We were
in and out of weeks
through past-midnights
and rainbow hats
and Jesus
and
in between the
states of conscious
you occupied
over 250 miles
and a bus ride,
our imaginary us
dissolved.
fire has destroyed me,
burning homes and singeing memories that crumbled,
in my own hands, to salty ash
more than once it not warmed but heated me,
cooked my skin, my thoughts, licked with its
awful tongues the pages of books I'd read and written
reducing my life again to dust
so again, never learning my lesson,
I lit a match for the hearth,
fed the small, powerless flames with twigs
and logs and crinkled, old newspapers
until my new home was warm and cozy
the flame blazed long and steady, gentle
unlike fires of the past
and though it died sooner than I planned,
in what I thought was the dead of winter,
I found as I sorted thr
cigarettes and paint - wip by proud2bjunkie, literature
Literature
cigarettes and paint - wip
That summer smelled like stale cigarettes and drying paint. The men there were five, I think, all ages were fixing our porch. Mom wanted red. Dad wanted white. I was eighteen, with age-appropriate boredom. I did not care what color that porch was, just that one of the men was around my age and eyed me on the days I would lie out on the green grass in shorts and a tank top. Some days I forgot to wear a bra I could do that, then and I knew he was watching me more closely. I would hear him sawing wood for the slats, a slow back-and-forth, as I flipped the pages of my novels. I watched in my head, as if in porn, him sa
A twelve-year-old learns better than I:
fire destroys.
Having witnessed tongues of orange
lick slowly at my life, savouring yet
devouring
everything in reach
(including, remarkably, singeing memories,
now too charred to touch without
crumbling into myself),
I play with the matches, either
blowing them out before the heat even
smells of poisonous, comforting sulfur or
lighting the sometimes-warm candles
that decorate my new(est) home
while even now one such scentless match has lit
a fire in the hearth.
Children know fire burns and hurts and kills;
I did not mean to light another match,
I swear,
but the snow was falling, and
Twice.
Twice have I watched
the world burn around me,
enveloped in red-orange flame
(unquenchable).
I had to uproot to make
repairs, heal the scars,
replace the irreplaceable.
I still light candles
recognizing the potential.
I never learn, it seems,
feeding the largers with ink and paper,
forgetting the cost it takes to move.
I surprised myself when,
one cold February night,
watching sparkles descend from God,
I lit a match,
moving it quickly to a hearth to nurture,
trusting this not to devour me,
Maybe I have grown immune to burns
(I doubt it).
The scars grant not immunity;
they still hurt (numbly) too much
to keep the
I have felt for others
forest fires (twice) of destructive,
painful, consuming,
beautiful yet deadly love
all sizes of candle-crushes:
sweet, fragrant, soft, melty, cold
and so easily blown out.
For you, well,
you started as a candle, I think
perhaps even a match (yes, a match)
potential, but with little warmth
That flame, though,
lit a cozy hearth fire.
You are slow-burning, warm, comforting,
still low and cool but getting larger,
warmer.
I don't believe I have ever felt this way
The smile on my face as I tell others of you,
the warmth I feel of the memory of fire,
The apple we have tasted
has perhaps led us further into sin
but has certainly led us further into truth.
And with our hands clasped together
this fire we're walking through has cooled
no longer to hurt us,
while the sun refreshes us
and comforts us so that we know
someone, somewhere watches over us.
Our youth provides us the energy
to fight the war against the blackened
souls of those who wish we were not
and sometimes this fight can bring us down,
we are together and our hearts are strong
to bring us eventually to sail free.
Once we win, my darling, we will have proven
to ourselves and the world that love will reign,
a moun
You melt into my arms like chocolate
-- sweet and nutty and warm
and probably a little bit bad for me
but not enough for me to resist the urge
to melt a little into you.
When our fingers lace
and your hand warms mine,
the gentle squeeze you feel
is my heart asking if we can keep doing this
and if, maybe, we can trust each other
enough that pretend becomes real.
I am coming off a roaring wildfire love
to which the result was only destruction
and, eventually, it burned lower and finally, out.
But for you, it is gentle and controlled,
a candle,
powerful enough if it needs to be,
but also calm, reassuring, helpful, beautiful, tam
We were
in and out of weeks
through past-midnights
and rainbow hats
and Jesus
and
in between the
states of conscious
you occupied
over 250 miles
and a bus ride,
our imaginary us
dissolved.
fire has destroyed me,
burning homes and singeing memories that crumbled,
in my own hands, to salty ash
more than once it not warmed but heated me,
cooked my skin, my thoughts, licked with its
awful tongues the pages of books I'd read and written
reducing my life again to dust
so again, never learning my lesson,
I lit a match for the hearth,
fed the small, powerless flames with twigs
and logs and crinkled, old newspapers
until my new home was warm and cozy
the flame blazed long and steady, gentle
unlike fires of the past
and though it died sooner than I planned,
in what I thought was the dead of winter,
I found as I sorted thr
cigarettes and paint - wip by proud2bjunkie, literature
Literature
cigarettes and paint - wip
That summer smelled like stale cigarettes and drying paint. The men there were five, I think, all ages were fixing our porch. Mom wanted red. Dad wanted white. I was eighteen, with age-appropriate boredom. I did not care what color that porch was, just that one of the men was around my age and eyed me on the days I would lie out on the green grass in shorts and a tank top. Some days I forgot to wear a bra I could do that, then and I knew he was watching me more closely. I would hear him sawing wood for the slats, a slow back-and-forth, as I flipped the pages of my novels. I watched in my head, as if in porn, him sa
A twelve-year-old learns better than I:
fire destroys.
Having witnessed tongues of orange
lick slowly at my life, savouring yet
devouring
everything in reach
(including, remarkably, singeing memories,
now too charred to touch without
crumbling into myself),
I play with the matches, either
blowing them out before the heat even
smells of poisonous, comforting sulfur or
lighting the sometimes-warm candles
that decorate my new(est) home
while even now one such scentless match has lit
a fire in the hearth.
Children know fire burns and hurts and kills;
I did not mean to light another match,
I swear,
but the snow was falling, and
Twice.
Twice have I watched
the world burn around me,
enveloped in red-orange flame
(unquenchable).
I had to uproot to make
repairs, heal the scars,
replace the irreplaceable.
I still light candles
recognizing the potential.
I never learn, it seems,
feeding the largers with ink and paper,
forgetting the cost it takes to move.
I surprised myself when,
one cold February night,
watching sparkles descend from God,
I lit a match,
moving it quickly to a hearth to nurture,
trusting this not to devour me,
Maybe I have grown immune to burns
(I doubt it).
The scars grant not immunity;
they still hurt (numbly) too much
to keep the
I have felt for others
forest fires (twice) of destructive,
painful, consuming,
beautiful yet deadly love
all sizes of candle-crushes:
sweet, fragrant, soft, melty, cold
and so easily blown out.
For you, well,
you started as a candle, I think
perhaps even a match (yes, a match)
potential, but with little warmth
That flame, though,
lit a cozy hearth fire.
You are slow-burning, warm, comforting,
still low and cool but getting larger,
warmer.
I don't believe I have ever felt this way
The smile on my face as I tell others of you,
the warmth I feel of the memory of fire,
The apple we have tasted
has perhaps led us further into sin
but has certainly led us further into truth.
And with our hands clasped together
this fire we're walking through has cooled
no longer to hurt us,
while the sun refreshes us
and comforts us so that we know
someone, somewhere watches over us.
Our youth provides us the energy
to fight the war against the blackened
souls of those who wish we were not
and sometimes this fight can bring us down,
we are together and our hearts are strong
to bring us eventually to sail free.
Once we win, my darling, we will have proven
to ourselves and the world that love will reign,
a moun
I can still taste
your cigarette --
Ashes, ashes
all fall down
forcing me one more step into
grown up
I am following your lead
as we climb onto a ledge --
humpty dumpty
had a great fall
shattering my reality
as we totter over
I am branching out
of myself
(to you?) --
when the bough breaks
the cradle will fall
swaying dangerously with this wind
into your shelter
I brush your soft and steady hand
(mine is shaking just a little)
london bridge is
falling down
a moment suspended
over a heartbeat skipped
I can stille taste
your cigarette
burning, acrid,
deviantWEAR sizing preference: M Print preference: rainbows, fairies, and purple Favourite genre of music: it really varies a lot on my mood; I have in fact been accused of having too wide a music collection Operating System: windows 7
Dear reader of my journal,
I am writing to let you know about some exciting volunteer work that I will be doing this summer and to ask for your support. I am working with That All May Freely Serve, an organization dedicated to ensuring full equality for lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender people in the life and ministry of the Presbyterian Church (USA). This summer at the Presbyterian General Assembly in Minneapolis, myself and a team of other young adults are advocating for justice and inclusion of all who are disenfranchised in the church. Our hope is to creatively engage and love the church into its best self—a church that wel
1. What did you do in 2009 that you'd never done before?
Directed a play. Took a year off school. Had a full-time job. Bought myself a computer. Drank alcohol in a restaurant. Got kicked out of a club (lolz). Got a puppy. Successfully endured a long-distance relationship (13 days to go!). Played handbells. Wore a size 6. Hosted a barbecue.
2. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
My guess is that I didn't make one, and that I won't make one.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
No, but a really cute couple from church is pregnant!
4. Did anyone close to you die?
Doris Watson. :heart:
5. What
in case you want some arguments against gay marriage.
http://lgbtlatestscience.wordpress.com/2009/11/15/arguments-against-same-sex-marriage-1/
the san fransciso presbytery voted to approve Lisa Larges' call to ministry!!!! There are some "but"s but it's still EXCELLENT NEWS; she's only been trying to answer her call for 23 years. Y'know.
Monday's child is fair of face. Tuesday's child is full of grace. Wednesday's child is loving and giving. Thursday's child works hard for a living, Friday's child fears no foe. Saturday's child has far to go. And the child born on Sunday is bonny and wise in every way.
find the day of the week you were born here [link] More about the rhyme: [link]
Hi Kate. How have you been doing in your life? I just wanted to say hello....and sometimes I think of you, fondly. yeah.... sorry if this bothers you.... have a wonderful day