Submissions by Poetic_License (Aka Fierce_N_Fiesty)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction If you wish to know me, read the words I put to parchment. †If you wish to know who I wish you to know, strike up a conversation. †My soul cannot hide behind a pen. †However, my entire being easily hides behind an avatar.
Some days, the smiles simply donít want to come, These are the days I try the hardest to fake it. It isnít because I think Iím infallible, It isnít because Iím afraid of showing vulnerability.
Some days, the laughter is harder to generate, These are the days I employ plenty of silliness to mask it. It isnít because I think I have a duty to always be happy, It isnít because I think everyoneís happiness hinges on mine.
Some days, the happy thoughts are lost in a mire of sadness, These are the...
Meet my Friends, I think you would like them, They don't know you, But they kind of do. They know me, some really, really well, Others just in passing. They would be amazed at all of you They know through me.
I still take those laughing fits That last for half an hour or better. You remember, The snarf, Squeal, Snort, Hiccup, Wheeze, Giggle, Groan ones. Oh yes, those. They don't know that I get that from you. All the times one of us would start giggling For no...
†I should like to take this preemptive measure to first and foremost explain that those things which you shall experience are not entirely my doing. †I am not a bad house. †I certainly never intended to be put to ill use. †Alas, the past cannot be undone, nor can it be unheard. † A pity that it may cause further unraveling, including your own.
† †Perhaps, if you are particularly sound sleepers, you may remain blissfully ignorant of the midnight escapades regularly occurring within me. †I might humbly advise a healthy draught of mulled, dark wine...
Come close enough, Stay near long enough, Pull me in tight enough, And if you listen hard enough, You will hear the tears falling in my heart beat.
The tears that I donít know how to cry out loud, The anxious hopes that are too terrible to give voice, The agonies of yesterdays swept up in torrents of nightmares, The unrelenting determination to find joy again, The terror that there is none left in the world to find.
Hold my hand gently enough, Caress my thumb with yours just right, And you will feel the fault lines...
The lowest bass of thunder rattles the windows, loose in their sills, Dried, curling, peeling white paint flakes free and floats to the floor, The door, hanging uneven from age and overuse, stands open, The air tastes like electricity, delicious in a forbidden and dangerous way.
I quietly slip out onto the creaking, worn floorboards of the front porch, The sky is painted the color of intrigue and mayhem, Surreal greens and purples with a sickly pale yellow cast, I nod imperceptibly, this shall be all the warning this storm provides.