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20 - any pronouns
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https://blog.spacehey.com/foxthing
Category: Writing and Poetry
With my ribs sticking out, begging for God to make me a companion, I breathe out giving life to the trees that surround me. Swaying in my breath they filter light from above casting a halo above my covetous head - my first sin. The apples of my eye float mockingly high, shining that shade of red that makes you feel warm and re-ignites the butterflies within your stomach. Beetles and spiders and wa... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
The smell of the orange reminded me of triangles. The sharp pointy edges, leaking with citrus. Geometry and proofs, having to explain why the triangle is a triangle when it smells of orange juice and nothing more. Stacks of papers with homework and assignments printed in monotone with splashes of orange all throughout like the little perfume pages in magazines. The taste of the orange reminded me ... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
Water. Cold and salty, it invades the tightly sealed wall of your eyelids adding a burn to your chilling death. Rushing in and out and in and out and in and out of your lungs forcing oxygen to stay away from your convulsing frame. As you beg, plead, and pray for help, an evil deity mauls you like some lethargic, worn-out doll being tossed to a needy child. » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
In place of pride lays an alley located between my confidence and sorrow. Dim and putrid with noises of feral cats and unsteady dumpsters. The sidewalk in front is cracked and crumbing, callous to the weary feet that tremble past. The small pop-up shop that is my confidence has only a few items left in stock. The owner seems to always be in the back; leaving customers at the register long enough f... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
Watching them walk in together you’d assume it’s a simple father-daughter outing. You wouldn’t dare guess that she’s his girlfriend. She’s uncomfortably younger than him, I’m talking 20 years minimum. This dude is probably older than her father. He seems normal - and that’s the worst part. Most likely has a well-paying 9-5 that he’s soon to get promoted in and a simple but durable car he’s had for... » Continue Reading
— 1 Kudos
Category: Writing and Poetry
Gas stations. But the off-brand, run-down, days from bankruptcy kind. They’re perfect. The broken lights make it hard to read the price on anything, forcing you to squint until you involuntarily cry from the effort. Flickering in the bathroom in sync with your now racing heart as you wash your hands reminding yourself the person in the mirror is just you. The creepy guy behind the counter who’s de... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
Friday night at McDonalds with her family. She wants to go into the play place, but it’s closed for the night so instead she eats standing up in hopes to rid herself of the energy her mother so angrily hates. Seven years old, maybe eight, and a natural space cadet; staring off into space, witnessing the stars and planets orbit the galaxy around her. A lone astronaut, tethered to the homeship but t... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
“You ready?” Can anyone be ready for war? Why are we even fighting Vietnam. “What di » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
I went make-up shopping with my mother once at Marshall’s. I got two palettes and plenty of skin care products. I think my mother bought some hair products, but I don’t remember well. All I remember is the conversation we had in line. “I know I have eno » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
7:00 AM – At school, everything was off. No one knew what I went through last night but at the same time I knew they all knew something. I never wore my heart on my sleeve but after God ripped it out of my chest I don’t know where else to put it. Six feet under might work. There’ll be enough room in the casket; cancer took most of her before she died. I hope she’l » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
artificial cherry tastes like my dad’s second house not his first or childhood home his second house: the cookie cutter one with the two dead dogs in the too small backyard and my other mother at the table, buttons and bullets scattered beside her green apple I would understand all the HiChews I’d sneak in before dinner the only flavor they had in stock at the arcade the fake-tasting snow cones we... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
everyone says ai look just like him my piercing eyes, my sharp smile, and my snow white skin I’m a perfect carbon copy - a reflection of his youth my mother mistakes me for him after only two drinks » Continue Reading
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