[x]

Therapists, I don't like their taste.i.
in 7th grade
i didn’t know depression
until she told me her name,
carving forever scratches
along my limbs like
little love notes on the bark
of a tree.

she stole my rings
and left me hollow.

ii.
i had only ever met anxiety
in passing, until one day
he handed me power and told me
to hurt someone else with it.

iii.
inexperienced,
with an uncontrollable
quivering in my fingers,
he whispered, “ to survive,
you must learn quickly.”
as i shoved the bevel of a needle
into a strangers arm.

iv.
so, if a therapist
could talk away my scars
like iodine disinfects,
guide the ships
through

Please,don’t make me
fall in love with you,
again.

I don’t want to remember you,
those Sunday morning
wake-me-up kisses,
or the way your
lost boy eyes always,
always found a way
to find mine.

There are only so many times
I can allow you to slice
through my scar tissue
before I finally

fall
ap art.

lion boyi knew a boy with
eyes of gold & fire
in his footsteps.

he would roar to the
stars, declaring himself
as fearless as a king
& as regal as a lion.

"ad lucem,"
he would announce
every night when leo
would coax the virgin
from her radiant
castle.

five times around the
sun & loyal fangs bared
to shield his kingdom,
my lion boy
dances with flames.

ExposureThe wind invites itself
from underneath my door,
it reaches under
it pulls open-
the leaves come in.
A bird hops over the
threshold and tilts its
head in quick, informative
motions.

The rains follow in
after the wind and
now I have to reason with
both the animals and the storm.

Those abandoned wooden barns
with one wall collapsed,
overgrown with vines and ferns.
The epitome of giving in.

I close the door
and all the windows,
leave it to the glass
to challenge the rain.

That little bird,
somewhere in here,
is searching for where
the wind has gone.

Thunder knocks
once, then
twice.

I imagine lying
on the hood of a car
beneath the desert su

i shouldn't write when i'm stonedpeople say you're
an asshole. but that's
okay because people say
i'm an asshole, too. maybe
that's one of the reasons
you love me and i love you.

but i think more than that,
i think the biggest reason
we're drawn to each other is
that neither of us fit anywhere.
we are both lonely. and we are sad.
but we don't care, and we love it.

we are good at being
alone. we are good at
being together. if i could,
i would paint a picture
of two souls tethered close
but sitting in separate rooms
and i would point to it. then you
would understand why we will
never come apart.

Translucentand you always see right through
I've called it my masterpiece
but you've disapproved
you told me that you always preferred natural sunlight
to the dim sort of darkness I surround myself with
you've disapproved but I'm scared that it won't matter anyway

String TheoryThis is determination,
existential numbness in which
I drown from the paranoid spittle
of that dreary-eyed girl
lost in the mirror.

Jesus,
what would you do

if you saw me now, all grown in
to my predetermined curves and
the nihilistic fabrications knotted in my skin.

Maybe you still want to be
a brain surgeon. Maybe you still
weep when you’re happy and stop
when you’re lonely, drooping over like
the puppet no one remembered. Maybe
you still smoke like it’s a defiance, and love
like it’s a war; maybe time preserved you
like a corpse in formaldehyde, and maybe

you still think of me,
too.

ExperimentalistShe always said she was
An experimentalist.
I knew otherwise.
This girl was raised to
Believe that the ability of
Counting the bones in your
Rib cage is beautiful.
Sixteen years old
With sand in her blood
And shoulder blades
As sharp as knives
As long as wings.
That day I knew
Her smiles were painful
And her laughs were just
Recorded in her throat
From so much practice
In a life that was once
So happy.

A little punk rocker with a gift for singing songsGirl with the rock and roll smirk curled behind her teeth
Burning her insides for fun because there wasn’t much else to do
Aside from skipping stones across car parks
And sipping the last dregs of forbidden liquor
Behind broken trees to keep up the act of normality

Late at night when the moon is asleep
She lies on dismantled bed frames
Counting stars because lambs are too often sent to the slaughter
Lucky star heartbeats and posy veins
Hides broken windows behind her pupils

Ceiling lights tracing patterns on her cheekbones
As late night contemplation's lead back to Rome
Atlas limbs curled into her ribs
With a sense of obligation she

Pack rats I want to be
that
stale as bread,
peeling
picture of her
that you
stow(ed) away
in the beating
of your breast
pocket

this habiti have this habit of thinking without thinking.

my mind will be walking down a road
between cities

while i am plugging away at the factory,
while i am putting groceries away.

if someone were to ask me what i was thinking,
i wouldn’t know what to say.

i would have to wait hours,
long after they’ve gone,

until my mind comes through the door,
tracking all manner of shit onto the floor,

and explains himself.

Love LettersWith their condescending ink
They wrote patterns of gold
Upon parchment leather paper
Within letters of words foretold

Perhaps with this envelope
And its rose tainted scent
I can find peace in myself
In the summer days spent

Where I took in the musky smell
Of your heart.
As I held it against my chest
I picked up a pen and began to start

Dear love, oh love
How I wish to see your lovely face
These days, these mornings are
What keep me hoping in sovereign grace...

AdultsI envy those people
who leave home
at eighteen
and live like twenty-five year olds,
looking out for themselves
like folks did in the good ol’ days,
drinking whiskey straight,
driving all night with no limits,
loving and fucking without apology,
never having to remind someone
that they’re old enough—
Goddamnit, they’re old enough
and if they’re not cut loose
they’ll suffocate to death

without ever having breathed
on their own.

Sea sonnet for the girl with ocean eyesShe was southern Californian storms
On a good day
When the skies nursed the shoreline like a wound
And the rain tasted like two scoops of mint chip ice cream

She held the nebula in her palms
And poured it out onto the sidewalk
So that the gutters would have something
To talk about at night

She swallowed the ocean
And held it in her eyes
deep pools
Of mountain rock blue straining against the sky
The bluest eyes I’d ever seen
Sparrow girl with the breathless wings

Embellished in vinyl’s and cassette tapes
Gramophone gilded lashes and half-moon wrists made up
Paper tapestries taped together with Shakespeare and Green

Sunday mor

Alaska is hiding behind her eyesA girl caught up in the same game
Where circus tricks and trapeze artists
Are nothing compared to the burning of lungs
Where insomnia stains the people’s smiles
In a pale wash of sea foam angst bottled up and thrown
Into the horizon where the sky meets the earth
In a disjointed seam

She had hurricane rage eyes
And wishbone sleeves pulled tightly across her chest
To suppress her Medusa heart from cracking
The stars open and drinking their flames

Ocean funeral where Chaconne
Is played to sirens and sea urchins
Coiled beneath the oily depths of seascapes
Where her kite string spines push against the thin membrane
Of split grin skie

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The Deathly Hallows Poem (part 5)Part 4 can be found here http://fav.me/d5jcf4r
The house was smashed, broken,
demolished by the spell.
the only sign what happened,
when the everything went to hell
Hermione was the one who saw,
the old woman behind stalking.
Harry followed her, annoyed
at her slow walking.
She shook and stumbled,
as Bathilda was very old,
she was not fazed or did feel,
the bitter, biting cold.
Harry legged it up the stairs,
to get the secret present.
He waited for her to give,
what he got was unpleasant.
It was Nagini, the huge snake,
who squashed Harry tight,
she held him prisoner until
Hermione came to fight.
she zapped the creature, it did thrash
drawn from the sounds below.
then Voldemort came, his red eyes
saw them jump out of the window.
L. J. FIELDING
Part 6 can be found here http://fav.me/d5jkglh

The Deathly Hallows Poem (part 4)Part 3 can be found here http://fav.me/d5jc61m
Ron now gone, it was glum,
in the tent with no ginger.
Harry missed him and his girl,
but decided not to ring her.
To the hollow they did go,
to the double graves of potter,
James must have been handsome,
but Lily was certainly hotter.
Tears fell from his face,
onto the snowy ground.
The teen could take no more,
and had to turn around.
"Someone's there!" Hermione hissed,
her breath cold and faint.
They searched and saw no-thing,
and went out the gate.
Turning right down the street,
they had to go and roam.
but suddenly Harry ran,
to his family home.
L. J. FIELDING
Part 5 can be found here http://fav.me/d5jkfud

The Deathly Hallows Poem (part 3)Part 2 can be found here http://fav.me/d5jbzwf
Days and days the elf was gone,
To find the thief and sack.
But then they both appeared,
With a loud CRACK!
"Where is it?", Hermione did ask,
He answered "it was the toad".
They made to plan: retrieve,
and then they hit the road.
The Ministry is where they went,
With intention to get the jewel.
Horrified at the society,
under slit nose's rule.
They got the locket, but oh no!
Yaxley was on their tail.
Ron was so badly hurt,
He let out a wail!
Now in tent they did hear,
Of the goblins that deceive.
A sword not real, just a fake,
Ron turned and took his leave.
Cry did she with brain so big,
she begged him to just stay.
He was gone before it was,
the ending of the day.
L. J. FIELDING
Part 4 can be found here http://fav.me/d5jcf4r

The Deathly Hallows Poem (part 2)Part 1 can be found here http://fav.me/d5j91j0
Where to go? "Number twelve",
said Harry at the door.
All was silent, dead and dusty,
'Til dead Dumbledore rose from the floor.
Ron was scared and so was she,
She checked if someone was there.
In came Lupin with news of grim,
'Til Harry had a mare.
"Go back to kid", he did say,
angry and so cold.
Harry now regrets speaking,
To his father's friend of old.
After pains in his head,
Harry had to flee,
That was when he stumbled,
On the room of R.A.B.
He shouted with lot of glee
But then it was of fear,
"Kreacher come and do me this"
"Get locket and bring it here"
L. J. FIELDING
Part 3 can be found here http://fav.me/d5jc61m

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Submitted: October 22, 2012
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A View of Death

by =LukeFielding, Oct 22, 2012, 3:41:23 AM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

Do people really think about death?
I mean really think about it?
Especially from a non-religious point of view anyway.
You live your life. Then it ends.
How do you define end?
End is nothing. No thoughts, no sight, no sound, no existing.
I think the meaning of life is well defined as a function, a flawed process of pointless existence.
Why exist?
God it's depressing, I know.
People would rather die believing in a god to guarantee an existence after death. You cease to exist after death?
The whole function of a god is to try and make sense of the world and out place within it. An explanation of things we rather not think about.
By worshipping a deity, they will be rewarded..... huh?
The end will be dark, unaware of even the word 'dark' or anything for that matter. Not in control of anything, interact with anything or even think about anything.
End.
Brain function is biologically dictated, it is not dictated by some worthless god, which in my opinion doesn't even exist.

How much Catholics and Christians in the world?
A lot.
Ever wonder why?
God reaching out?
No, I'll tell you why: its better to believe that there is a continuation of existence, where you can relax on a fluffy cloud, looking down at the people at earth (who actually do exist).
What do you think of death?
I will embrace truth and a pragmatic approach to life. Humans think they are important.
If life does have a following existence, does that include all life?
Even if there is an afterlife, who wants to live out an eternal existence without purpose or reason? Pointless.
The meaning of life is function.
What's the point in life if it ends?

A View of Deathby =LukeFielding

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

Here is an exploratory poem/monologue that explores the idea of death from an atheist point of view

Critique by ~theLUsir Dec 6, 2012, 8:46:04 PM

I'm quite OCD when it comes to grammar and punctuation, etc. So, I was stumbling through your prose. However, there is a silver lining...

Your prose follows your thought process which makes this piece a bit more personal to the reader. And, you ask a lot of questions many of us have, so you ideas are relevant.

Try honing your literary tools to express your thoughts more clearly.

Example:

"Brian function is biologically dictated..." (misspelling).
"How much Catholics and Christians in the world?" (grammar).

Take your time and review your writing. I know that many writers write from the fountain of insight that seems to grace us all at a moments' notice. Still, we must remember to sit back and review what we have written, to preserve clarity and creativity.

What do you think?

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~xxXGloriA-ValA Oct 23, 2012

ahh death you funny topic you.

=LukeFielding Oct 23, 2012 Professional Traditional Artist

I know, I'm surprised I'm not a goth

~xxXGloriA-ValA Oct 23, 2012

I would like to say that, but I have a very elastic personality so it's hard to figure out what I can really be ahaha.

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~Phantasm1 Oct 22, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Catholics are Christians, and there are other religions with after life (sorry I'm not here to lecture you on the finer points of theology especially since I don't know that much, I'm just being nit-picky). Yes there is something comforting about the afterlife, or maybe just frightening about there being nothing after death.

=LukeFielding Oct 22, 2012 Professional Traditional Artist

Yeah i should have explained more about the poem. I went to a catholic school, so really i was oblivious of other religions to be honest. At the time i really wasn't as well read on other faiths and i thought it unfair to comment them. I realise generalising religions is unfair but I dont think about stuff like that when writing spontaneously .

In short thanks for your feedback, I have only recently began to show people my written work. It's very interesting

~Phantasm1 Oct 22, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Ah okay that makes more sense, so I take it the lines of Christianity and Catholicism being separate is a grammar error, and you just meant that was the branch you knew about? (I was thinking that's more the sort of mistake you would expect from a devout Protestant not an Atheist). Yeah I think I've got you, well other then the nitpicks I didn't find anything offensive (as a Christian though as far as generalities go, I can't help you being rather ignorant of things besides Catholicism as well, I'm working on it reading about other religions,and the like) but I set a pretty low bar, and actively avoid fighting about this.

You're welcome

=LukeFielding Oct 22, 2012 Professional Traditional Artist

Well i think at the time i was really thinking along the line of catholics being one branch of Christianity and then added christianity as an extension. I didn't over think about structure then. As for being offensive is concerned, i never meant to be offensive but i cant lie and say i didnt want to spark debate; which is ironic as i said before i never shared my poetry until recently, as it was personal and not for sharing

I respect others faith but I expect respect for my lack of it.

~Phantasm1 Oct 22, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Ah I see, well sometimes that happens. Well to each there own confrontations never been my thing, and such debates tend to go around in circles.

Well of course there is nothing wrong with that.

=LukeFielding Oct 22, 2012 Professional Traditional Artist

Yeah debates on religion are kinda pointless because it really is personal and has nothing to do with anyone else.

Thanks for this amicable conversation, i very rarely have a conversation that is actually interesting on here

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