Pens In Unison

 Catagory: Poetry and Spoken word

 

Love:              

                                           

See the things is I fell in love with you for too long. My world fell apart, listening to broken love songs. Stuck on the words you said leaving everything else behind, Me, going out of my fucking mind, because every time I finally think I'm over you, you do something to rope me back in. Sadly I still love you, through numb nerves, that don't even react to a blade, can't pull myself back up, but maybe I have it made, maybe I don't love you , maybe I like the mystery behing you, the chase, the fact that I want your skin to touch mine, because I finally feel something.Then you leave me behind, short answers saying "fine", then all kinds of pick up lines, Make up your fucking mind. Because at this point all I want to know  is, what it'd feel like to have your lips on mine.

 

 

Can You Be An Artist:

 

Can you be an artist,

When you only use words?

Letters written on a page

W o r d s with no meaning,

Except maybe to the one who wrote them?

Is it possible for me to be an artist,

When words are the paint,

And my mind the canvas?

Or does my form of expression

Not count in the minds of my peers

Do I not exist because my words

Are not art?

Or do my words make me exist

 

 

One Time You Asked Me:

 

One time you asked me

What it is that goes on inside

My mind.

The question took me by surprise

I had to really think

And finally I opened my mouth and said

“In my mind, I see fairies and trees and sand

I see phantom memories

Of familiar faces and

You holding my hand

I see wilting flowers and Monster

That hide under my bed.

I see you reminding me they are in my head

I see the cross around the neck of

The girl I kissed that night

I see my parents’ last fight

I see waves at the beach

I see myself going underneath

I feel myself drowned

But I see everyone breathing”

You once asked me

What it is that goes on inside my mind

A better question would have been:

What does depression feel like?

 

 

Beautiful:

 

Beautiful is, as beautiful was

Beautiful isn’t, what beautiful does

Beautiful tries, beautiful lies

But beautiful never cries

Because beautiful isn’t

As beautiful was

And beautiful is

What beautiful does.

Since the time she was four years old

She knew she wasn’t beautiful.

At the age of six

She decided no one could ever love her.

And it was sad.

For she was a beautiful girl

Ebony hair a waterfall down her back

Natural purple eyes

That mystified

Those who dared to walk by

Her voice as soft as a mouse

And the grace of a dancer in her steps

Yet, she never felt beautiful.

When she turned thirteen

A boy called her a name

“ Ugly” he mumbled.

And her worst fears had been recognized

She had run home and cried

Her parents had said mean things before

But never a kid at school

And that night

Was the first night she took her mom’s scissors

To her legs, arms, sides

Anything to make the pain disappear.

She stared at the beautiful lines.

She looked in the mirror that night

And she spat at her reflection

Never feeling beautiful had taken its toll

The next day she barley ate

And recorded all of the things she ate.

That night she threw up her dinner.

She looked at her reflection again but still hated it

A few years passed

But the names hadn’t stopped.

And she would only wear clothes

That covered her scars

She only ate carrots once a day

She weighed 88 pounds

He ebony hair was cut with same razors as her wrist

And her purple eyes were always clouded

And she never missed a work out.

Till she met a boy

Who told her she was beautiful

Who said he’d always thought she was beautiful

Who said he was sorry for the mean things he had said.

And she believed him

She got help

And now she sees

Herself as he saw her

Now she sees

How

Beautiful she is.

 

 

Catagory Song Prompt:

Choose A song and write a story themed or about the song

 

 

 

 

Camisado

By: Panic at the disco.

 

 

He woke up strapped to a hospital bed, the bands cut into his arms, and an IV drips lazily. Him ending up here was no accident; it was an unfortunate series of events. He doesn’t know long he’s been out but judging by how groggy he feels he’d say at least two days. He knew when he joined the resistance that it was dangerous, deadly, and that people were captured all the time.

Sometimes they’d find those who were captured hiding among the rest of the hidden, sometimes they be put back with the tranced. But more often than not their bodies would end up dumped in the middle of the square for all to see, and the resistance could do nothing till nightfall. The tranced would walk on the dead, with no emotion, nothing human would shine in their dead pupils. The government didn’t like the resistance, and the resistance was adamant on bringing the government down.

The boy strapped in the bed try to remember how he had gotten there, but the last thing he remembered was it being early morning, early enough that the sun still wasn’t due for a couple of hours. He had, had his team, and they were hiding out in an old factory, but he had realized something was off before they went up another floor. He’d called the team to go back. He wouldn’t let his pack be hurt by these people.

And that’s when he saw her. Her impossibly dark green eyes bore into his ice ones. She looked thinner, paler, and scared, but he’d known the face, the long ebony hair, and those eyes. He knew her. She had screamed to him to run, but she’d probably meant to run away from her, to run with the rest of his pack, but he had searched for her for too long. As he got closer to her he saw what she was wearing, a dirty white straight jacket. It was long like a dress on her starving frame.

And then, nothing.

His brain had stopped working after that, he didn’t remember reaching her, touching her. He struggled hard against the restraints that bound him to his bed; he lashed his limbs and finally managed to break one. Then two, then three, then he was free. When he ripped his IV out alarms blared. He turned and to the door but there were already two men there.

Before he could react one of them had him in a choke hold and the other was readying a needle. “Ready to relapse, Jonathan?”

And then darkness again.

He woke up, and immediately struggled against his restraints. “Relax…. Relax. Jonathan.” There was a woman in front of him sitting in a chair. “You’re just a decorated emergency, aren’t you?” she laughed.

The room smelt of dead skin and linoleum, like the quarantined part of a hospital, it made him woozy. He could tell form his stiffness that he’d been out for a while again.

“So... Jonathan, it’s nice to meet you. I am Kay. I work with population and ground control; I also work with the Peace Corps.” She smiled at him brightly. Her light hair pulled back tightly, her brown eyes anything but comforting.

He spat at her. “Adverso resistere”

 

“You think I am an idiot do you Jonathan? Stand up against? Really could your resistance come up with nothing better? Well they say you can’t take the fight from the kid…So..” She pulled a needle. “I guess I’ll take the kid from the fight.” She took the needle to his arm.

He struggled and he fought the grogginess, but eventually it turned to black and he had relapsed again.

 

HE woke up again days later. He hated it here, hated the fact that he was going to be tranced again. It had taken Selee two months to cure him, of the trance.

The trance is a drug that is pumped into the main water supply. Originally it had been a Street drug, but when the government saw what it could do. Hey took over. The junkies that were already addicted like Jonathan had been the easiest. They just started only supplying the country with he dark blue uniforms that everyone wore.

Each night, they were given their orders for the next day in the form of TV. And because of the drug they followed without a hint of a problem. But some had refused, some had hidden themselves, some stayed hidden. Others started the resistance.

Emma had Know Jonathan when they were both only thirteen; Jonathan had kissed her in a tree. Six years later, she brought Jonathan to that same tree and kissed him, it had been the final part of his rehab. He was cured.

But now he felt it coming back. He felt the need to have the drug. He wanted the relapse.

What the government did wasn’t convential, it wasn’t pleasant and it sure as hell wasn’t normal, but it is what happened.

He struggled against the restraints again, but now they were reinforced and he saw no way of getting out.

He didn’t cry, or scream. He closed his eyes and remembered Selee. Her dark bohemian way of dress, her long ebony hair, her green eyes, her lips on his, he tried to remember everything about her. That’s how he made the urges for the drugs to go away.

Because you can’t take the fight from a kid like him.