Gallery
Literature
reductionism
1. it makes more sense as a clear cut divide, a neatly drawn line between the one and the other, like oil and water refusing to merge. but truth refuses to simplify itself to suit our whims - it won't bend or break no matter how hard we hammer at it, no matter how much sweat gathers at our brows while we try to reason with it, (while we plead for mercy.) 2. in mirrors i'm faced with two distinct entities forced to occupy the same tumultous space, mind and body hunched in opposite trenches, forever at the brink of war. but in reality. i am not something that can be cut apart so easily. and i know this. i know this. yet the reflection lingers behind my eyelids as if promising triumphant battle. 3. there is no before and after, no sharp contrast that marks peace from war - nor even a timelapse of shifting moments connecting past to present. instead, it all intertwines into a web of tangled knots that i struggle to locate myself within. i ask myself - when did
All
123 deviations
Literature
reductionism
1. it makes more sense as a clear cut divide, a neatly drawn line between the one and the other, like oil and water refusing to merge. but truth refuses to simplify itself to suit our whims - it won't bend or break no matter how hard we hammer at it, no matter how much sweat gathers at our brows while we try to reason with it, (while we plead for mercy.) 2. in mirrors i'm faced with two distinct entities forced to occupy the same tumultous space, mind and body hunched in opposite trenches, forever at the brink of war. but in reality. i am not something that can be cut apart so easily. and i know this. i know this. yet the reflection lingers behind my eyelids as if promising triumphant battle. 3. there is no before and after, no sharp contrast that marks peace from war - nor even a timelapse of shifting moments connecting past to present. instead, it all intertwines into a web of tangled knots that i struggle to locate myself within. i ask myself - when did
Featured
122 deviations
Literature
transition
i.
i'm sitting in a doctor's office, and he wants to see my past and present
connected by a trail of bread crumbs - the story of my life
as a linear narrative.
but i can't reach back and pull forth an unbroken thread
that justifies my present -
i can't pick it all apart and reassemble it as it was.
yet he demands proof, and i'll give it to him.
i'll give it to him.
for the future, i'll do anything
(it's beyond simple longing, it's beyond hope - it's the only thing
that makes the next breath worth taking).
so i make my truth fit into his notebook,
i cut and paste the moments
until they fit together
and show a picture of my past
th
Daily Deviations
3 deviations
Literature
reductionism
1. it makes more sense as a clear cut divide, a neatly drawn line between the one and the other, like oil and water refusing to merge. but truth refuses to simplify itself to suit our whims - it won't bend or break no matter how hard we hammer at it, no matter how much sweat gathers at our brows while we try to reason with it, (while we plead for mercy.) 2. in mirrors i'm faced with two distinct entities forced to occupy the same tumultous space, mind and body hunched in opposite trenches, forever at the brink of war. but in reality. i am not something that can be cut apart so easily. and i know this. i know this. yet the reflection lingers behind my eyelids as if promising triumphant battle. 3. there is no before and after, no sharp contrast that marks peace from war - nor even a timelapse of shifting moments connecting past to present. instead, it all intertwines into a web of tangled knots that i struggle to locate myself within. i ask myself - when did
Poetry
48 deviations
Literature
Sunflowers
Countless pieces of old parchment were scattered across the floor. At a desk in a corner of the room sat a man. He held a quill in his hand, and muttered nonsensical sentences into the air. Not that there was much air in the small room, the windows hadn't been open for years. It smelled heavily of ink and old dust, with a fragrance of unsolved mysteries hiding somewhere in the thin walls. The man put the quill to paper and started writing frantically, as if his life was depending on it. Then, suddenly his hand stopped moving.
"No! This isn't it, Page wasn't there when the lady…when she, damn it. Did she drown? No, no, she was silenced
Prose
17 deviations
Literature
They need better signs
Day 67: Still lost at airport...
Six Word Stories
8 deviations
Other
3 deviations
Literature
i should have stayed quiet
i tried not to wear my words on a sleeve, but the
poetry poured out anyway,
revealing sorrow
i never thought would surface.
(i was bulletproof once, but my luggage slipped out of
the quarantine zone, and now
i'm coughing up memories, all those seconds
i wished i didn't exist).
2012
16 deviations
Literature
we should celebrate
i.
i tried to think of pain as a flower,
first it blossoms
and then
it wilts away.
but i won't let myself disappear
along with it,
i won't
give you that.
(it's not the agony that makes
me scream, it's the flavor).
ii.
and you whispered softly
"i'll rip your heart out and replace it
with a song,
it's christmas soon, and
we should celebrate".
you've always used my scars
as a calendar,
as a way to remind yourself
"today is tuesday
and i still exist".
iii.
(it's morning now because
i can see
the sunlight
through my eyelids
and imagine
2011
35 deviations
Literature
Breaking up
She said goodbye to a stranger.
2010
7 deviations
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