[x]

I am beautiful because...Look in the mirror. Tell me, what do you see?
Imperfect face. Is it misshapen and ugly?
Abnormal eyes. Are they tired and old?
Disgusting lips. Are they thin and cold?
Defective body. Is it too thick or too plain?
Not enough money. Is it all in vain?
Someone misunderstood. Is it all too much?
You feel alone. Untouched.
And sad. Destroyed.
A void.
Well, do you want to know what I see?
I see you.
I see your quirks. Your interest in something that consumes you and makes you outstanding.
I see you loved for exactly who you are by friends, family, significant others. Or else they wouldn't stick around.
I see your imperfect, wonderful face. A perfect set of genes from your parents that displays who you are.
I see you strong enough to be yourself. Even when society tries to beat it out of you.
I see someone; a woman. And that makes all of us beautiful.

Et tu, MagistraKate was just grabbing a coffee in the school staff room when she was approached by Judy, the headmistress.

"I liked the display you put up in your classroom, Jane," said Judy. "Those kids put some real effort into that work and it shows."

"Thanks a lot, Judy," replied Kate.

"Um, I know this might sound awkward, Kate, but I have noticed that when your class take their shoes off in the gym for the assembly, you keep yours on," said Judy, looking slightly embarassed.

"Yes, I do. I always make sure the class take their shoes off before they come in the gym though," replied Kate. "I've always kept mine on. Jennifer and Helen keep their shoes

Sin un hogar(English Translation below)

En el tiempo de mi joven

Cuando yo estaba una joven, yo estaba bonita. Todos estábamos bonito. Pero ahora, la vida posee una gripe para nuestros cuerpos. Ahora, estoy vieja y utilizado. No hay lugar para llorar, donde hace años, que había. Hay había el sol, y hay había la lluvia también – pero no me importaba. Hay había muchos de amor y amabilidad y alegría. ¿Adónde estoy? ¿Dónde está el Cielo y dónde está mi alegría? No sé, mundo, no sé.

En el tiempo de mi edad

Hoy es domingo, pero no estoy en la iglesia. ¿Por qué? Porque no tengo un querer para la vida (la iglesia ha olvidado de mí también). Quizás, la

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fathom.sometimes she is so selfish
she can't help but want more
and more and more;
but the sun is not an orange
in the sky to pick up
and cut, to juice
and drink,
and so she cannot have it for herself.

and nothing is ever quite
what it seems; the secret
lives we live are sometimes
more than just broken
pictures in a cinematic
show.

sometimes she is so quiet
you forget she's even there.
in the back seat of the car
staring out the window,
it's as if she's become invisible
or part of the vinyl car seats.

and nothing is ever quite
what it seems; is a
flower beautiful because
it is colorful,
or because we decided what
beauty was

blind.if i was blind
i'd find pandora
and put her back
inside her box.

i'd wrap my legs
in silky colors
and paint the
sky
a shade
of red.

i'd roll down a hill
and laugh so hard
my lungs would
explode like
a confetti rocket.

but i am not blind,
so my dreams fall
away from my eyes
in the darkness.
i am not blind,
so i have to stare
and see the girl
staring back at me.

and she's somebody
i know, and she's somebody
i love, and maybe
someday, that
girl looking back at me
will be the same one
i feel like inside.

maybe someday,
i won't have to be blind
to see.

the end.rotten to the core?
you're not an apple,
you're a person.
a living, breathing soul
wrapped in skin and filled
with joy and hate and love
and i don't believe you,
but maybe i should.

maybe you aren't good for me.
the way i feel about you
just can't be healthy.
i worry all the time,
wondering if you're okay,
but isn't that a part of love?
i always thought that was a part of love.

i don't know anymore.
i don't know if what i thought
means anything anymore.
all i know is that i wanted you
more than i've ever wanted anyone
or anything before.

sometimes we need time to cry;
to throw our voices to the wind
and just sob like ch

bolide.you are a falling star
that i reach for and
try to hold close to me;
but before i can clasp
you into my hand,
you burst into flames
before my eyes.

i think i stopped
believing in you a
long time ago;
but i refused to notice,
i was just so afraid.
who would i be?
who could i be?
without you?

and yet i still keep hanging
on your every word, looking
for meanings that aren't there,
trying to be someone worthy
of your love, when all i really
want is to not be so tired.

and when you're breaking my
heart, do you even
stop and think about what
you're saying?
or do you breeze on by like
a falling star,
just past my fingerti

perpend.we are anonymous hand holders-
sipping tea in silence and waiting
for the gravity to pull us down.
floating through the muck of
constellation goo to find
the prize at the bottom
of the cereal box.

and the stars, shine down on us.
and i never thought i'd be here,
wishing these wishes i keep
in my heart. like lonely
children, i horde them and
refuse to share.

so i'll drink a glass of water
so the words i want to speak
won't stick to the roof
of my mouth like peanut-butter;
and one day i'll have
to push through all my doubt
and whisper,
"i love you."

but today, i think i'll just
watch the sunset with you,
laughing like old

moonstruck.i'm romantically conflicted
by the ways i wish you were;
climbing cherry trees
and covering fences with
white-clear paint,
more of a tom sawyer than
i ever was.

never did i ever
want to be more than you
wanted me to be.
hanging heavy in the
window like a drape,
watching the sun say hello.

and suddenly like a light
just turning on, i saw
your face and thought,
"oh, so that's what beautiful is."

but you are no perfection and
i am never always right,
but even when the moon was
out of the sky,
i woke up and realized the truth
is i love you just the way you are;

and when the moon hits me in the face
going eighty miles per

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Submitted: December 2, 2012
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procellous distance.

by ~Drastic-Afterthought, Dec 2, 2012, 8:12:47 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / Socio-political / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

_{I hate texting.

I hate those monosyllable replies; I hate the long drawn out conversations. I hate the cold, metal voice I use in my head to read messages that should be said with feeling, emotion, joy. I hate waiting; I hate waiting for a "yes" or a "no" or an "I love you." I hate it when a message doesn't come, when all you want is a sign that the person you're thinking of is thinking of you as well.

More than anything, however, I hate how somehow a text becomes a replacement for your arms; for the feeling of your breath on my neck, your hands in my hair, the whisper of a smile against my skin. I want your voice sleepily wishing me goodnight with your body intertwined with mine rather than reading "Night!" on an artificially bright screen. "i luv ya," is not the same as the rich, husky "I love you," I hear as my eyes flutter shut. I hate the distance of a screen; the way you are so close, and yet so much further away than you ever have been before.

I hate texting-

but not so much as I hate you not being here.}

procellous distance.by ~Drastic-Afterthought

Literature / Prose / Fiction / Socio-political / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

_{procellous; adj; stormy, as the sea.

i'm not sure how much longer
i can stand
this distance.}

~ForestOfWarriors Dec 6, 2012

this is so true

~Drastic-Afterthought Dec 16, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

_{thank you!}

*julia-caitlin Dec 3, 2012

i empathise.

~Drastic-Afterthought Dec 3, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

_{thank you.}

~em-arginated Dec 2, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Distance is awful; I'm in a similar place. Hang in there, because if you do it will be worth it.

~Drastic-Afterthought Dec 3, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

_{thank you.
i'm trying.}

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procellous distance.

procellous distance.by ~Drastic-Afterthought

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