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Literature
Dinner Theater
Beep, the microwave sings
An electronic message scrolls by,
YOUR
FOOD
IS
DONE
But he can't retrieve it.
He is powerless
to stop the insistent chime.
YOUR
FOOD
IS
DONE
His meal goes cold
and slowly bad,
his finished food rotting
just like his body.
Blind to the blaring television,
deaf to the droning flies,
he is sealed in his vault while the sun sets and rises
on this gruesome tableau
of a domestic ideal gone sour.
Through the hours, days,
this hideous simplicity
of a one-man show
is haunted every minute
by the reminder of what was once awaited.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
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:iconkmgreen5:kmgreen5 0 2
Literature
We Are Unusual
From the first time I saw you
I was under arrest
Your eyes are indescribable, you know
First dates, first kisses
are supposed to be a little awkward
But it never was
with you
Our conversation as acquaintances
included mix tapes and masturbation
Hardly a usual experience
But we are, you remind me,
special, amazing, peculiar
We are
the exception
to every rule I've ever had
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:iconkmgreen5:kmgreen5 1 0
Literature
Fire and Ice Make Water
At first
you and I
were like a pair of wild
animals warily watching
one another
and slowly
just as surely as the tide comes in
we grew to like each other
Someone I knew
became someone I enjoyed
And even more carefully
I learned to trust
my secrets with you
I remember the night
I admitted my pill addiction
Not my favorite memory
but you handled the breakdown well
You always handled them well
It was your own emotions
you had trouble with
You could aim your anger
your disappointment
at me like a well-trained beacon
of malice
I told you, I've never seen anything like it
I was the ice to your flame
the indifference to your passion
Even now, I don't think you really know
the depth of my disinterest
in the world
You sent me
every which way
high and low and spun around
Sometimes you make me question
whether it's worth the trouble
when you harp on about
how insensitive I am,
how fickle,
and how much you hate me sometimes
I hate you too, honey
so much it makes my stomach twist
But usually I love
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:iconkmgreen5:kmgreen5 1 0
Literature
Dark Without Meaning
All my best intentions mean nothing in the long run
they're short sprinters, they can't take the marathon
and always, they die out, gasping
At some point I thought I could tell
the darkness goodbye,
that I'd leave it behind
and it would stay there, something to refer to
in days of sunshine and rainbows as a foil
to the better days I'd inhabit in the future
but now I'm learning with sickening certainty
that the darkness has tattooed itself
to my soul, and it can't be scrubbed off
or cut out or lasered clean
it clings like a foul odor
or a toddler with abandonment issues
I'm not a nice person, I know
I'm cruel on purpose
and sometimes on accident
and what's worst is too often
I simply don't care
The effort is summoned,
and I really do mean it
but it slips away when it
realizes that it's put to better use
paving the promenade
in my semi-private hell
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:iconkmgreen5:kmgreen5 2 3
Literature
Acrimony
Now everyone is dead
and scattered on the ground.
They've turned to brown from red;
they're littered all around.
They've left their lofty seats
to join the growing piles
of husks that could not cheat
their fate, however vile.
It happens every year,
these disregarded deaths.
But I still shed a tear,
and hoping, hold my breath.
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:iconkmgreen5:kmgreen5 1 2
Literature
Yearly Transmutation
The oak leaves are becoming gold,
and only a willful few
are holding on to their
original emerald hue.
Fall has now made brisk the air
to accompany the view.
It's autumn's move—so very bold.
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:iconkmgreen5:kmgreen5 1 3
Literature
It Isn't Perfect
She doesn't like being touched except on her own terms, claims it makes her feel trapped and sick. So I typically don't touch her unless she initiates it, or I make it light and casual, so she can feel like she has an escape.
She's the most stubborn person I've ever met. She tells me I'm illogical, but when logic is against her she swears and says it doesn't matter, because she is right and sense is not.
Tears from anyone she scorns and hates. If I were to cry she'd think me less of a man; when she does it she runs away and hides until her eyes are clear and her face composed. I've told her that I don't care if she cries, but she only frowns at me and tells me she doesn't ever cry at all, and I don't correct her because then she'd only hate us both.
I hate her when she's angry, hate her so much it's like bile choking my throat and steel bands squeezing my chest. She doesn't scream, doesn't hit, or any of the other clichéd feminine actions. It's more like she drains herself of pass
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:iconkmgreen5:kmgreen5 3 5
Literature
When Do I Wake Up?
The lens has changed and now I see everything in a new distortion.
I am tied to a table, pumping a bag-valve
and helping the countless cadavers breathe.
There's a room in my pocket, with men and women walking on hardwood, voices echoing
Panther-black sinuous animal shapes sliding at the edges of my vision
The cat becomes a fiendish lynx, waiting for me to turn my back
And this morning when I woke up there were ants in my skin.
It occurs to me to wonder what would happen
if I folded in half in order to save space and increase efficiency.
I want to carve angles where there are curves,
make marble where now is plush, and renovate
my whole operation.
I can tell you, when it happens,
the result tastes better than sunlight.
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:iconkmgreen5:kmgreen5 2 1
Literature
Urban Ballet
Dressed in baggy clothes
and boots that are too big,
she dances with
unpredictable grace
in a dirty parking lot near her car.
The streetlight flickers, part of a cycle
of slow dimming
and unexpected spotlight
as she moves in
and out of darkness.
Oblivion has taken over;
she does not know
and would not care
if anyone is watching.
It isn't about that.
Pride is not an issue
and the arrangement is for her,
a reminder
that she has to find her own transcendence
rather than wait in vain
for someone to present it
as a gift.
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:iconkmgreen5:kmgreen5 2 1
Literature
Denied No Longer
I've put it off all day—but I can't wait any longer. A little voice has been whispering in my head, and now it's time to be happy again. I need another fix, but it's okay because I'm getting better, I really am. I promise I'll be good.
I'll make you feel nice, please, just gimme what I need, please. I could quit anytime I want, but this works better for both of us. Come on, please?
And now that I'm getting what I want, it's a flood of relief and indulgent pleasure. God, it feels so incredible. I can't even remember the desperation that controlled me only minutes ago; it's a distant memory.
Don't stop, keep going, oh God. You make me feel good, so good, and I make you feel good too. How 'bout another, as long as we're here?
How about another, Prince of Camden?
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:iconkmgreen5:kmgreen5 1 3
Literature
A Different Sound of Music
Lip-gloss liner eyeshadow
an interest in hair
willingness to dress wild
a few fruity drinks and some cigarettes
I like girls who are daring
and androgynous boys
and anyone who will acknowledge I'm pretty.
I want so many people
ones who are so helplessly self-absorbed
that they have to work to remember I'm there.
Lots of alcohol music dancing
Vapidity, please, and sex appeal
Yep. These are a few of my favorite things.
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:iconkmgreen5:kmgreen5 0 2
Literature
Wake Up
We buried my cousin today. She was 24 and everyone's darling, until she had a little too much to drink one night and ran her car off the road. It was a green 2008 Toyota Camry, and it got totaled. Waste of a good car.
I don't mean that to be as unfeeling as it sounds. I don't really care all that much about her car, but I don't like to think too much about my cousin. Everyone loved Callie. Of course we did-- she was pretty and bubbly and loved everyone around her. She spent time volunteering to help handicapped children and never forgot anyone's birthday. How could we not love her?
Her best friend was a guy named Manny. He offered to hold the wake at his house, because he didn't want my aunt and uncle to have to deal with the clean-up and all that. He's been close to our whole family for seven or eight years, and he's good people.
I feel weird here, sitting in Manny's living room watching the slide show of pictures depicting what a great life Callie had. She and I used to be very close
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:iconkmgreen5:kmgreen5 1 2
Literature
Rain Story
Once upon a time, there was a magical land where it never rained. But it hadn't always been like that. Many years ago, the land had been green and fertile, and it rained exactly the right amount. But the king at that time was a wicked king, and the gods looked down with displeasure, and cursed the land to be dry and barren as a punishment for the king's wickedness. It had never rained since.
In this land, there was a boy who lived with his grandparents in a small house. He was a clever lad and his grandparents loved him very much. One day as he looked up at the hot sky he sighed, "If only someone would petition the king to change the weather. It is so hot and dry."
His grandmother replied, "Of course no one can change the weather, not even the king. Don't be foolish."
"But if a wicked king made the sky stop raining, perhaps a good king could bring the rain back," the boy argued.
His grandfather sighed and shook his head. "Perhaps a good king could do it. But our king is not a good man-
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:iconkmgreen5:kmgreen5 1 2
Literature
Made to Swallow
I'm writing a lie with potential.
I won't tell you the truth-not tonight.
Instead I will tell you what you need to hear.
Sweet thing, let me spin you a yarn
just fine enough for you to swallow,
but you'll notice that there are nettles in the cloth.
It's nothing you could wear for long,
but I don't have energy for more than this tonight.
You can be so fickle, so awfully afraid to trust.
With someone like me, I wonder why.
Shhh.
Rest your head on my shoulder.
I'll stroke your hair and whisper nothings
in your ear-only the easiest lies, and I promise
they'll go down smoothly.
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:iconkmgreen5:kmgreen5 0 2
Literature
Spiritual Experience
On Friday nights, we congregate in the empty gym to worship. We none of us talk during the week, but the weekends are a sacred time when we're bonded by purest rapture. There's singing and a lot of dancing, and sitting and talking, and loving right there on the floor. It's beautiful.
I usually gravitate to my special friends rather than spend all my time mixing with the faceless masses. My friends are Adam and Empathy, Molly and Mandy/Mindy. She changes her name based on the circumstance, and sometimes it's Mindy and sometimes it's Mandy-usually both several times in one night. She can't seem to decide who she is, but that's all right with us. We like her all the same.
Reverence is my favorite part of the week. I feel this deep peace and acceptance of everything; everything is good and great and worthy of inspection and adoration. Last week I spent half the night poking around my brain, and I liked what I found. When I shared it with my friends they agreed that I was indeed a wonderful
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:iconkmgreen5:kmgreen5 1 1
Literature
Dreamland
I'm being suffocated by an increasingly maddening sense of dream-walking and surrealism
it would not surprise me in the least to turn and see the girls in the next booth wearing Klan hoods
or the older man across the room to display the python growing out of his mouth
twelve-inch fingers would not seem out of place here
nor double-sided Carnevale masks tilting quizzically
the Indian woman chuckles stuffily and puts in mind a bear
and goblins are clawing at the windows
the bus outside roars away from the curb like a territorial dragon
and I realize I am trapped in the trance for the night
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:iconkmgreen5:kmgreen5 4 4

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kmgreen5
Kelsey
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
I'm just here to share my work with anyone who's interested. It's largely an exercise in narcissism, but whatever. Don't judge.

Current Residence: Earth
Favourite genre of music: rock
Favourite photographer: WinterWolf Studios and Claudia Annette Valdez
Personal Quote: "Why not?"
Interests

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:iconcemac:
cemac Featured By Owner Aug 25, 2013
Thank you very much for the :+fav: for 'Circe',  which is truly appreciated. :blackrose: Sorry my thank you is so late :ashamed: but definitely catching up a little more each day. :excited:
:iconlovelyplz::iconeufrosis:
Reply
:iconrazhbi:
razhbi Featured By Owner Jul 26, 2012  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for :+fav:ing Aurora :floating:
:iconbutterfly1plz::iconbutterfly2plz::iconbutterfly3plz::iconbutterfly4plz::iconbutterfly5plz:
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:iconangelasportraits:
AngelasPortraits Featured By Owner Feb 27, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
:iconthankyou1::iconthankyou2: for adding AYUMI HAMASAKI to your :+fav::iconlovegoldplz::iconloveorangeplz:
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:icondoktorlemons:
DoktorLemons Featured By Owner Jan 3, 2011
whoaaa you have real cools writings, mang.
I shall watch ya :'D.
Reply
:iconjournalmtw:
JournalMTW Featured By Owner Nov 3, 2010
Thanks for the fav on "Innocence". Also, sorry for the late reply. You know how life can be. Time flys be too fast. Remember to make each day count.
Andrew
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:iconjournalmtw:
JournalMTW Featured By Owner Jul 5, 2010
Thanks Kelsey for the fav selection of "Morning Son". I'm glad you liked it. Keep up with the writing!
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:iconxdirtyxblackx:
xdirtyXblackx Featured By Owner Jul 1, 2010
thanks for the fav :3
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:iconjoufancyhuh:
joufancyhuh Featured By Owner Jan 13, 2010  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the watch! :hug:
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:iconjonathoncomfortreed:
jonathoncomfortreed Featured By Owner Jan 9, 2010  Student Photographer
Thank you for joining :iconthewrittenrevolution:, we're delighted to have you with us.
Welcome to the revolution! :salute:

And please take a look at our news article and contest. :highfive:
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:iconsaosin187:
saosin187 Featured By Owner Nov 27, 2009
thank you!
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