Lazy-Flutist

I was born a disappointment. The doctors did not hold me up in pride, Like Simba to the prey below, As though I would already have a crown glued to my head. Instead, the nurses consoled my father, Already sorry for the man who would not Have the next president of the United States, Or the head honcho of a multinational business. My father towered over my exhausted mother With a hand over hers, Watching me be carried away, wrapped up, hiding Anything that could be obscene to Eyes watching, And my father heard the nurses tell the truth: It’s a girl. My mother, lying in a bed Stained in juices and blood When I came crawling out to a wo

Sink me under the water and let me choke on the dirt that drowns my sins and forever let us pray that I relapse into redemption. Amen.

A hard life for a woman that had no strings attached except to a dead spouse and two living children. One of which never really cared, the other cared too much. But she lived, breathed, loved, and died. And dying was the hardest part. She was supposed to die three years ago, when she was seeing the white light appear in the hospital. But she made it out--a feud began between her children, because she lived. Unhealthy was she, living with a hanging breath trickling over her, as if teasing her with the healthy life she once had. Her voice could not call out to her son, nor could it yell at her daughter-- it could only breat

Strap on the high heels, put on that mascara and pucker those red lips: there's a new girl in town. The world will know that I am proud to look like a woman and walk around kissing the guys, but am and always will be a man.

I hate trying to think of things to put on this list. I hate when people tell me I look younger than what I am, then say a ridiculous age. I hate when guys tell me I look hot for a 16 year old. I hate when old people tell me to appreciate it now, but I hate it. I hate wearing makeup. I hate drivers. I hate when I have to generalize what I just said to make it sound like I'm condescending. I hate people that run red lights. I hate people that criticize my driving when theirs is worse. I hate people who don't turn on their blinkers. I hate people that thinks it's so smart to turn in front of me when there's no one behind me for miles

Time is an item, turning item to a mite-- emit time item.

Day 1 "You sit tight, little one," the doctor says to me, "I need to talk to your mother right now, but we'll be back." The door shuts. Today's my birthday, and I'm eight years old. All of the doctors and nurses here have been giving me candy as their presents to me, and I have a balloon they gave me when I came in. It's a rainbow. After the doctors, my mom and dad are going to get me some delicious sweets from the grocery store, to kind of cheer me up after all of this (shots really hurt, but those big machines are scary!). My mom said we should go to the doctor, because I've been a little sick these past few days. Or has it been weeks? I

A little girl is sitting on a brick wall, watching the big boys walk on by, when one catches her eye. This man is not big, not close to being tall; he wears a black suit with a yellow tie saying "my, oh my." He is talking to someone next to them all, but no one is near him; they all sigh while he does cry. The little girl asks: "To who do you call?" The man looks around, asking everyone to try and search for a lie. The girl watches as he asks the wall: "Do you hear her?" She says: "Hi" as he says "Bye." And so the man walks away, down his own hall with words to the ghosts, while she asks why he tells them to die.