I have never understood the meaning of the word "family."
Yes, I know
that the actually definition of the word is as basic as a kindergarteners education,
but what does it mean? What does it really mean?
The dictionary reads back to me, a group consisting of parents and children
living together
in a household.
That isn't me. Not anymore. Not since I turned 16 and I realized
every nervous breakdown I was having was linked to my mother.
It isn't me at 16 when I'm guilted into moving on with my life
and trying to make something of my life, which included promoting my own mental health.
It wasn't me at 16 when I realized that if I didn't get
An old 1980s Chevy sits in the yard of his house.
He’ll come and he’ll go, but only at night
when even the moon no longer illuminates his movements.
Sometimes, he’ll burn things at this time.
Everything will be dark and dead silent
until the same spot of his yard lights up.
It was 3:30 in the morning.
I could swear that I saw a crib surrounded by flames,
but there’s only one problem. He has no children.
He has no wife. He doesn’t even have a dog.
By morning, he won’t have a crib either.
He’s the only one on the block that doesn’t wave.
He’ll look at you, but he won’t ev
Color at First Sight by tubercularskies, literature
Literature
Color at First Sight
Jane didn't understand. She took a deep breath, her pen clicking slowly in a repetitive monotonous rhythm while she stared down at the empty paper. The lines mocked her. The blankness of it made her eyes water and the moisture made her eyes sting. Staring at this piece of paper literally caused her pain. She had to put something on it. The spiral notebook wouldn't win this time. Her pen touched the paper and she began to color in black ink on the white paper. Along the gray spiral, she began to link each hole with a thick line of black. It less white. Less white was good. The story that her pen refused to write and her hand refused
Like Gravel by Shannon S by tubercularskies, literature
Literature
Like Gravel by Shannon S
I woke up this mornin’,
with a hangover
and the taste of ash coating my tongue.
The floor’s split, the bed’s so old it moans.
Single shot glass of bourbon.
The tipped bottle dripped through a crack in the floor.
Figures.
Shkht, shkht, shkht
Damn lighter never worked.
Last night, I drank my past
listening to smokehouse Waits.
Now, I burn my future in Lucky Strikes.
The End by Shannon S by tubercularskies, literature
Literature
The End by Shannon S
How does one start a story that has no beginning?
The end, the middle, the dénouement?
Fancy words sit on a piece of paper so perfectly,
or at least they used to.
Coffee has turned the paper brown,
and tears have pulled the letters off the paper
down through to the worn table.
It left a little bit of history behind.
One day, someone will sit at the same table
and read aloud the letters, “What if you could just…?”
They will sit and wonder what that meant, but never find out.
It will remain on their mind, but for only a fraction of
the time it has remained on the writers.
So, where does the story with no beginning ess
I have never understood the meaning of the word "family."
Yes, I know
that the actually definition of the word is as basic as a kindergarteners education,
but what does it mean? What does it really mean?
The dictionary reads back to me, a group consisting of parents and children
living together
in a household.
That isn't me. Not anymore. Not since I turned 16 and I realized
every nervous breakdown I was having was linked to my mother.
It isn't me at 16 when I'm guilted into moving on with my life
and trying to make something of my life, which included promoting my own mental health.
It wasn't me at 16 when I realized that if I didn't get
An old 1980s Chevy sits in the yard of his house.
He’ll come and he’ll go, but only at night
when even the moon no longer illuminates his movements.
Sometimes, he’ll burn things at this time.
Everything will be dark and dead silent
until the same spot of his yard lights up.
It was 3:30 in the morning.
I could swear that I saw a crib surrounded by flames,
but there’s only one problem. He has no children.
He has no wife. He doesn’t even have a dog.
By morning, he won’t have a crib either.
He’s the only one on the block that doesn’t wave.
He’ll look at you, but he won’t ev
Color at First Sight by tubercularskies, literature
Literature
Color at First Sight
Jane didn't understand. She took a deep breath, her pen clicking slowly in a repetitive monotonous rhythm while she stared down at the empty paper. The lines mocked her. The blankness of it made her eyes water and the moisture made her eyes sting. Staring at this piece of paper literally caused her pain. She had to put something on it. The spiral notebook wouldn't win this time. Her pen touched the paper and she began to color in black ink on the white paper. Along the gray spiral, she began to link each hole with a thick line of black. It less white. Less white was good. The story that her pen refused to write and her hand refused
Like Gravel by Shannon S by tubercularskies, literature
Literature
Like Gravel by Shannon S
I woke up this mornin’,
with a hangover
and the taste of ash coating my tongue.
The floor’s split, the bed’s so old it moans.
Single shot glass of bourbon.
The tipped bottle dripped through a crack in the floor.
Figures.
Shkht, shkht, shkht
Damn lighter never worked.
Last night, I drank my past
listening to smokehouse Waits.
Now, I burn my future in Lucky Strikes.
We have a daughter
called poetry
quiet with little fuss
looking up
& molding us as god.
Her small verbs
span indifferent cities,
aloof mountain ranges,
& the hours of
blank faced clocks
between sunrises.
She knows there are
worse things than dark
the black waters of the mind
are scarier.
We have created her
from love,
pressed & dried bouquets
& willow sticks
things only we
could make a life from.
One day we'll wake up
as different people
but the magic
of a shared procreation
will keep us tied
wanting to see each other's
newly patchworked faces.
We have a daughter
called poetry
What My Mind Sounds Like by schriftsteller, literature
Literature
What My Mind Sounds Like
the fuzzy half-static
of a tuning radio
an amplified feedback
full of repetitious speeches
in torqued distortion
words on a loop
until its clawing
at hair,
ripping out at the
occipital bone
a flood of neuroses
& fears flooding
& shifting like sand
in your neck
choking on wind
forced thru the
back of your throat
the click of a lighter
with the flame
blowing out
& a snort of mucus
accompaniment
metal lurching free
& ringing against its partner,
a flick in the air
the singe & eventual
flash crackle
of skin
visitor’s passes peeled
off their backing
& the quiet scrape
off clothing
an hour later
every song that
puts a hole thru
you
So, I've never done a journal before on here...and I don't really do them at all even irl. I try to, but it never works out, so we'll see how this goes.
I guess I'll start off with the most notable thing that's happened to me in the past few months (hackcough or life coughhack). I went to Italy. It was for school and I was a temporary resident there for a month while reading Dante's Divine Comedy. It was hard reading the whole thing while enjoying what Italy had to offer. I stayed in Florence on Corso Tintori for most of the month. The first three weekends we had the chance to go to different places. The first weekend I went to Venice