He’s Just this Boy…

This is one of my character analysis pieces.

He’s Just this Boy…

                He had massive hands.  They made women feel safe and vulnerable at the same time.  His arms and chest were large.  They allowed his shirts to cascade over his body, showing him off just enough to make you want to know what was hiding underneath.  Temptation coats his being.  It coats his wide lips.  It was either barefoot or boots, nothing in the middle.  He said that boots last longer; that was his reason.  He had a smile that, though it had some devilish spice, it also spilled innocence.  His eyes have as many personalities as his soul: changing colors consistently.  He’s memorable, to say the least.  His build is wide, and his aura attracts me.  I want to know him, know more about him.  He’s the person that will insult you, but if you’d pay any attention, you’d find a compliment standing behind the sheer curtain of a mock insult.  His heart is innocent and loving, both a child’s heart and a widower’s heart.  But he never notices that.  He fakes thick skin, but his soft heart is easy to touch.  He’s not as tough as he looks; it’s a façade.  I know he’s sensitive.  His eyes scream it.  He’s wanted to hurt himself and he’s wanted to die.  He’s tried to…   He says, “They all know me,” “everyone knows I…”.  Does anyone know you?  He’s done things he’s not proud of.  He’d never admit it, but I know the regret is there.  He’s always telling me not to judge him.  I never am.  Maybe I’m just thinking, “Wow, he’s incredible.”  That doesn’t go through his head.  He’s too modest.  His build is wide and his aura attracts me.  I want to know him, know more about him.  He’s lost someone.  You can tell it too.  No one needs to tell you; its written on him, etched into his history.  He has a broken heart, a heart that tries not to fall.  Let it fall.  One day, his broken heart will carry him away, take him to his islands, to his future.  He will have a gorgeous woman on his arm, a gorgeous woman who loves him and his every detail.  And he will become a proud man with a long life. 



Another Poem... Somewhat Sad

There are a lot of parts to this poem that also seem mediocre and a few phrases... I'm not sure if they're too cliche. 

(Ohhh... titles. :/ )

My wrist is contained my the tight grip of a lonley soul.

Love makes me bleed.

Rather, the lack there of.   (<- cliche?)

Their ignorance carved my body,

An Object.

A disturbing piece of art designed to make others

cry.

To make others think, feel lucky.

Maybe even entertain?

My heart - diseased by the tainted world.

Tainted with what?

Reality?

Swollen eyes,

A beating fist,

Decorating my face with the acceptance there never was.

Love that can never be.

Naked.

Scared.

Look at nothing but the ground.

Don't look up.

What might you see?

Another Poem That I'm Not Quite Sure About...

I feel like this is... juvenile and very mediocre.  But... I still do see potential.  Again: Advice, Ideas, Anything!!!!!! Constructive criticism?

(Title..?)

Paper cranes and words of hope.

Peace

Inspire

Honor.

Thoughts of people

coexisting.

Loving one another.

But hopes, dreams, and love lie.

Things that just can't be.

We set our hearts apart from us

and move mechanically.

Love:

lost. Loyalty:

failed. Trust:

broken...

Preprogrammed minds full of hate

and truthlessness and woe.

But here we are...

Let's do the impossible.

A Piece About Winter

       This piece was written sometime in September.  I can't tell if I like it or not.  I know that there are certain lines that I do like, but I don't know if I should fix up the piece or scratch it and just steal a few lines.  There's something about it though that made me want to post it... Maybe because it's almost winter!!

(  Title-less :(  )

The silence of winter rings in my ears,

As my footprints fade in the snow.

The trees shiver,

though the snow weighs their branches,

and gives them a blanket of hope.

The heartbeat of winter stays constant and clear,

Each snowflake a beat to its pulse.

The fire stays fluid and warm, like the blood that blesses that pulse.

Free-write #2 "When I Show You My Words"

            When I show you my words, I hope you see them.  I hope you see them, and read them, and think.  When I show you my words, I hope they touch you.  Effect you.  Change you.  When I show you my words, I hope you love them.  Or hate the. Anything, so long as you feel them.  I hope you trust them.  And me.  I hope you accept me.  I hope you touch me, just like I touched you.  Change my world with a smile or a nod.  Or a response. 

            It is sometimes difficult to embrace another’s writings.  Writers are different.  We’re afraid of different.  But please… embrace my writing.  Embrace me.  Whether or not you do, I will embrace you. I will embrace your piece.  I will embrace your mind.  When I show you my words, let them be yours.  Or let them contradict yours.  Or let you care.  Have an opinion.  Have a mind and some thoughts.

            When I show you my words, be courageous.  As courageous as I in showing you my words.  When I show you my words, let them seep through the paper and into you.  Let them melt from my speech and baptize you.  When I show you my words, know that now you hold me; you hold power over me; you know me.  Deeper than you ever else would.  Together, we will be two individuals connected.  Momentarily and forever on.  Because of my words.  Because I showed you my words.  When I show you my words, I hope you smile.  I hope you know what you did for me and how I trusted you.  When I show you my words, I hope you react.  To me.  To my work.  To my words.  

Personification Piece

So this was one of my options for my personification piece.  The first two stanzas (first especially) - I am decently happy with what I managed to get them to, though they still need work (always).  The third stanza - What do you think? Continue? End it there? Can you give me opinions?  Also, the abstract concept of hope was supposed to be incorporated, but I think I prefer it without. Please give me opinions and possible revisions! Thanks guys!!

Love, Lust, and Passion

Love buttons his shirt,

Knowing nothing of the

Day, the

Night. The

Moments, the

Memories

To come.

Lust is in a light pink dress,

Flowing and innocent.

When she reveals herself,

Uncovers herself,

From the sheets that hide her,

You'll see

Red Lace.

You'll see her.

Her body.

Skin.

Passion is the moon.

the moon,

the stars,

That night.


EDIT:

Befriend my Heart

 

Love buttons his shirt,

Knowing nothing of the

Day, the

Night, the

Moments, the

Memories

To come.

Lust is in a light pink dress,

Flowing and innocent.

When she reveals herself,

Uncovers herself,

From the sheets that hide her,

You'll see

Red Lace.

You'll see her:

Her body,

Skin.

Passion holds the moon above their

souls.

Befriending

the sky,

the stars,

That night.

Violence Piece

This was my piece on violence. Opinions? I want to fix it up a little and maybe submit it for the literary magazine.

The Devil’s Demon

Pin me down.

Burn my body.

The violence of a mind,

The cutting destruction.

Of my flesh.

Naked.

Call me flesh.

It gives less

Of the illusion

Of a human.

Call me flesh,

Naked.

As if I weren’t so vulnerable already…

Tear me apart.

Destroy me.

Tell me I can’t cry.

Tell me I can’t scream.

Make my heart numb…

Forever…

Send me to heaven,

Send me to hell.

Just send me away.

At least hell

Won’t be so lonely.

Lonely-

When I have to look at you.

Because I have to see you.

Stare at you.

Those eyes,

Predatory.

Make me your pray.

Treat me like an animal,

And detach me from myself.

Make me wish for death.

Taunt me with it.

The Devil is welcoming

 When compared to the consumption

Of your flesh.

Horns and flames: my new safe haven.

I’d sell my soul for a chance at death.

Either way,

Does it matter?

God cannot exist.

If you do.

They say make love,

But you make hate;

Make spirits disappear.

Take away

All my power.

Don’t let me choose.

Don’t give me choice.

Let even my own death

Not be my option.

And take away that one last thing

That was always

Supposed to be mine:

My sexuality.

Let the immense physical pain hold no comparison to the aftermath of the beating that you have inflicted on my soul.

Make my tears crumble

In their own worthlessness.

Burn me in places

That I don’t want you to see.

Make me bleed

From places I’m now ashamed to have.

And make me cry:

From my heart.

From my soul.