Mi Abuela, The Seamstress by SavageFrog, literature
Literature
Mi Abuela, The Seamstress
My grandmother made your jeans. She knew each seam of each piece, Inch by inch. After doing such a rote task for so long, It was hard not to. For each one was just one of the many, Made in an hour or a day, A week or a year. The process was so robotic. “Just make sure to take the proper measurements.” “Fill the quotas!” “The shipment needs to be on time!” Those were the words that droned through the speakers incessantly, Every half hour, Without missing a beat. The only thing that could drown it out was to daydream. Between the soft hum of the sewing machines and Salsa, My grandmother would sew and dream. For each piece she finished not only represented an item, But hope and sacrifice. Three girls waited for her at home. They needed her more than anything, And for them, she was strong. She tried to be. As the factories closed and times changed, She remained just as determined. Someone had to. Like the seams she sewed, It would take more than a few snips to undo her spirit.
Our bed is a planted field my love, lay down to sleep,
I tell her so - she reassures me she is fine,
but there is something restless in her she will keep.
The evening sky drifts as hibiscus in mid steep
and with my hand in hers we sip the wind like wine.
Our bed is a planted field my love, lay down to sleep.
She sighs, that room needs cleaning, this floor need a sweep,
I know it to, but were the house be made to shine
there still is something restless in her she will keep.
Drowsiness comes to beg us, to implore, to weep,
and see the space beside my body, like to thine?
Our bed is a planted field my love, lay down to sleep.
But still - the
slap poetry, because slam poetry is dead by stockpremader, literature
Literature
slap poetry, because slam poetry is dead
go back where you belong; in hoe land,
before i slap you with the palm that once held your hand.
you were a thot, and i thought
that plenty of fish in the sea were dead.
for you,
i became one,
a goldfish that you trap so it would stick around.
but my heart is like your fishbowl,
it shattered,
because for your fat ass, it can not expand.
and i hope that you walk barefoot on the sharpest pieces,
so that you could at least understand.
I lost my loneliness today.
I scraped and brushed it
into the paint with blunt force.
It's over there on the canvas
covered with brushstrokes,
and my body aches
with the pain of letting it go,
of throwing it away.
It cried as I spread it thick with paint,
so I turned up my music louder
until its cries were drowned out.
The sorrow crept in,
so I painted more fiercely,
tiptoed and slipping in the wet paint,
drowned the canvas in water
until the harshness faded away.
The loneliness was still there,
but it wasn't mine anymore.
I remember being trapped in a bathroom stall as he decided which one would get to come in,
I remember laughter and high-fives after it all came to an end,
I remember false promises meant to convince me better days were to come,
I remember being pushed to the ground when I said something wrong,
I remember fighting, yelling, being pulled across the room when I said no,
I remember being scared to talk, scared to move, scared of who I was,
I remember taking deep breaths as I gave into the pressure of doing what he wanted,
I remember staring at the ceiling trying to escape my own body,
I remember lying to doctors about bruises and scars,
I remembe
Testimony of a Supposed Villain by SpicecreamSundae, literature
Literature
Testimony of a Supposed Villain
You. The innocent one, honoured high for your great hope.
You, with that gentle smile, more mild than any the world has ever known.
You. With eyes like stars, casting light upon all who travel through your grace.
You. The one whom everyone loves … for good reason.
You. Who would not dare touch a butterfly, nor dare pain a soul, nor dare speak a word in any kind of malice.
I. The dirty one, preceded by a path of sin.
I, with such a dour gaze that it brews darkness in the soul of anyone who deigns to look upon it.
I . With eyes like fire, a destructive light, decimating all in my way.
I . The one hated by the world, for my evil de
Wolf Girl Adventure 6
By Uber-Dan
Vote results:
A. To the Monster Village, it's closer and adventurers know the land well. - 3 (Winner)
B. To the Mountain Village, it's farther but if Fenny doesn't know you the Monster Village might not either. - 0
You listen to the ever present voices in your head, wondering just who they are for a moment, and decide to go the the Monster Village.
“Right, I think I should go to the Monster Village.” you said.
“Let's go then.” said Karen.
“You're coming?” you asked.
“I said I was going to be your pack right? Come on Lupa, let's go.” said Karen.
“Go