Tag: Shortstory

The Raven

I saw a dead raven today.

It was night and I was rushing to get to my bus

And I almost stepped on it.

Its body was upright,

Legs pointing to the trees above.

In the trees,

Many ravens stood as if to blend into the dark sky.

My first reaction was shock.

My second reaction was sadness.

My third reaction was peace.

Once the calm of the situation set in within me,

The ravens from above began to cry.

It was a heartbreaking cry, but it soothed me.

Like the sweet voice of a baby’s mother, cooing and cooing.

Oh, how I pity that raven

For dying in peace with their fellow kin surrounding and mourning them.

The raven is apart of the sky now

And soon be apart of the earth.

Is it sad? Yes.

Is it disturbing that I found the idea of a dead raven on the sidewalk calming? Yes, indeed.

But, it’s just have I make peace with the world and the things going on within it.

A Product of You

Whoever is there above,

Whoever thought of me,

Created me,

And produced me,

I want to give my thanks.

Thank you for my kindness.

My heart is full of love and I am always willing to give it out.

Thank you for my mind.

It produces powerful thoughts and emotions and wholesome poetry.

Thank you for my libido.

It drives me and my partners insane, but it is what builds and drives my passion.

Thank you for my impulsivity.

I have made great memories, great opportunities and great changes due to it.

Lastly,

Thank you for my otherness.

I am a being of another world, 

I am a being destined to cause harm or peace.

I am a product of you, higher being.

A Thin Line

For me, the lines between love and obsession has always been blurred. I never understood the difference until my first romantic encounter. The first boy I’ve ever been obsessed with was named Ronald. He was a well known boy in at my high school. He spotted me, he asked one of my friends for my number and the rest is history. He’s the first boy I had created feelings for and he’s the first boy to ever betray me. The full history of our relationship is long and shows how idoitic and naïve I was. I imagined having kids with him, going to the same college as him, I revolved my entire future around him. 

Luckily, obsession’s cloak began to fall and I realized that he was only an obsession. It came to me, when his face was between my thighs, that I never actually liked him. I was just obsessed with who he could be, who I wanted him to be. The feelings I thought I had for him were created by me, in my mind, to hide my obsession. That’s when disgust came in. One interesting thing about obsession is its relation to disgust. I remember looking down at Ronald during the act. His tongue was becoming well acquainted with my left labia and he seemed to be enjoying himself. But I wasn’t enjoying it at all. My idealized version of him had worn off and he was just a plain, useless boy. He was never special, I just wanted him to be in my head. 

What Am I?

I am a woman who loves erotic horror,

Who enjoys seeing blood drip off of a curved body.

I am a woman who loves soft material,

Who prefers cashmere wool over silk fiber.

I am a woman who loves nature,

Who dries her dying flowers so a way to return it back to Earth.

I am a being who enjoys and embraces horror,

Who believes terror is ethereal.

I am a being who loves her own suffering,

Who cries and screams for enjoyment.

I am a being who doesn’t experience real emotions,

Who can easily love someone one minute and hate them the next.

I am something otherworldly,

Something that isn’t quite right.

I am something unnatural,

Something that can predict the future or reveal the truth through dreams.

I am something prodigious,

Something that is capable of creating authentic beauty

And something that is capable of creating pure savagery.

High Poetry #1

I love love.
Love is a key aspect of my horrific being.
I grew up learning my unlimited amount of love should be saved.
It is a sacred gift.
However, 
The unlimited amount of stored love can become overwhelming.
It leads to my common feelings of loneliness and hopelessness.
So, 
I just give it out.
I give it out romantically by sharing heartfelt kisses with my lovers.
I give it out platonically by listening, admiring and cheering those I allow close.
I give it out internally by listening to my spirit and mind the first time.
I give it out exteriorly by showing kindness and love to the things around me, 
Whether I want to or not.
Don’t be fooled,
I am still a deeply disturbed woman,
But my kindness and love is a powerful, maternal force within me.
The world is still a cruel, heartless place,
But love and the possibility of love makes it worth living. 

Childhood

I don’t remember much from my childhood,
I don’t even know what my first memories were.

But I remember small things.
Like the movement of my momma’s hands while she cooks.
Like the paper airplanes my father made.
Like the vanilla wafer and cheese snacks my parents gave me.
Like the moment my father taught me how to snap my fingers and the moment he taught me how to whistle.
Like the phrase, “It has to be perfect.”
Like the taste of leftover cake mix on an empty bowl.
Like the feeling of fresh grass and concrete on my toes.
Like the nights sleeping in my momma’s bed when father would get off late.
Like the feeling of scrapping my knees on the neighbor’s steps.

I remember big things too.
Like the punishments my parents and relatives would give me. 
Like the fantasies about running away from my family and never seeing them again.
Like the envy I had for my momma’s effortless beauty.
Like the cruel, cruel treatment of other students. 
Like the early, unwanted sexual experiences before the age of nine.
Like the feeling of a blade against my thighs skin.
Like the pain of fresh cuts against jeans.
Like the first day I started taking medicine. 
Like the nights where I would talk, cry, and beg to the moon because it was my own comfort and the only thing that would listen.

My childhood is a blur and I wish I could remember it,
But, I guess, it is a good thing that I don’t. 

The moment my dad told me he didn’t love me

The moment my dad told me he didn’t love me

Wasn’t very shocking.

It was disturbing, 

But also confirming.

Days before this happened,

I already had thoughts about how my dad didn’t love me or show me much affection and attention as a child.

He didn’t show up to any of my concerts,

He always backed out of taking me somewhere,

And he even showed up after my high school graduation.

It was bad to the point my teachers thought my mom was a single mom. 

There were good moments and memories,

But he still wasn’t really there. 

The moment my dad told me he didn’t love me

I couldn’t focus on his comments for too long.

I had to clean up my apartment,

Take care of my kittens,

Prepare dinner,

And go to work.

“That’s what grown people do.”

Mind you, 

I’m not even in my twenties. 

My dad prioritized his job before he would prioritize his wife and daughter.

My dad would make sexist remarks and told me I would never marry because I’m not submissive.

Mind you,

I am very submissive and motherly to the men I am dealing with. 

But I am not going to be submissive to my dad.

My dad never saw me as his equal

Or his daughter.

So the moment my dad told me he didn’t love me

Was an weird moment,

But comforting.

Sweet Treat

Today, I decided to try making sugar cookies.
I’ve never made them before,
But I was craving the taste.

The first bite felt surreal.
I felt like I was in a dream, 
A familiar dream.

The second bite felt refreshing.
I was transported back to that familiar dream,
With my beautiful husband and my sweet baby.

The third bite felt loving. 
My husband’s lips were on my neck
While my devilish baby played with strands of my hair.

The fourth bite felt orgasmic.
My husband’s hunger and my baby’s beauty overwhelmed me.
I felt whole again. 

The final bite felt mournful
I knew I would have to say goodbye,
So I gave my husband and my baby a heartfelt kiss.

As the sweet treat fades from my deprived tongue, 
I realize I am 
Once again 
Alone.
And it was once again, 
A near dream of a distant reality.

The Woman

As a child, 

I would prefer to spend a lot of time alone.

My parents thought it was quiet odd 

And would often check on me.

Unknown to them,

I was never alone.


The woman in the corner would be there,

Watching.

It scared me at first,

But over time,

I began to accept her presence.

She would stroke my hair

While I was asleep.

She would wipe my tears 

While I cried about a worthless boy.

She would listen to my pleas 

While I cried and begged for death.


She was there

During my loneliest moments

In youth. 

And she’s here

During my proudest moments

In adulthood.

Honey

Baby, you are mine.

Your soft tongue slowly traces my honey covered lips. 

My body curves and twists to fit perfectly into yours. 

The honey turns into blood as your sharp teeth bite deeply into my lips, 

Causing the lips between my thighs to heated up

And squeeze together. 

You let out a small grunt and soon your blood begins to pool in your mouth as I pierce you with my knife.

My excitement increases as the pool of blood overfills and flows into my mouth. 

You begin to fight back, but you are fixed into my arms. 

“Please, no.” 

Your begging begins to lead me to climax as your body becomes weaker by the second.

The thought of taking and inhaling your life, your soul into mine is arousing.

Your spirit is exiting your body and I prepare to take it 

And entangle it with mine.

You are mine, my dear.

You are mine in every single way and beyond this world,

You will continue to be mine.