They are all elbows.
And knees.
And ribs.
They are shiny hair.
And shiny things
From shiny kings.
They are tall heels.
And tall orders.
From tall lords.
They are red lips leaving red stains on the necks of stolen bottles and stolen boys.
They are fast and free.
They are worrisome and weary.
They use cover-up on the scars and scar their covers with mess-ups.
They are the woman who wins.
They are the girl who gives in.
They try so hard they make it hard to try.
They come.
They go.
They win.
They lose.
They take everything with a grain of salt.
With a salty demeanor.
With mean insult.
They bite.
They scratch.
They
They are all elbows.
And knees.
And ribs.
They are shiny hair.
And shiny things
From shiny kings.
They are tall heels.
And tall orders.
From tall lords.
They are red lips leaving red stains on the necks of stolen bottles and stolen boys.
They are fast and free.
They are worrisome and weary.
They use cover-up on the scars and scar their covers with mess-ups.
They are the woman who wins.
They are the girl who gives in.
They try so hard they make it hard to try.
They come.
They go.
They win.
They lose.
They take everything with a grain of salt.
With a salty demeanor.
With mean insult.
They bite.
They scratch.
They
There's a picture
In the yearbook
Of a girl named Juliet.
She was that kind of girl,
You know the type,
That wears baggy, long-sleeved t-shirts
That are long enough to wear
As dresses,
But she doesn't
Because she wears
The same pairs of
Straight-leg jeans
And dirty sneakers
All year round.
She carried around
At stack of books
From the library
Along with her binders
And notebook paper,
A big spiral notebook
Permanently under her
Rail-thin arms.
Her long black sleeves
Were always pulled high onto her palms
So the only things that you could see
Were her short, chewed up nails,
Her thin brown hair
Peeking out from bene
He loves me,
He love me not,
He looks at me,
But he sees me not.
I sit behind him,
Trying my best not to reach out
And grasp his head with both my hands,
Tracing his mouth,
And putting my lips onto his
As he leans back to look at me,
An amused smile on his perfect face,
Smiling at me, looking straight into my eyes,
Seeing me, the real me
But I don't reach out.
I don't caress his Greek-God face,
Or see him smile at me,
Or even look at me.
He looks back once,
His eyes searching for his friend,
Not for me.
Why would he? Who would ever want to look at you?
The tiny voice in my head asks.
It hurts because I know the ans
Night is when the ghosts come out to play.
They're paper-thin and thick as an oak tree.
They're wisps of air and as solid as a person.
They're as old as the earth and as young as a newborn baby, crying into the darkness.
They are all that has happened, what is happening and what will happen next.
They have lived lives of ancient Princesses and Constitutional writers and space travelers
They are legends and they are as average as the person next door.
They have looked up at the stars and counted them, one, two, three.
They have laughed, danced, and cried under the ethereal light of a pale moon.
They have lived in China and America and
So. Much. Life.
I've got such a crazy schedule right now. I'm a procrastinator and procrastinating and busy life...don't...really...work. I've been a bit stuck for writing lately, but I'm into my other visual arts now. It's weird. One side will get a block, so I'll do more of the other and then the first one will get revibed. It works pretty well. So I'll just do that. We've been working with charcoal in art lately and the only thing I hate is how utterly messy my hands get after. It's EXTREMELY annoying. :P But anyway. Here's what I've been listening to lately:
-http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDVW81bXo0s "Anna Sun" by Walk the Moon (got me
Hmm. First time writing one of these. Dunno really what to put. Uh. I'm on winter break. That's always fun. Only got 'til Monday to enjoy it, though, and I've got volleyball practice and a par-tay tomorrow. Fun stuff. Uh. I guess I should talk about art now. I write stuff on figment of any of y'all wanna check it out (yes, I do use a lot of random pictures from Deviantart...sorry to all those whose copyright I've infringed on :P, I just love how beautiful the pieces are, I can't help myself): http://figment.com/users/61816-Emily-Erickson. Yeah. Wanna get published soon. (how dorky does THAT sound?). I've written two complete manuscripts and I