Light
That's how I feel-
like the winter-fringed
breeze might scoop
me up into its wings,
fly
away with me trapped
in its feathered embrace.
I am a snowflake.
A wisp of eiderdown,
liberated
from gravity. My body
is light. Ephemeral.
My head is light.
I want to sway
beneath
the weight of air,
dizzy with thought.
Light filters through
my closed eyelids.
The sun,
chasing shadows,
tells me I'm not
afloat in dreams.
Tags: light
Not Exactly True
That skin hate is dead.
There will never be color
blindness in a culture of
fear.
But when you live afraid
of your neighbor, the monster
you should most walk
in terror of
thrives.
It starts as a little thing,
small enough to burrow
into your pores, take up
excruciating residence
in
the dark recesses of your brain.
Its name is paranoia,
and it spreads like an oil
spill, there in
the shadows,
chokes your humanity.
Threatens your soul.
Disappointment
Can do a couple things.
It can drop you into a giant
sucking sinkhole of
depression,
a place you have to fight
to climb out of. Or it
can trigger an epic
mania
to overcome the odds
and transform failure
into success. Say you
swing
as high as the chains will
take you because you seek
the thrill of flight, and on the
up-
kick, you lose your seat.
Injury is likely. But if you
worry about falling
down,
and never chance "up,"
the sky will remain
forever out of reach.
Tags: disappointment
I've been alone since my mom met Scott.
He sucked the nectar from her heart
like a famished butterfly. No nurture,
no nourishment left for Kristina.
A vacation is a poor substitute
for love.
Spilling a Secret
What its size,
will have varying
consequences. It’s not
possible to predict
what will happen
if you
open the gunnysack,
let the cat escape.
A liberated feline
might purr on your lap,
or it might scratch
your eyes out. You can’t
tell
until you loosen the knot.
Do you chance losing
a friendship, if that
friend’s well-being
will
only be preserved
by betraying sworn-to
silence trust? Once
the seam is ripped, can
it be
mended again?
And if that proves
impossible, will you be
okay
when it all falls to pieces?
Tags: poetry novels contemporary adult chick-lit spilling-a-secret verse-novels womens-fiction
Shane was born perfectly fine, despite the same genetic pairing.
One in four.
That's what their odds were.
God gave Shelby SMA.
Shane just got "gay".
When People Ask
How he’s doing now, I have
no idea what to say except for,
“Better.” I don’t know if that’s
true, or what goes on in a place
like Aspen Springs, not that any-
one knows he’s there, thank God.
He has dropped off most people’s
radar, although that’s kind of odd.
Before he took this unbelievable
turn, Conner was top rung on our
social ladder. But with his crash
and burn no longer news of the day,
all but a gossipy few have quit
trying to fill in the blanks.
One exception is Kendra, who
for some idiotic reason still
loves him and keeps asking about
him, despite the horrible way he
dumped her. Kendra may be pretty,
but she’s not especially bright.
I Won’t Fly Today
Too much to do, despite the snow,
which made all local schools close
their doors. What a winter! Usually,
I love watching the white stuff fall.
But after a month with only short
respites, I keep hoping for a critical
blue sky. Instead, amazing waves
of silvery clouds sweep over the crest
of the Sierra, open their obese
bellies, and release foot upon foot
of crisp new powder. The ski
resorts would be happy, except
the roads are so hard to travel
that people are staying home.
So it kind of boggles the mind
that three guys are laying carpet
in the living room. Just goes to
show the power of money. In less
than an hour, the stain Conner left
on the hardwood will be a ghost.
The Stain
That Conner left on our lives will
not vanish as easily. I don’t care
about Mom and her birds.
Their estimation of my brother
doesn’t bother me at all. Neither
do I worry about Dad and
what his lobbyist buddies think.
His political clout has not diminished.
As twins go, Conner and I don’t share
a deep affection, but we do have
a nine-months-in-the-same-womb
connection. Not to mention
a crowd of mutual friends. God,
I’ll never forget going to school
the day after that ugly scene.
The plan was to sever the gossip
grapevine from the start with
an obvious explanation—
accident. Mom’s orders were
clear. Conner’s reputation
was to be protected at all costs.
When I arrived, the rumors
had already started, thanks
to our neighbor, Bobby Duvall.
Conner Sykes got hurt.
Conner Sykes was shot.
Conner Sykes is in the hospital.
Is Conner Sykes, like, dead?
I fielded every single question
with the agreed fabrication.
But eventually, I was forced to
concede that, though his wounds
would heal, he was not coming
back to school right away.
Conner Sykes wasn’t dead.
But he wasn’t exactly “okay.
And the thought of that makes me want to open a vein, experience pain, know I'm alive, despite this living death.
Ellen Hopkins« first previous
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