Saturday, November 29, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Monday, October 13, 2008
Toy in a game
You have liked the same guy for a very long time, you feel that he likes you too. The two of you are always flirting back and forth. You wanted to make something more from your friendship, you thought he did also. The only problem is he's dating a very close friend who actually snatched him out of your hands three years ago. You think to yourself about how he treats you and how they always fight. You fill up with hope thinking maybe if she were out of the picture you two could be together. But no matter how much he compliments you or makes a point to be around you, or holds your hand, and rubs your legs, or gazes at you when he thinks your not looking...he still loves her. Some how he does. And she loves him. And you love them both. All you want is everyone happy, a little peace for all. But no. The only ones whom are at all happy are them. they have each other, they have you.
You are a best friend, and the perfect playmate. You can't have both of them, though you want them. One to give your everything to, and one to be there for everything.
You are not but just a toy for his love games.
And you were right from the beginning.
Being alone ensures safety from this, the worst kind of pain.
You are a best friend, and the perfect playmate. You can't have both of them, though you want them. One to give your everything to, and one to be there for everything.
You are not but just a toy for his love games.
And you were right from the beginning.
Being alone ensures safety from this, the worst kind of pain.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Stop This Game...lover
I just want your hand in mine.
Your arm.
My arm.
Intertwined.
I'm sick of this shit.
I've had enough.
I want you.
It's not that tough.
Move past the people in our lives.
Be happy for once.
Be free to be mine.
Three years of waiting.
Three years of pain.
Loving you has been in vane.
Stop this game.
End it now.
If you want me.
Show me how.
Your arm.
My arm.
Intertwined.
I'm sick of this shit.
I've had enough.
I want you.
It's not that tough.
Move past the people in our lives.
Be happy for once.
Be free to be mine.
Three years of waiting.
Three years of pain.
Loving you has been in vane.
Stop this game.
End it now.
If you want me.
Show me how.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Out There
by Ade
“How could anyone be so incredibly deranged!” I woke up to my roommates “raised voices” in the kitchen downstairs. So I pulled myself out of bed, and out the room, down the hall, down the stairs and into the kitchen. Just in time to see Anne march out the door. Soon followed by Pab who stopped to glance at me then continued on his chase. Rubbing my eyes I step towards the kitchen window thinking “why do things have to be so loud on a Tuesday morning?” No, afternoon. Hell, I’m not even sure if it’s Tuesday.
I thought for a moment about finding out what the big deal was this morning. But instead I grab some coffee, warm and old but still caffeine. Walking into the Den, I flick on the tube. News, the same news I watched last night. Or was that last week? I should really find out what day it is. Leaving the TV on, I walk to the bathroom and sit on the counter, looking into the mirror. Apparently I cut my hair at some point. And dyed it too.
But thank God I still have the same nose, and all those familiar features. No surgery for this face. Nope. Anne had some work done I do recall. Her nose looked good before but she didn’t agree. She’s already thinking Botox at our age. Some people.
Bored with my face. I grab Anne’s makeup, put on some eyeliner. Nice and dark. Just how she hates it on me. Always telling me I should try lighter tones, more natural colours. Lime green lipstick is natural to me.
But I decided against more makeup; instead I grab Pab's shaving cream and make a shaving cream beard and walk out of the bathroom. Off to Anne’s room, I squeeze into her best, tightest jeans. Leave my dirty clothes from last night … or last week on her floor.
Walking into Pab's room in jeans and a bra, a bra I don’t own. His room is clean. That’s not Pab-like. I open his top drawer; there isn’t anything in it.
His closet is full. Full of jeans and band shirts and his one dinner jacket from two years ago when we went shopping for my date. He bought my shoes and I bought his jacket.
I grab the jacket, walk downstairs, and out onto the patio. Looking over the edge. The grass needs to be cut. I walk in to the kitchen. It’s 11:00. Bet they’re walking hand in hand now. I wipe off the shaving cream beard and make some toast.
After toast I decide to take a shower. I head upstairs, knocking happy pictures off the wall.
I step into the shower, run the cold water, and sit down.
Running my foamy fingers through my short hair.
Outside on the front step, I start thinking on occasion; I’m known to do that.
I think that if they walk up that street right now and they are holding hands, shirts inside out, and light “shimmer,” pink lipstick on Pab’s ironed collar. I may just get up and run the other direction. I also think I might stay and tell Pab how I feel. While I’m thinking all of this, Pab walks up the street. Alone.
by Ade
“How could anyone be so incredibly deranged!” I woke up to my roommates “raised voices” in the kitchen downstairs. So I pulled myself out of bed, and out the room, down the hall, down the stairs and into the kitchen. Just in time to see Anne march out the door. Soon followed by Pab who stopped to glance at me then continued on his chase. Rubbing my eyes I step towards the kitchen window thinking “why do things have to be so loud on a Tuesday morning?” No, afternoon. Hell, I’m not even sure if it’s Tuesday.
I thought for a moment about finding out what the big deal was this morning. But instead I grab some coffee, warm and old but still caffeine. Walking into the Den, I flick on the tube. News, the same news I watched last night. Or was that last week? I should really find out what day it is. Leaving the TV on, I walk to the bathroom and sit on the counter, looking into the mirror. Apparently I cut my hair at some point. And dyed it too.
But thank God I still have the same nose, and all those familiar features. No surgery for this face. Nope. Anne had some work done I do recall. Her nose looked good before but she didn’t agree. She’s already thinking Botox at our age. Some people.
Bored with my face. I grab Anne’s makeup, put on some eyeliner. Nice and dark. Just how she hates it on me. Always telling me I should try lighter tones, more natural colours. Lime green lipstick is natural to me.
But I decided against more makeup; instead I grab Pab's shaving cream and make a shaving cream beard and walk out of the bathroom. Off to Anne’s room, I squeeze into her best, tightest jeans. Leave my dirty clothes from last night … or last week on her floor.
Walking into Pab's room in jeans and a bra, a bra I don’t own. His room is clean. That’s not Pab-like. I open his top drawer; there isn’t anything in it.
His closet is full. Full of jeans and band shirts and his one dinner jacket from two years ago when we went shopping for my date. He bought my shoes and I bought his jacket.
I grab the jacket, walk downstairs, and out onto the patio. Looking over the edge. The grass needs to be cut. I walk in to the kitchen. It’s 11:00. Bet they’re walking hand in hand now. I wipe off the shaving cream beard and make some toast.
After toast I decide to take a shower. I head upstairs, knocking happy pictures off the wall.
I step into the shower, run the cold water, and sit down.
Running my foamy fingers through my short hair.
Outside on the front step, I start thinking on occasion; I’m known to do that.
I think that if they walk up that street right now and they are holding hands, shirts inside out, and light “shimmer,” pink lipstick on Pab’s ironed collar. I may just get up and run the other direction. I also think I might stay and tell Pab how I feel. While I’m thinking all of this, Pab walks up the street. Alone.
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