'm sent to the human world to find someone.
Have I mentioned that I hate faeries too? Because that's important, and if there's one thing I hate more than missions to the human world in order to find someone, it's missions to the human world to find someone who happens to be a lost changeling prince.
Yeah, I'm kind of having a sucky day.
I also kind of suck at looking like a human highschooler. Uniformly unique teens give me wary glances, sneering at my goth chic gear. Damn preppies.
In a streak of luck, at least I can track my target pretty easily. White-blonde hair, more white than blonde, covers his blue grey eyes. An overlarge sweater conceals what I know to be a pale body, the sleeves hiding his hands as well. I knew from his file that he had mostly A's in his
i am not anymore (i was, i was.)it hurts
you are concrete and chipped teeth,
you, my cementhead,
you, a surgeon general's warning
i was not lightning,
i was a supernova,
i was lightning in a bottle
Healer“Dante, no. Exactly how drunk was I when I agreed to that?!”
“Well....that certainly woke you up, at least.” Dante threw his head back and laughed like a little kid. Of course, he was far more menacing than a little kid, considering that he three inch fangs—all the better to eat me with.
Despite the fangs, I slapped him, hard. The tiny silver ring I wore for just such occasions made contact with his cheek, burning. His laugh stopped dead, and for a second, the only noise was the sizzling of his skin. A drop of ichor dripped down, burning a small hole in the floor. Another, unluckily, landed on me. Other than that, the room was silent as a grave.
I waited, almost feeling guilty. He stayed still, starting to smell like barbecue.
Then, calmly, he grasped my wrist and pulled it away from his face. A hideous burn—a cauterized hole , about the size of my thumbnail, left a crater in his smooth skin. Unperturbed, he sighed and went back to cleaning my
A tale of two kingsDante King was not overly tall, nor overly masculine, nor even overly handsome. What he was, however, was incredibly intimidating. Five eight, with striking, inhuman eyes—black schlera with red irises—and marble pale skin, incubus stood casually, waiting for me to invite him in (magical creatures, most especially those of the spirit variety, can't cross a threshhold without an invitation, and though Dante was no garden variety ghoul, the rules still applied.)
He was an idiot if he actually thought I'd let him through.
As striking as he was, Dante was the kind of person I didn't easily associate with—rich. Heavily into body mods, the incubus had enough metal in his face to buy my little apartment five times over. To be honest, I'm pretty the amount of gel in his hair was worth more than enough to buy it, too.
Today was different. His undercut was ungelled, his hair unbrushed, it seemed. His piercings were in, but they didn't shine, like usual. A growth of stubble decor
FelidaeBlood doesn't tell. Or, well, it tells everything you need to know, but at the moment my blood spoke less of my family and more of my wounds. I'm telling you, cats are hellbeasts. I would know, since I kill them for a living—hellbeasts, not cats. I'm not that cruel.
In any case, as much as I hated it, I needed some medical attention, immediately. Three days since the hunt, and my cuts were still red and inflamed, oozing with yellow fluid—nasty. The bandages I had tried to wrap around my hands had quickly become crusted with dirt and more of a liability than an asset.
I swear, I was almost starting to think fate was against me.
My own little hellbeast came up and rubbed his head against my legs, purring.
“Hey, Monster,” I whispered to the harlequin-spotted cat that was, without a doubt, one of the strangest cats I'd ever seen. Furless skin, splotched with plum-colored patches, hung in loose folds around his small skeleton, forming wrinkles. Mismatche
LessonsIn forty-seven minutes I will be twenty-one years old and my throat is tight with this notion
that every passing moment is a boat taking me further from the boy on the side of the road.
I am terrified of the swelling tide of time, the ripples I will create,
the creases that will be etched into my face
without the laughter lines I know he would have left and
one day someone will ask me how many siblings I have and I will hesitate
because he will be so distant and I can feel it coming.
I never intended to swim without him, but
I am drowning under the weight of pocket-stone-people,
the ones I love who he has never met and won't ever meet
and its forty-four minutes until I turn twenty-one when I realize the relentlessness of this;
how I will age away from him and I am disgusted with myself, with his ashes on the bookshelf,
with this world that keeps making mistakes that can't be fixed.
Twenty one years old and I am a semi-colon, a shuddering pause on the floor,
remembering the time I broke
Dear Homophobic ParentsDear homophobic parents,
How the fuck do you think it makes me feel
When you walk out of the room crying
Because you can’t stand the thought of something I can’t control.
I’ll tell you that it makes my insides burn.
The living room feels like a closet.
Suffocating, and yet I can breathe fine.
I am choking on the air,
Polluted by your homophobic slurs.
Making uneducated guesses about things you know nothing about.
Someone ought to teach you to look shit up
Before you go about, shouting your false claims to the world.
My very existence is an error.
Some messed up chemical defect that went wrong,
I don’t belong
I am the Titanic,
To you I am supposed to be perfect
I am supposed to be straight, and happy, and fine.
But I am so very far from fine,
When my lungs are filling up with water,
Your words are an ice berg,
And I am sinking fast.
beautiful.i hate my stretchmarks
the vertical the horizontal the ones running miles down my arms
stripes on a circus tent
my body is a freak show
75 cents a ticket
they are the bars on a cage
trapping me inside this prison cell of flesh
(not letting me run away
from all i once was)
reminding me that i am
still that little girl who
was told that she had too
much weight in her stomach
and in her thighs
to be called beautiful
my stretchmarks are the debris from when i tried to collapse upon myself
tried taking up less space
because beautiful is small beautiful is skinny
diets upon diets
because i've been told that
i am only worth the sharpness of my collarbone
why i never wrote you a poem.last summer i tried
to use the words that you fell asleep to
to write you a love song but
every time i tried
my fingers froze up.
i failed the test of describing you
in a paragraph
in a sentence
in a word
there is nothing in my head adequate enough
to describe how you look
on the train station platform
when you smile at me.
i can tell you that
my heart climbs into my throat and
my body prickles with heat and
everything disappears, for just a moment, but
the thing i cannot describe
your mouth caresses my name
like it’s the most beautiful sound
it’ll ever know,
like it understands me perfectly,
you are not made of verses.
you have no meter.
you are not written in stanzas
that i understand
and i find myself captivated
at how beautifully complex
your language is.
you say i’m the mesmerizing one, but, baby,
you've stumped me.
you have left a girl,
a person who wants to build their life
girls that photosynthesizeI.
i asked my mother to buy me sweetener,
and she said "no," and she said "no,
sugar is better for you it's more natural"
so i shrug and i clamp my teeth over
my tongue and sew my mouth closed
and i steal sweet n' low
from the pizza place
my friends watch me pick at my lettuce,
a rabbit-food-lunch that makes me sick
to my stomach, and when i run to the
bathroom during science class they
follow me and ask what i ate for breakfast.
i say "waffles" because they can't know
i won't let them stop me
my therapist asks me if i think i'm sick
and i'm not, i'm strong, but i can't be
not here not here, and the $$$$$$$$
are ticking away as i consider my answer
so i say "yes" and she asks me what
i will become and i say "better"
because that's all they want to hear
my dietitian sets up a rough meal plan
and she says i won't gain weight on it
somehow i trust this woman with art
on the walls of her office and i pick
through the day in corn-kernel bites,
There is a weight
You asked me to hold.
(Just for a while,
Just for a while.)
My tendons strain and snap,
I lack your Atlas strength.
The crushing force of gravity
Makes me weak, makes me sore.
Take it back, take it back,
But you’ve gone away.
I’m sinking down, I’m sinking down.
The water rises to my throat.
Pushing down, rising up
Drowning and drowning and drowning.
Take it back, please take it back,
Where have you gone?
I’m pinned beneath this weight,
With water to my nose.
My lungs fill up with salt,
Choking and screaming and breathing
Only freezing thickness of water.
Where is that mild friend oxygen?
Where has he gone?
My stinging eyes are blind here.
I cannot to escape, unwilling
To shed this leaden snare
Wherein I dwell confined.
I grip it tightly.
Surely I will die,
Sweet air has left my blood
I lay back and let black water take me,
Frozen fingers loosen on Your weight.
And all at once
it falls away
I watch i
Was Beauty, Now BeastComing back again, the same situation,
Everything has changed due to my perpetration.
Beauty used to be in every word that I speak,
But I spat so much poison, that I can barely squeak!
I used to write a fantasy and now I'm simply dreamless,
I'm struggling with this sickness, it leaves me solely listless,
Or maybe I'm just soulless, my eyes are milky blind,
Where once I saw the beauty; I only see the grind
It should be a crime, a poet falling low,
The world has lost an artist; it gained a rapper though.
But all I have is acid, recriminating bile,
My style is simply vile; I've lost the will to smile.
But maybe if I try, I might get something back.
I guess I need to stop the hate to put me back on track.
The Girl Who Was Afraid To BeShe speaks to me fondly
of passions and talents,
of guitars and stars,
with such breathless intensity
then stops short and
for speaking at all.
All because somewhere in her life,
someone she loved broke her heart
her beautiful words
and telling her to
keep it down,
People aren’t born sad.
We make them that way.