She was like a traffic accident and everybody was slowing down to look at her. The type of misfortune that changes a person. Everyone turned their heads as if she had the whole world’s eyes beaming in her direction. But the most beautiful people that walked this planet were the one’s who were damaged and hurt. For they solemnly knew what it was like to be broken down to the smallest of matter, the size of a grain. To the untrained eye she was just an ordinary girl. Although deep down you would feel her pain from every word that came out her mouth. She understood what it felt like to endure pain and suffering. How words do more damage than guns and cut deeper than the sharpest of knives. Leaving internal scars that never completely heal. But that didn’t stop her from being the woman she is today. She was just a girl with flaws stitched together with good intentions. Keeping her composure throughout the years had taught her a great lesson. The beauty of a woman does not come from how much make up she wears, the clothes she buys, nor the style of her hair. But the way she is able to carry herself through the day and to know one’s worth.
A hundred faces and a thousand places.
I still haven’t met anyone like you.
Fancy planes and a million names.
But no one stands out like you.
Dozens of letters and countless you could do betters.
In the end I chose you.
Plenty of fish in the sea although they weren’t for me.
And after all this time, I still haven’t found anyone like you.
streetwalker.
suffocating, solely from the skew
my selfish soul takes hold
surprisingly sheer, sometimes too
shallow, i know.
searing, suddenly smoked into
steep sunward shambles.
this sloven, sheepish girl,
slinking through shady sidelines
stopped by sexual skirmishes.
suffering, slipping slyly through slums
sinking again into spineless
shadows.
she scathes, knowing so much shame.
scattered from street to street
she strives to swim in the sea,
spare her last savings
seeking somebody to save her
from sordid servitude with
starless, swindling,
streetwalkers.
It was inevitable. The way your sweet-tempered hands grasped my aching body. How I was such a nervous wreck although you would put my mind at ease. And I couldn’t help but fall. You had that gravitational pull which attracted me in more ways than one. I felt like you were living in a different universe, and I had no choice but to watch you in awe. These dark months have been adding up and you were still light years away from me. Although you were endlessly amazing. Constantly expanding, your beauty engulfed the dark empty space of matter that flattered the night sky like a blanket of stars. Because there’s nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it’s sent away. No mountain nor sea, Nothing of this world could keep us apart. Because this is not my world…You are.
Olive Juice
Kensey HoThis is an original piece that I’ve been making for the past two to three hours.. I’d really appreciate it if you just gave it a listen. It’s pretty much inspired by AJ Rafael, with pieces of his songs mixed in.(:
I used my piano, guitar, a rice shaker, and a cajon drum.
- Kensey Ho (@kenseylykspho)
horizon lines-
the beginning-
start of something fresh
always leaving notes
of possibility
of positivity.
looking toward the
horizon, knowing the
past is just that-
the past.
to be forgotten, soon
all is just a distant
memory locked behind
closed doors.
whatever happens next
remains unknown,
you continue to seek
to the answers of your
deepest questions.
you hope, at the very
least, to gain some
understanding-
am i getting closer to my
destination, or am i
continuing to recede?
will now finally be my time
to find a love worth
fighting for?
can i safely say that
maybe this time i wont get
hurt? thrown in the dirt-
trying hard not to let past
mistakes influence this
crisp opportunity.
forgive, forget, move on.
that is all you can really
do. keep striving, keep
thriving-
look ahead, the path
you’re on the only one
that matters now.
the setting sun holds
your answers
horizon lines bare
all contingency.
thousand mile stare
thousand mile stare
Untitled
There are moments when
I catch a glimpse of you:
in an empty room,
in a stranger’s touch,
in a passing voice.
Moments that stop me in my tracks,
and for a fragmentary second
I am gone.
Missing.
It takes only a second to return,
just long enough to catch my breath,
to clear my thoughts.
I cannot be gone for long.
There are things to do.
I cannot be gone for long.
I know this is an odd request, especially at this hour...
but would anyone on here care to give me advice on how to edit this?
No matter how much I change it, it still feels really shaky.
Titled: Asleep
Often times, I am struck by unrelievable dread. It follows me as a lion to it’s prey, not allowing me to reach a safe distance before creeping ever closer. It stalks, taunts. Then hits me, full force, sinking it’s teeth into every patch of soft tissue it happens to find. And, all at once, every beautiful thing nearby wilts—the sun blackens, the world is no longer technicolor. The city in which I live is overrun with every bad intention that can be had. My inner optimist, the only salvation left in this shades-of-gray world, dies, only to be resurrected by the one thing I will never truly possess; love.
On days like these, I go to the only sensible place there is left in this stop-motion life. An old oak tree, five streets down from my own. Its leaves form a canopy rivaled only by those of the ever fading rainforests, and it’s roots are thicker than most grown men’s arms. It is my oasis, my hideout reserved for running from only the most solemn of thoughts. Many times, even, I found myself at it’s base with no memory of what had driven me. I am the sleepwalker, unaware of his own reality, walking only towards comfort. I have been told that I harbor the dreamer’s indifference towards the world beneath their feet, and this is what scares me.Thoughts like these draw me to even deeper ponderings, eventually leading me to question my own morality.
Could I kill another man, if ever the need arose? How would such an act affect me; would I feel even the slightest pang of guilt, or worse, would I feel enlightenment?
-grumbles- probably too many metaphors. Watch, I’ll have overcompensated the life out of this piece.
The Bench
StebenfryHey. Hi. Hi there.
So this is a piece for two pianos which I made ages and ages ago, but I’m still rather proud of it. It would be absolutely swell if you’d listen, guys.
I do apologise for the shitty sound quality. In absence of any real equipment, I had to record this on my phone.
I plan to put up some other stuff I’ve done which is more recent, if you want.
Thanks!
Attention all 20-somethings:
I am currently creating an original collaborative piece of theater based on the stories of 20-somethings.
The piece aims to find common ground between all of us as we try to navigate through this confusing yet important time of our lives.
So, what do I want from you? I want your stories. I want to hear about you. I want to hear about your experiences and thoughts and feelings. Consider me your personal semi-anonymous therapist. Did you go to college and feel like that was worthless? What’s it like finding a job/career? Does dating drive you mad? Did you skip college and have trouble making those experiences relevant?
Please send me your stories. Everyone will get credited in the program along side their name, age, and where they are from. I’m trying to make this as expansive as possible.
The piece will culminate in a 20 minute original piece of theater (that has yet to be titled) and will have it’s premier this summer as a part of Boom Theatre Company’s Brave New Works Festival.
You can message me, email me @ lisa.davidson.011@gmail.com, call me - anything really. If you’re not down with writing, we can meet for coffee, drinks, lunch/dinner, we could have a sleep over (my bed is pretty comfortable and I’m good at making popcorn). You name it.
Thanks in advance! All submissions will be required by Feb. 8th.
