TheEpicRavenChild

This is a journal. This journal is secret. Journals are banned. I am not supposed to write things that are not notes. Thoughts are bad. I cannot help having thoughts. I cannot say them. I must write them. Please forgive me. I write until I cannot any longer. Day 1: Today I woke up. The morning bells rang at the time they do every morning. I got up and went outside. I met my classmates. We walked to school. We said the pledge. I was asked to answer a question. I answered it correctly. My classmates clapped. We ate lunch. It was pizza. I sat with my friends. We went to math and science. I answered more questions. I got them right. Then we wen

Eliza Sanders Our Mother Died October 27, 1923 Age 100 years AT REST Mothers find their children irresistible. Children find their mothers even more so. Families get torn apart. But mothers always love.

      KITCHEN WINDOW Wood laid out in slats And smooth floors where people are sweeping crying melting The browning of meat and tiny elbows They eat.       BATHROOM Fish run through the air And wet-magic flows through metal spouts To white, clanging bowls that catch your spit I can smell you now.       GARAGE Grey, as though long ago it was the color of my face Masses with long lines of squiggles running them, Trying to form things called words, Line it. Small, thin ledges where dust collects and nothing else. Blue. "Pooh was here".      CHILD'S ROOM A fuzzy noise emits from its caged face Black knobs rest on top and a large, metal rod p

There is a place Stacked together in plasma soil Melting our beliefs into one Continuous flow of energy. It is a place where candles breathe In sunset wine glasses we call chalices. This is a place where we don't cultivate verity, but variety And we forget the label of truth. This is a place to call home. But where you and you and you and me Gather in one room to discuss the meaning behind truth, You all are the heat of the hearth, Loving, playful, yet maternal, Caressing each other's skin with the Love of familiarity, While I I am the seabird burning in your flames.

She is a liar she is, A confused woman Uncertain of fate or presence. She laughs at her own death And lies to her own heart And promises the noose To all who reveal truth. So today, I saw, she didn't cry She didn't smile either But she knew that vanity was her only virtue. She's a poet, she is, Looking for ways to entertain, to build her circus To romp in the light of the moon. She yells to the sky And kisses the earth knowing that's where she's going When she decides to die. So today she prayed to nothing And wished no prayers to to others She dressed as though she cared But knew life would end tomorrow.

Prologue: Warmth. We were. They only saw. We could only understand. Warm breezes and empty grasslands. That is all that awaited us. None of us had any more words. Our brains were mute and our tongues forgotten. We seemed to have lost our ability to believe. Life was no longer an issue in our disintegrated minds. We were no longer together in our camp of forgotten woes. We had become separate in our journey so that together we were not and could never be again, and like a bouquet of bubbles, we were heading our separate directions, directed by the wind of insomnia, intolerance, and pain. We were now individual. We could no longer fathom that

 “This is where I hang up now,” she said, her voice condescending, cold, and arrogant. “Okay,” I laughed, “I love you.” The phone was silent, and I realized I had been talking to no one. I sighed and continued up to the front steps. I put my key in the key hole and turned slowly. I heard the click and I removed the key, turned the handle, and opened the screen door. As I inserted the key into the bolt lock, I heard the door unlocking from the inside and my dad opened it. “Have a nice walk?” he seemed almost sorry that I hadn't collapsed on the ground from the cold outside. Maybe he thought t