My fingers were slipping down your spine
As if they were doing the warm-up for a piano play
Your heart beat strong, you said you were all mine
And deep inside I felt that you would stay
With me this night,
Until the sun will rise again
You did forgot your pride
You said we were no longer friends
I’ve got the confidence
To take you to the stars
With zero tolerance
You’ve been caressing all my scars

You taught me what it was to love
What was the real passion when the sunset came
You showed how it felt when a tender kiss was not enough
Your hands and lips were playing the exciting game
And it was funny to repent
Of all the crazy things that we had done
To feel how our happiness was coming to an end
To realize that I have missed the only one.

I often look into the mirror, waiting for it to speak,
to tell me 'The Answer' and it never does.
My image just stares back and then I want to break
that mirror to smithereens... all of that because,

I cannot find my self, my truth, or my sanity,
I'm searching for the calm within; true calm, no din.
When searching the mirror, it appears as blatant vanity,
But, I'm really looking deeper than just my skin.

I see the background switch and change;
I hear the sounds, see the seasons-go-round,
I'm dizzied, flushed, frazzled, estranged,
laughing, crying,
aloof and dying,
and then no sound... no worries

A mirror tells no lies
it only tells a tale
of long ago and now, (you know?)
but never
tomorrow's story.



(C) eroticmiranda

Thirty years ago, December 21st, 1979,
at precisely 10:11 pm, in Saginaw, Michigan,
a child was born into my life.

From my womb, through my legs, to my arms and into my heart...
My first-born child came forth to bless this world... and me...

I prayed for a daughter... That face... that small little face with soft, roundish, peachy-pink cheeks, the slightest of hair with a dainty hint of auburn and little rose-red, rosebud lips pursed so sweetly, as only a daughter of mine could have. When I first saw her eyes open wide, I was amazed at how large and blue her eyes were! She was like this little fairy-being, only no wings in sight!

When I finally came to, after sleeping off the weariness of childbirth, I unwrapped all the wrappings, including her diaper, to marvel at her little, tiny, perfect body. And I was in awe. I will never forget the tears of blessed joy I felt straight from the depth of my heart through my eyes only to baptize her with them... my pure love... My Aubrey Star...

It was then that I knew, without a doubt, that God existed, and that He answered prayers.


Happy 30th Birthday Aubrey Star!

em

Sing out all your genocide.
Come on baby, it's a world-wide suicide.

Beat them down
With words, not stones.
Shred their skin,
And shatter their bones.

Dust to dust--
All is now ash.
Dance to death,
And mosh to His wrath.

Church-bound hymns passed to the ages
(Sing out all your genocide.)
By priests and zombies-- all-knowing sages.
(Come on baby, it's a world-wide suicide.)

Leave them out
On streets, not homes.
Steal their lives,
And rip up their loans.

Money will trickle.
Not your fault they're poor.
They must be too lazy
To walk out the door.

Marching by, Republican faces
(March with all your genocide.)
All about capitalism and the war between races.
(Come on baby, it's a world-wide suicide.)

And here we all are.
Killing each other.
Screwing our sister
And beating our brother.

Nothing is better.
Change is just change.
Hearts are still darker.
Everyone's strange.

Crying out against unfamiliar faces.
No one will listen,
Stuck on the bible
And the war between races.

Everyone different
Beaten down by the gospel.
And everyone bowing
To humankind's theocracy bull.

But hey, spread it 'round.

Sing out all your genocide.

Sing with me, baby.

It's a world-wide suicide.

i_hope_that
For many of us, the holidays can be kind of rough. If you're searching for a network of understanding friends, this ultra-nurturing community encourages you to express your heartfelt wishes and offer other members encouragement and acceptance. Not for the terminally snarky or emotionally-challenged, this is a good-spirited place to lend comfort and support.

diygifts
Feeling crafty? If you've got a few last folks on your holiday gift list, this is a great place to seed your creativity and generosity. You'll also discover wonderful DIY tips to decorate your home and entertain guests. Offering a no-frills-no-skills attitude that welcomes the cash-challenged and arts-phobic, you're sure to get ideas and make friends in the process.

cooking_club
A fun and friendly community dedicated to those who love to cook, whether you're a meat-and-potatoes type, an aspiring gourmand, and/or a vegan. In search of a brilliant dish to use up those weekly leftovers? Post your ingredients and you'll be whipping up a feast by dinner. You can also share favorite recipes. For Type A chefs, you can spice up your culinary repertoire with exciting cooking challenges.

Babble
I
Morphemes trip and dribble from the mouths
of thousands!
What phonemes! Sound after articulate sound,
In French, Portuguese, Arabic and German.
I'll never know a single word,
for the most part.
But how I love to listen.
Women's gossip, babies babbling,
Pet names, slang, obscenities,
An ocean of words!

II
I soak in volumes,
Tomes and tubs of words.
I gorge and tear through history
To discover wits' and words' end.
I am starving, anorexic,
Happy to be empty, happy to need more.
My gaping cavern of a mind
Will devour every fucking heartfelt word
From you, with a Cheshire grin.

III
I am fat, pregnant with knowing.
I shine with a mother's smug glow
Of "I have and you have not."
And ready to share it all with you,
A fine, kindly man.
A husband, to have and to hold.

IV
You quiet bastard.
You're a mock of a Gandhi,
Lame wise man.
All my saving and investing,
And for what?
A blank-faced doll,
Spitting Kanji translations,
Never speaking, always knowing.
You are full, full, full,
And in your fullness,
You will rot.

In the 1960's there was a washed up lounge singer that worked a nightly gig in a seedy little lounge off the Vegas strip. This lounge singer sitting on stage looking like burnt out caricature of Sinatra in a cheap piss yellow suit, like a trashy bird perched in a dark smokey cage. He sits there and he sings with his audience half listening, half drunk and he does his act the same way every night. First he sings, and then he finishes his act by telling the same story every night:
"Baby," he says as he lights up a cigarette.
"We almost made is big."
And the band plays this slow jazz in the background.
"We were on the fast track baby."
The band, plays this slow bluesy jazz that fills in every single second of silence in his story.
"We were going places. Just you and me Honey... Honey, we almost made it... All the way to the top."
The Bass player always looks like he's about to fall asleep.
"And baby, you were beautiful. We started going to all the best parties, we were friends with all the stars... Honey we got all the way out to Hollywood. They were gonna put you in pictures honey..."
And then the lounge singer just leans back and sneers at the audience:
"But then you got fat."
And the audience starts laughing.
"You just couldn't put down the cheesecake, you started using the heel of your palm to just jam more of it down... Then, everything changed. We stopped getting invited to parties, you stopped fitting in those dresses... It all ended baby... And now I'm here..."
And then he'd walk off the stage and the band just kept playing that slow bluesy jazz.
But then one night something different happened. Just as the lounge singer said the line "And then you got fat." A gunshot rang out in the audience.
The lounge singer. He drops the mic. And then he falls down dead. In the audience, a fat woman stands holding a revolver, still smoking as tears cascade down her cheeks.
And the band keeps playing, because they think it's all still part of the act.
And the audience cheers.

Recently, I moved in with a friend... or rather, I ended up here by means of being homeless...

So, my friend has this quirk. EVERYTHING. OMG! I apparently have no idea how to do anything, as She does it ALL the RIGHT way... and I, simply, DO NOT.

If I don't do something 'her' way or put things in 'their proper place', She thinks I am rebelling or trying to CHANGE Her life or something... (I have a thing with remembering simple things like that, I really do not remember!). She takes my absentmindedness PERSONAL... It always amounts to this: "WE need to have a little talk!".

I agreed to earn my keep here. I have no problem with that. I keep this house of hers clean! I want a place to stay until I can be out on my own (which is a whole 'nother story). But, there is a power trip going on here... So, I, (to be referred to as 'Cinderella' from this point forward) have to have the whole house clean, daily, and I do, daily. I have steam-cleaned the carpets upstairs and down, all the tile floors are clean, both bathrooms are completely clean, cob-webs removed, dishwasher ran and emptied, trash out and anything little... all DONE. All of Cinderella's work is DONE.

(I will, however, have follow around after those GAWD awful little fur-covered kidneys that bark, piss and shit, WHEREVER they want... and they get let out at least 5,000 times an hour!) Other than that, I have a WHOLE FREE DAY!!!!!

I remember that first day she chided me for wasting precious time: Writing, Drinking Coffee and Smoking Cigarettes... Instead of jumping into a routine, like She does. I sat there, 15 minutes after I woke up, only one sip of luscious, sweet, creamy, brown, magic-morning elixir in me, looking at her, listening... nodding and acting submissive. During the 'conference', I know I had my mouth open in disbelief. I gotta tell ya, it is hard to sip coffee with your mouth agape, (which, by the way, was a mini-epiphany, and quite notable).

"Why do you HAVE to WRITE?"

"I dunno... I just like to..." (Cinderella is interrupted before she can finish her sentence about her passions, etc...)

"So, you don't HAVE to, then?"

"Well, I suppose I have a choice, but..." (Cinderella is cut-off, er, i mean, quieted)

"Well, hurry up, I have something for you to do!"

"okay."

SO... Then She agreed to allow me 20 minutes...

My coffee had become rather cold, but I drank it anyway. I surely wasn't gonna go wasting any of my precious 20 minutes rewarming my coffee! So, I tried to think creatively. I tried to gather beauty and abundance of spirit to place upon the paper before me... Then I tried to actually enjoy my cold coffee and a half-burned out cigarette. I stared blankly at my notebook, pen in hand. All I could write was the only sure thing in my mind: the date.

Since then, I have not been overly excited about morning coffee and writing. I mean, it is Wintertime now, and the whole coffee and cigarette thing is NOT an enjoyable morning experience when it's 12 degrees at 9 am... And just try to get an ink pen to think about writing in that cold?? Nope. NOT happening!

'She' is not a muse... 'She' is a Creativity Vampire... And She is SUCKING the inspiration from me daily. I am sure it is only a matter of time before I graduate (or get demoted?) from Cinderella to Igor.

But tomorrow, I am gonna write. I may play computer games, nap... hell, who knows? But, one thing for sure, I am gonna fly on my own wings and feel the freedom... however short the time may seem...

I am hoping I can get some of my poetry flowing again. My writing is not something that "She" really understands. My fondest things to do each morning are to drink coffee, have a cigarette and write... write... write... One hour of my best each morning.

So, anyway, all of Cinderella's work is done and she allowed the space to breathe in, for the day.

~* Yay! *~




em

Sitting here, silently stitching myself
back together after he has been around.
In earpiercing silence I can
hear my own heart break
and everytime I scream into the darkness
it echoes without a sound.
I´m slowly crawling way towards the light
when the shadows once again overpower my mind and I fall,
fall deep below.
Nightmarish dreams,
depressed child with saddened smile, tortured mind and burning soul.
Adolescent dreams that were never meant to come true,
now lost and burried forever.
Hollow screams once again echo in the darkness
as the smell of twisted, rotten hands lingers on my skin.
My eyes stinging from acid tears
burning their way into my skull.
Deprived of sleep and hope I sit here,
silently stitching myself back together.

stepstomarrow
When granddaughter, Jada, was born with leukemia, a donor-match was located and Jada made a miraculous recovery. In honor of her grandaughter's health, Jeanna has decided to walk across the country (in the dead of winter) to raise awareness and build support for the bone marrow registry (all that's required is a cheek swab). Follow Jeanna's remarkable journey as she travels the United States by foot.

In an instant the walls were caving in. No one said a word because they were all too busy noticing their haircuts and shoes. The padded walls breathing in tighter and tighter. Arms pressing together, bumping into strangers and awkward giggle and mumbles. Skinny bones pressing into soft peach flesh.

No one smiles. Everyone is looking down. The mental patient bedroom walls slowly soaking with tampon blood spreading out like crimson explosions.

There you are. In the middle of the people you hate. There you are in the midst of human suffering and pain being choked out of existence by throngs of others in this feminine hygiene elevator.

Be sure not to use the same words more than once or else you'll sound boring.
No one.
Wants.
To.
Sound.
Boring.

I think you are afraid of it. Either you're reading this looking for tips, or you're trying to see who's better than you. We're all just rats in a big maze carved out of the world ever loving pussy. Humanity is the rape victim of trade. How much does it cost to be the people in your mind's painting of the perfect life. How much debt does it cost to get there? Do you work full time?

You need a master's degree for that.

And Now, something completely different.

You, sitting there. Reading this. All alone like me.

You sitting there reading this all alone.

Like me.

Like me?

Do you like me?

Are you like me?

What is this to you?

Did you notice how I changed the focus, do you think it'll go well in your writing, or maybe it's too cliche and you'll wait until you think of something better. You're too scared to comment. So what? So this. Sew this. What's a woman's place but in the home? What's a man's place but in the work place slaving for hours until he can go home and be told he doesn't do enough for his family.

I understand now.

The real world is more terrifying than anyone can even imagine.

Health care is something you only notice when you're sick. What republic cares for the penniless when they are in single sheet matress sheet dresses wearing paper shoes and waiting for the reaper to collect his toll.

But I digress, because you're getting bored. The tampon walls are closing in, and you're starting to notice that the radio only plays the same 3 songs over and over again until you hear the one song you like.

And you have to wonder, what kinds of people listen to those same 3 songs. Do you know that you are one of them, to the person who listens to the other 2 songs?

I'm throwing this away, it's irritating me.

She had always depended on the kindness of others to get by.
Looking back on how far she had come, and where she was now...
she didn't think she could keep going on this way.
Or if she should!

Miranda never thought of herself as someone in control, of anything!
She was never the person she wanted to be, although at times she was everything else.
A child, sister, friend, lover, wife, mother, supporter, comforter, cook, maid, chauffeur, nanny, secretary, helper, worker, martyr, and follower.
She could do anything and did everything, except what she wanted to do.
Be the person she was meant to be. And even though that was all she could think about, she couldn't remember who that person was any more!

Somehow, thru all the years of being there for others, sacrificing so others could chase their dreams, her dreams were put on hold. She always thought that her time would come and she could live her dream.
But now it seems that time has past her by...

Now she was just Miranda!
Dependable, helpful, caring, supporting, sacrificing Miranda!
And she didn't want to be that person any more!
But that's who she was. And so it seems...all she would ever be!


Miranda wasn't even her real name!
It was just a name she had given herself as a child.
A child with big hopes and dreams! A future!
But it seemed like her hopes and dreams were too big for a small child,
at least that's what everyone told her.
So she would become Miranda, someone who was smart and strong and could do anything and everything. As Miranda she could make dreams come true.
Not just her dreams, but she could help others make their dreams happen.

And so it started. She started calling herself Miranda. At first others thought it was odd, even for a child. But soon it would catch on.
First her friends, then her family and soon she had everyone calling her Miranda. After weeks and months as Miranda, no one would refer to her by her real name any more, only Miranda.

Miranda, the girl who would make dreams come true.


And so it began...
A little girl, with big dreams.
Became a woman, with big dreams.
Who could always find a way to make things happen.
And could makes dreams come true.
For anyone, and everyone....

but herself!

taste_buds
Holidays provide a built-in excuse for indulgent entertaining. This all-purpose foodie community covers everything from homemade hangover cures to dinner party menus. Need quick advice? Get five-minute snack suggestions, low-fat ingredient substitutes, and even measurement conversions. Delicious recipes garnished with humorous advice. Yum.

naturesbeauty
Always on the lookout for compelling images, we were delighted to discover this flourishing community of artists who share a love of nature. Honoring the subject with photographs, paintings, sketches, prose, poetry, and other creative works, you'll be simultaneously riveted to your monitor and inspired to run helter skelter towards the nearest wooded dale.

I don´t feel like writing today...

because what is it, that words can do?
Words are just words, are just... words, are... just... words...

A unit of language,
consisting of one or more spoken sounds or their written reperesentation...
so the dictionary says...

I express my emotions in words.
Words are carrier of my emotions.
Emotions are what I feel... if I feel.
I feel (sometimes, I really do) - therefore I write...
Words can be soothing, can be angry, can be hostile.
Words can be love. They can also be hate.

Sometimes words are my weapons;
they make me feel strong and in control.
Sometimes I hide behind my words;
they give me shelter from reality as I create my own - with words.
Sometimes your words hurt me, pull me down and make me cry.
Sometimes words are useless, almost wasted
on people who don´t listen.

Words are power - the People Have the Power, have the words
but they hardly ever use them like words should be used.
Today the words are black.
They only use them to denounce, to complain, to criticise and whinge.
Don´t they know the beauty of words?
Don´t they know the colour of words?

I didn´t feel like writing today...

Don’t dismiss this outright as the work of some raving lunatic. There’s some sense to this story, if you’ll just hear me out…

Look, we all wonder if time travel is possible, right? Well, let me tell you something… it is. I’m from the future, actually. I know you probably don’t believe that, but seriously, I’m from the future. It’s a really great thing; getting to see the past, watching events unfold… stuff like that. We know more now than we ever would.

Behind all the fun, though, there’s a more serious aspect. We aren’t supposed to go in our own lifetime, and we are never allowed to contact our past selves. Let me tell you, I’m breaking that rule right now. Yes, kid, you’re talking to yourself. Your future self. I’m going to be executed for this, but you know what? I accept that. I’m preventing something by talking to you that is worse than death. I can’t tell you outright what to do, because the filters would catch it. This is the closest I can get, trust me. I can, however, send a little message.

You should probably read the first word of every paragraph, now.

Safe and Sound

dark,
romantic eyes
flash glances at me
as they slowly and tenderly
caress my body
with their warmth.

they stare deep into my soul
and i find myself
having to
look away
scared of the power
they have over
me.

this feeling causes fear
to spread throughout my body.
because while there is
so much to gain,
there's just as much to lose.

but i force myself to
refocus my eyes on yours.
because i know,
you'll never lead me astray.

I puke rainbows
and walk on clouds of cotton candy.
The Cheshire Cat smiles at me from behind the curtain
and by the time I meet Tusko the elephant
he tells me the 297 milligrams were too much
and that the world has stopped spinning for him.
I cry red tears and let them run down my wrists.
You hand me another ticket to my sanctuary
and I hastily swallow it.
I see music in colours and waves
crawling up my legs, into my stomache, into my heart
warming it a little. It´s always so cold.
We are holding hands on our way to the daffodil field
and when we pass the yellow lemon tree
you tell me about Birmingham by night.
When we walk by Gua the chimp she tells us
that Little Albert doesn´t like rats anymore and it upsets us.
You hug me and tell me, that Timmy never once fell down a well.