Submissions by AlbertaFish
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
How does one introduce themselves as a poet? Hmmm.... "Hello, I am a poet."
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
30th Jul 2013 3:48am
30th Jul 2013 3:48am
Otter
Otters hold hands while sleeping
so that they don't float away.
I learned that today
and I just keep thinking about that.
About a connection
preventing you from getting lost.
I'm not always good at connecting,
but I hope to find my otter one day.
So that I don't float away.
so that they don't float away.
I learned that today
and I just keep thinking about that.
About a connection
preventing you from getting lost.
I'm not always good at connecting,
but I hope to find my otter one day.
So that I don't float away.
490 reads
1 Comment
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
21st Jul 2013 2:58am
21st Jul 2013 2:58am
Drip rip drip
There are sick people out there. This world is full of them. People with diseased minds and sadistic hearts. The truly sick prey on the weak, the innocent, and the young. The truly sick tie 16 year old girls to chairs and make them watch ad their parents are slowly tortured to death. They have no reason to do this, but it happens. Anna was 16 when a stranger broke into her house. When he taped her mouth shut and her eyes open. When he tied her to a chair and did the same to her parents. It took him awhile to decide who to kill first, but he finally decided on the father. He tied a rope around...
548 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
21st Jul 2013 2:47am
21st Jul 2013 2:47am
Yellow Roses
Yellow roses for your grave,
yellow roses for your soul.
Yellow roses to ease my pain,
yellow roses to prick my finger.
Yellow roses to draw blood,
yellow roses to prove I'm real.
Yellow roses because I love you.
yellow roses for your soul.
Yellow roses to ease my pain,
yellow roses to prick my finger.
Yellow roses to draw blood,
yellow roses to prove I'm real.
Yellow roses because I love you.
487 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
20th Jul 2013 4:29am
20th Jul 2013 4:29am
And This Is Where
And this where I wait
and this is where I watch.
This is where I hope
for happiness to stay.
And this is where I'd pray
if I still believed in God.
And this is where I question
everything about this life.
This is where I close my eyes
let everything drift away.
And this is where I say I'm still alive,
not defeated yet.
and this is where I watch.
This is where I hope
for happiness to stay.
And this is where I'd pray
if I still believed in God.
And this is where I question
everything about this life.
This is where I close my eyes
let everything drift away.
And this is where I say I'm still alive,
not defeated yet.
431 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
20th Jul 2013 4:20am
20th Jul 2013 4:20am
Cold hearted child
As the forlorn soul
dies
to melancholy piano notes
and the tortured spirit
in the basement
begs for release,
and the fire
burns
away that which
frightens you most,
you still sit and cower,
whimpering and crying
in the cold cold corner
of your mind.
Poor child,
why do you weep?
Is it for your lost lover
who with his dying breath
remarked upon
the beauty of your hair?
No, no, no.
You're too cold hearted to weep
for anyone but you,
broken and alone,
just you and your demons.
...
dies
to melancholy piano notes
and the tortured spirit
in the basement
begs for release,
and the fire
burns
away that which
frightens you most,
you still sit and cower,
whimpering and crying
in the cold cold corner
of your mind.
Poor child,
why do you weep?
Is it for your lost lover
who with his dying breath
remarked upon
the beauty of your hair?
No, no, no.
You're too cold hearted to weep
for anyone but you,
broken and alone,
just you and your demons.
...
544 reads
0 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
19th Jul 2013 3:13am
19th Jul 2013 3:13am
The Red Tears Of Death
Although I'm sharing this with you while I'm dead, this is not a story about my afterlife. It's not about God, Heaven, or me watching everyone suffer after I die. This is the story if how I met my best friend. How I met Death. Death has the wisdom of an old woman and the spirit and body of a small child. The first night I met her, she was pulling her little red wagon, which at that point was already half filled with little white soul boxes. I was home alone for the weekend, so when I heard a strange clanking noise outside, it was up to me to investigate. I went out and saw a little girl,...
924 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
17th Jul 2013 3:40am
17th Jul 2013 3:40am
I'm The Girl
I'm this scared 18 year old.
This depressed girl.
I'm the girl
crying in the bathroom stall,
punching a wall
to ease the frustration.
I'm the girl in the hallway,
walking proud,
but cowering within
the facade of strength.
The girl who wants to be a poet,
wants to be like Joan Jett,
but is just too mediocre.
Who is weak and frightened,
though she acts so tough.
I'm the girl with the green hair,
the trailer trash,
the weirdo,
I'm the girl with the rope,
ready to be tied to the shower rod.
This depressed girl.
I'm the girl
crying in the bathroom stall,
punching a wall
to ease the frustration.
I'm the girl in the hallway,
walking proud,
but cowering within
the facade of strength.
The girl who wants to be a poet,
wants to be like Joan Jett,
but is just too mediocre.
Who is weak and frightened,
though she acts so tough.
I'm the girl with the green hair,
the trailer trash,
the weirdo,
I'm the girl with the rope,
ready to be tied to the shower rod.
436 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by AlbertaFish
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