|"Tell us about your wishlist." This is my wishlist. I wish for things on this list.|
Your trip beginsThe billboards were following Thomas. It wasn't that he saw them everywhere; that would have been too simple. And it wasn't even the billboards themselves but rather their message. "Come visit Michigan." "Your trip begins at Michigan.org." Michigan. Michigan was following Thomas.Your trip begins by mackwrites
As a student of the culinary arts at a prestigious East Coast university, Thomas had every excuse to visit Europe: to experience the food, to waste more of his parents money in that short window of opportunity known as "the college years," to hopefully win the attention of Jennifer Adams by the aforementioned spending of money, and, finally, to get further away from that mitten- shaped home state. Well, he forgot about Facebook – and those creepy advertisements for things like "Michigan pride" T-shirts, or pictures of his parents in their Michigan State regalia with some of his dad friends cheering on the team for the big game. He forgot about all the references to Michigan in his favorite American
Magnetic Wedding PoetryGod flowering in MarchMagnetic Wedding Poetry by mackwrites
the tree bells together music
this borrowed kiss will hold.
I need to become tears as
something old until: roses.
The cathedral opens my
very present union.
You cut or tie
and night joined us
fresh vows and a blue city
I am asunder;
the underpass- 397 wordsI exhaled in the September night and left a part of myself in the air, drifting ghost-like, a translucent body, a symbol for something with no name. I pulled the leather jacket closer, breathing in cold and the familiar smokey scent of Uncle Matthew, that lone wolf gone now from the cancer. The weight was comforting, the way it lay on my arms; it made me feel like I was part of the night. Part of the dark pavement, the long shadows, the cloudy sky. Spotted with stars, I wouldn't know where to look for the moon.the underpass- 397 words by mackwrites
A soft "ding" signified that Madeline had gotten a text. She looked down at her phone, face bathed in pale light as we walked towards an overpass, graffiti on the cement columns holding up the highway, shards of glass crunching under our boots.
“Hey,” I looked up at the accusatory greeting, noticing a figure huddled by the wall and sitting on a flattened cardboard box. “Are you a boy or a girl?” I hesitated, but Madeline looped her arm through mine and st
Taut-665 wordsRobert had always enjoyed dressing well, until the day his tie became just another noose in a life full of things determined to strangle him.Taut-665 words by mackwrites
On his evening run the night before, he'd stopped briefly beside a boxer dragging a teenager on a walk. The dog rasped, his breath haggered and wet, spotting the sidewalk with drool. Later, Robert dreamnt about the dog, straining against his leash; a car swerved into the dream and hit the dog, who let out a strangled cry.
Robert jerked awake, his body tingling, and lay with his eyes open in the darkness.
He lay there until his alarm clock went off, a sound which set in motion the rest of his morning routine. But the simple actions, like brushing his teeth and having a shower, now seemed to undermine his will to go on. What was the point of having healthy teeth but being sad and alone? How did personal hygiene matter when he never seemed to impact or affect others anyway?
To check his e-mails at work later that morning, he had to push aside a pile
ladylike hands.my hands are not ladylike, short nails andladylike hands. by troubleinharlem
a callous here or there - due to my cello
teacher both, that is why they are there.
scars from various places, but prove soft
and warm at the touch.
my hands are not ladylike, but when I
place my hands, palms up as if to
receive, the wisdom lines in the middle
form a shape similar to a smile.
I find this quite quaint.
Tiresias UnboundI. The Beginning
My life - such as it was at the time, nothing more than a polliwog in my mother's belly began one warm summer night when the earth's shadow momentarily obscured an overripe harvest moon.
My mother was nineteen at the time, a tiny creature with silver eyes and sun-gold hair that ran to her waist like unfurled skeins of silk. On the night in question, however, it was bound and tucked beneath a little red cap, and my mother was not my mother, but a young girl playing dress-up as a boy in order to deal cards to tourists. Still, this had not prevented her from being lured into a nearby gondola in order to talk more to the beautiful young man who had caught her fancy at the roulette table.
I discovered some time later that he was actually younger than my mother, but she never supposed that at the time. He was taller than her by nearly a foot, and had a self-assurance few seventeen-year-olds possess, though he was no more experienced. Nevertheless,
Current Residence: Midwest USA|
deviantWEAR sizing preference: large
Print preference: not tiny, not gigantic.
Favourite genre of music: Soft rock, indie/alternative, good lyrics, lots of piano, classical, instrumental. Pandora.com
Operating System: Windows 7!