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Grab Your Audience With the First Line

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My answer: [20 May 2006|10:25pm]

I keep meaning to post more here. I plan on answering the question of the week soon, but for now I just have a poem.

we'll be waiting for you

Are you there God? It's me, Margaret. . . [08 Feb 2006|11:38pm]


My question of the week:Collapse )


1 follower|we'll be waiting for you

[08 Feb 2006|03:15pm]

I knew that god didn't exist when I heard the flatline of my mothers beating heart when she went into cardiac arrest in 98. It wasn't until the second shock from the paramedic that I knew I would have to live life on my own. When they finally got her heart beating again it dawned on me that God did exist, but he had our unintruded attention...

I didn't belive in god for the longest time...until I held Rhian close to my chest. Then I knew.
we'll be waiting for you

[22 Jan 2006|09:22pm]

Dirty Sheets.

My sheets chart the wilderness of our lust, an ever-changing landscape without name or direction. Those countries will never be conquered, the habitat too variable for any flag to fly. We are the gods of this world, we create and change it with a reckless will even Yahweh would envy. And yet, we are as much its slaves as any. We alter formations and groupings with little forethought and even less control but always with a certain desperation. Our lust lives in those dirty sheets, inhabiting one of those inconstant planes we will never map and always fear to lose.
1 follower|we'll be waiting for you

life in sepia tones. [15 Nov 2005|10:22pm]

some bad language.Collapse )
1 follower|we'll be waiting for you

Despicable Whore [14 Nov 2005|04:32pm]

[ mood | fussy ala meg ]

She paints with the tears only artists cry,

medicating a grief that fosters self-destruction.

Openly distraught, she takes a pen in slightly bloodied fingers,

tethering her soul to a shaky but intact foundation of self.

Holding her breath, she exhales a bit of yesterday:

Evocative innocence her most valuable asset,

renouncing reluctance, she makes her living trying to stay alive,

irrevocably inscribing 'whore' in caligraphy upon her soul.

No one cared to mention that permanance can haunt,

granted, it may be the only stable thing she has.

Caught in a snarl of whorrible insecurity and untouchable defiance,

reality is: there is no return policy on ones soul, as it is a used item.

Youth begotten, she returns to her canvas.

we'll be waiting for you

justice in the moonlight. [31 Aug 2005|12:29am]

His teeth glinted like justice in the moonlight as he laughed at me. I had bared my soul and he had found my nakedness comical.
He was not the first to break my heart, not by far. But this was no clumsy schoolboy slipping and breaking a treasured possession, this was a surgeon slicing away with keen precision.

Justice comes in all forms. This time, it was a knife in the moonlight, quickly slipped between the ribs. The punishment must fit the crime; he broke my heart and so I stopped his.

I think it fits.
we'll be waiting for you

Just two [16 Aug 2005|01:45am]

08/16/05 (Untitled)

Fumbling down life's boulevard,
with hatchet set firmly in back,
just deep enough for me to suspect
that I had to have put it there myself.

You are dangling love above my nose,
like reward for the right trick,
but your hand is raised higher than before,
and I can't bargain the jump anymore.

08/16/05 (Untitled)

Everyone within shouting range knows the right way to mask personal blame
when living off the work of others,
after joining them by default.

Age holds no bearing in adulthood;
maturity, no semblance of considerateness or reason.

One must only obtain the magniloquence necessary
to lie all the way through resenting oneself,
well enough that everyone believes it.

That is what makes you an adult.
1 follower|we'll be waiting for you

But I don't want to kick the habit... [02 Aug 2005|10:20pm]

I think I am addicted... The only time I am ever perfectly calm and content is when I am there. You know, there. That general place that can be anywhere in the world to me. Anywhere but here, of course. You see, the only time that I have ever truly felt at home was a time when I was, in fact, as far from home as was possible. There is almost nowhere, even in the entire country, where I can feel at home and comfortable with myself. But drop me alone at a university I've never heard of in a foreign country where I do not speak the official language, sign me up for classes about subjects I never learned anything about, tell me how to transfer my money into something with which I am unfamiliar, and push me into a new and frightening system, and I could never hope to be happier. I feel so alive, the rush is so great, everything is new and exciting and wonderful all at once and then...

I leave. I have to go. My vacation from reality is over and it's time for me to return to that place that I call "home". Home. Where the heart is? Or something? Well, it's where my passport is, and where my body is, both waiting idly until my next excursion into the unknown, the unattainable, the unfamiliar, the unforgettable.
1 follower|we'll be waiting for you

Fresh out the cranium [31 Jul 2005|01:22pm]

You know meekness like your own, small hometown - every turn and direction kept inside instinctual thought, at least until you realize there is something beyond your range of sight other than the same old days and nights, with the same old thoughts - repeated like prayers to be where you are not.
we'll be waiting for you

Pixelated [24 Jul 2005|08:16am]

[ mood | sleepy ]

novocaine nights
lip-locked with the unbelievable taste of delusion
chapped lips stir the reality of dreams
creating paradise
with undersold emotions and overused imagination

life is so fucked up
in that way that makes it so beautiful
and the rain never seems to stop falling when the sun comes out

a trivial piece to an even more unimportant puzzle
it sometimes seems
tacked together with a promise of forever
and negligence
pick-pocketed and misplaced among the catacombs of denial
this melancholy absence-formed liaison pierces
and tomorrow seems like such a lie
but please do
please do tell it to me again

with a broken, angled smile
and a trigger happy vendetta
the skies are much too distant to be anything more than dust

and the stars don’t shine at midnight
like they used to
with a half-burnt cigarette and a story to tell
this will always be my life

we'll be waiting for you

[24 Jul 2005|06:31pm]

A rant that somewhat turned into something creative. Just thought I'd post it for the hell of it.

A rock and a hard place.Collapse )
we'll be waiting for you

[22 Jul 2005|12:09pm]

Hey guys,

I have a lot going on right now, so I'm cutting down on my communities. Plus, this just isn't active. Add me, and leave a comment on my friends only journal entry, if you want to keep in touch. ♥

we'll be waiting for you

my application piece, maybe? [22 Jul 2005|04:15am]

[ mood | tired ]


in sleep
creation becomes forgotten,
disregarding a letter in smeared scrawl and
jealous calligraphy,
of monogamy and love half passed to infidelity

do you ever feel broken fragments of memory surfacing?
some feeling
some sleep this life in carbon black and white
washed out walls surrounding hunched love
and slouched longing

barefoot, dizzy, in a cacophany
she felt a gorgeous black chill
crushed into the night sky, and murmured
under burning touches
languid whisper of spring rain
delicate like the frantic smell of bitter blood
delirious road love, like moth wings

and you spend forever with me... under the muddy moon
incandescent confidant, don't go back to sleep
don't dream
say more about the ebony rain of november
rose to red

silent, damp and warm like thighs
answer me at least... in a whisper

1 follower|we'll be waiting for you

[18 Jul 2005|08:48pm]

I can't be the only one who types up long entries that take far longer than the average entry to type, and then erases them. I think that I do this more than I actually post, but really, it's the writing that makes me feel better, not the posting. Getting it out and seeing my thoughts in front of me is what removes elephants, semi-trucks, and houses from my shoulders. But then, after seeing my thoughts, I realize that they are just the first things that pop into my head, and not necessarily what I really feel.

So far, this is the third time I have typed something into this very update space. I think I'll save it this time.
we'll be waiting for you

[18 Jul 2005|04:28am]

[ mood | content ]

I finally think I found the right words. *smiles*

A Poem That Took Me All Day To Write.Collapse )

we'll be waiting for you

[16 Jul 2005|04:40pm]

The Writer's RantCollapse )
1 follower|we'll be waiting for you

Hello. [16 Jul 2005|04:25pm]

[ mood | content ]

Old ThoughtsCollapse )

we'll be waiting for you

[13 Jul 2005|11:24pm]

I don't look down anymore. My fingers take on a life of there own when spelling out all the things my mind aches to say, it's never enough though, there job is never complete. The message pops up : ...has signed off, before my sentence is through and i beg for the courage to call you. My voice is a coward, my ear to ashamed to be given the privilege of hearing your voice. I wonder where all this comes from but I'm to angry to think. To emotional to even attempt...even my fingers have lost there will to talk, to say what I am to chicken to speak.

My courage is this keyboard, the comfort in know that you can't see me; the way that sarcasm and sadness cannot be conveyed by this faceless medium the world has flocked to for release. I am just another flash of ones and zero's traveling sightlessly across the void of human connection. The irony is, connection is what we are seeking.

My fingers connecting to you. Your refusal to accept them.

It's all just ones and zeros.
1 follower|we'll be waiting for you

[11 Jul 2005|10:26pm]

I hit him.
I hit him hard.

It was the only time I ever left him breathless.
2 followers|we'll be waiting for you

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