Poetry and Prose
Monday, February 28, 2005
Life's A Bitch; I Hope You Die
by Laura Farr
You're a hangnail on a pinky
King zit on pizza face's nose
A dirty port-o-potty
Where the sickest tourists go
You're the pus of gingivitis
And a patch of yellow snow
You're the itchy burning fungus
Between an athlete's sweaty toes
You're the reason life is hard
But I know this much is true
I survive when shit happens
And I'll get over you
You're the scum worth skimming off
The filthy sludge of stagnant pools
You're the sticky snot I toss away
On kleenexes I used
You're the red spot on new white capris
And the rusty toilet ring
You're the phlegm that chokes me up
The moment before I sing
You're the reason life is hard
But I know this much is true
I survive when shit happens
And I'll get over you
Life's a bitch, oh well
I hope you die
Wednesday, April 28, 2004
These were written long ago... I believe I wrote the first in 2001? And the second a year later, I believe. There's lots of story behind them, but you don't need to know how the artist gets her inspiration.
I need the blessed fire of your touch
I long for the pure sweetness of your kiss
Never have I wanted it so much
I need you now, love; you are what I miss
Now take my hand and tell me all is well
We will go forth without one look behind
Should our love damn us to the depths of hell
We will be joined there 'til the end of time
I now release myself to your caress
Do with my heart and soul whate'er you please
Our trial is over now; we've passed our tests
Our love has proved true through eternities
I love you dear, on that you can depend
This love for you will last beyond time's end.
To Complete You
You beckon me the way the night sky calls
To the sun at the dawn of the morning,
And always I come to you, your wishes
My heart's desire and joy to fulfill.
Perhaps God ne'er fashioned me to be wife,
But He made me woman, to complete you.
Therefore, my love is yours, as I am yours,
And, as the sparrow knows his time for flight,
Inherent is my love, as part of me.
What joins my heart and soul to yours forever
Is not simply our "mutual affections",
But we were matched when we were made above,
And in love, in heaven God made us one.
My heart has known and loved you all my life.
Separated for a time; nonetheless,
Your soul found its mate here when you found me.
We were never lost without each other--
Our love guided you to me and joined we two.
So wherever you are, I am with you
Heart, soul, mind, body... All I have to give.
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
She spoke to me just as I was shoving my notebook and glasses into my backpack.
"Ugh, this class is always hell, isn't it?" she asked, gathering her belongings. I followed her out of the classroom, waving to some other kid I knew as we passed each other in the hall.
"I know, but classes end on Wednesday, which is definitely a plus," I laughed as we went down the stairs.
Barely missing the crowd of people coming into the Natural Science Building, we turned toward the diag, warmed externally by the sun and internally by a great sense of relief at the end of classes.
I broke the pleasant silence as we walked together. "Finals just sneaked up on me, man... Seemed like only yesterday I was unpacking my stuff in West Quad--"
"Ohmygosh I feel the same way... it's like we just got here and already sophomore year is over!"
"Time to work on the tan, right?" she observed, checking out her pale arms. Suddenly remembering who she was talking to, she glanced quickly at me out of the corner of her eyes. I laughed, mostly to calm her.
"I can work on my tan too, but it's not like I really have to, haha..." We both inspected my arms, and she squeezed "the other white meat" on my upper inner arms. I felt a strange tingle course through me at her touch and got quiet.
Then she laughed and smacked my ass with her purse, which mde me laugh. Then we both laughed again, returning the mood to its original lightness. I was glad. As we crossed the little square outside of Ulrich's, she asked if I'd like to have a coffee with her while we did a tiny bit of studying. Not really feeling the studying part of it, I agreed only to have coffee, and we both laughed again.
Starbucks was stylishly dark, as usual, the colored lampshades giving the whole café a certain warm glow. The sounds of cappuccino being whipped and ice being crushed filled our ears with background noise..
"I think I'm gonna have a tall iced something-or-other," she said aloud, more to herself than to me. "What about you?"
I stood a bit dumbfounded. "I never really come here... You've obviously never heard my rant about coffee shops. I'm a gas-station coffee girl."
"Not really. Are you serious?" She laughed at me again, then turned around to place her order. "I'll have a tall iced frappuccino with whipped cream on top." Leaning forward, giving the cashier a nice peek at her ample boobs, she added, "Make it a lot of whipped cream, please?" Her subtle flirting was apparently working, as the guy blushed a very charming rose color and made off to fill her order before he even took a second glance at me.
I elbowed her in the back. "Geez, he couldn't even wait to fill your order." She giggled and straightened her green canvas mini skirt, then sobered as the guy returned to take my order. "I'll have a tall caramel machiatto with extra whipped cream."
Needless to say, the guy took the rest of the line's orders, leaving mine to be filled by some kid with a mess of pimples that would make a pizza blush.
We got our drinks and found our table near the back of the café--the smoking section--in plain view of the rest of the tiny mall. I sat across from her and she fumbled in her military-style canvas purse for a cigarette. "You wouldn't happen to have a lighter, would you?" she asked, without looking at me.
"Nope, I don't smoke," I told her, trying very hard not to sound condescending. Apparently she didn't pick up on it.
"You don't mind if I do, do you?" She leaned, cigarette perched between her lips, toward a guy who had his lighter held out for her. When it was lit, she winked a silent "thank you" and straightened in her chair. I was amazed by the ease with which she flirted; it was like second nature to her. She was undoubtedly very pretty and dressed to show her assets, but there were about 3 or 4 other girls like that who weren't nearly as successful in their endeavors, from what I saw. They warranted a casual second glance, but this girl was different. She moved with confidence, exuded sex appeal, and I was in complete awe of her.
We started talking about our majors and classes, casual things that didn't take much effort to share. I watched her as she talked and paused every 30 seconds or so to take another drag on her cigarette. Her hands shook when she wasn't taking a puff, and I couldn't help staring at her pretty mouth as she formed each word. It must have gotten pretty bad, because after a while she stopped mid sentence and waved her other hand before my eyes in an attempt to stop my space-out. "Cameron? Earth to Cameron..."
"Sorry," I fumbled, rubbing my eyes. "I totally spaced out. What did you say?"
"It's not important," she said, good-naturedly. "Wanna get together and study some more for Monday? We can meet at the UGLI. Here's my cell," she tore a piece of paper from her napkin and grabbed a pink felt-tipped pen from her purse. "Or do you want me to call you?"
"I can call you," I said, watching her write down her number.
She handed it to me and grabbed her bag and purse. "I'd like to do it on Sunday, cuz I have stuff to do on Friday and Saturday night--my friend Katie's 21st... and we have to make it a special weekend!" Her smile revealed a row of very white, very straight teeth. "Come with us, Cam! You'll have a blast!"
I smirked. "Can't--I'm only 19."
Grabbing my arms, she shook me excitedly, "So?! We're girls--we can get in anywhere! Just dress to impress and we'll go to the Necto! Come on, don't be a chicken shit. You have to come with us!"
She wouldnt let me go until I agreed to call her on Friday night for the details. They'd planned to all wear white in honor of Katie's birthday, and Katie would wear hot pink, she told me. I tried to beg off on account of not having anything cute in white, but she told me to give her my number so she could call me for shopping on Friday morning. Finally, after I agreed to accompany her and her friends to Briarwood, she left me alone at the table. She left an almost-tangible trail of seductive heat behind her.
On her way out the door, as a final performance, she made it a point to drop her pink felt-tipped pen. When she bent down to retrieve it, her super-short olive mini allowed the whole room a peek of baby-pink panty, which perfectly matched her top. Several guys craned their necks to watch her walk out and down the block, and they were still talking about her in low voices when I got up to leave after collecting myself and my stuff about 5 minutes later.
Even I left Starbucks feeling a bit warm, myself.
Tuesday, April 06, 2004
The room fell silent. He stood motionless, holding his breath, waiting for any type of response. Finally, someone let out a long low whistle, causing the room to burst into applause and cheers, an unprecedented response. Some people were even out of their seats to show their approval, yet in spite of the warm reception he'd received from this once-cold crowd, he wanted to see the expression on her face. Without her affirmations, all this meant nothing.
Smiling graciously and moving slightly up on tip-toe, he craned his neck to see above the crowd and catch a glimpse of her face. She was smiling and nodding knowingly. As pride washed over him like a warm wave, he bowed low to the crowd. Brushing his semi-long brown hair from his eyes, he stepped down from the stage into the sea of people waiting to touch him, to question about his motivation fro writing such a beautiful piece. Would he be interested in performing at a nephew's graduation? Speak at a $300 per plate charity benefit? He brushed them all aside as graciously as a man can when on a mission, scanning the crowd to no avail. She hadn't promised to wait for him, but he hoped she would. Perhaps in the lavatory? Recognizing the bartender as she untied her half apron and headed his way for congratulations, he quickly accepted and asked his favor in the same breath. Three and a half minutes later he'd bid her goodbye and sadly made his way through the congratulations of a few stragglers still hanging out near the exit.
He pressed the "alarm off" button from his keychain, but the resounding beep echoed hollow. And there she was, next to his car, as she'd been since the performance ended. His face lit up like a Christmas tree, and she smiled with recognition.
"You've been out here the whole time?" he half-asked, nearly breathless with happiness.
"I knew I'd never catch you in that crowd. Bet they mobbed you, huh? You took a while."
He fiddled with the door locks. "Yeah. But I thought you'd get a ride with Kevin."
They both sat down and he flicked on the headlights, then shifted into drive. "Am I dropping you off at his place, or..?" he trailed off.
She looked sheepishly down at her hands folded in her lap. "L-let's just drive around for a while, if that's okay?"
There was no way he could refuse her the way she said it. So softly, a heavy question in her voice. He was touched as he pulled out of the bar's lot and onto the dark road.
They rode in silence for a while, each thinking the same thoughts as the other, knowing that what remained unspoken between them could never happen in a million years. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her modestly adjust her bra strap, but he steeled himself, focusing on the white lines of the road as they disappeared out of his vision.
She cleared her throat.
He spoke first. "So what did you think about tonight?"
"It was good--you were good. Everyone said so."
"Is that what you really think?"
"Of course. I wouldn't say it if I didn't think so, you know."
She was right. He'd never known her to give an undeserved compliment, especially when they would make love.. but that seemed like such a long time ago, when they were together. A pang of regret jabbed him in the heart--a direct hit.
"You don't want me to take you back to Kevin's?" He rubbed his hand across his face, more erase the memories from his mind than anything else.
"Nah, he's leaving for his business trip tomorrow and we already kissed goodbye when he dropped me off at the bar." Changing the subject, " Hey, why don't you show me those paintings of yours?" She turned toward him in her seat.
He guided the car toward Red Oak Estates and parked in his own driveway. The little bells of her anklet jingled charmingly as she stepped out and followed him to the front door. Unlocking it and stepping inside, he moved to turn off the alarm. She stepped out of her crimson silk mules and left them in the foyer, just like old times. "I always hate to clack on your beautiful floors," she'd always said. Yet another pang of regret jabbed him unexpectedly,a nd he visibly winced, catching her attention.
"You okay?" She searched his face for the cause of the problem.
As he looked into those deep green eyes, for a moment, he felt like he could kiss her forever. Instead he merely cleared his throat, trying desperately to clear his mind and still the rapid beating of his heart. "I'm fine. You wanna see the paintings?"
As he started down the hallway toward what he called "the gallery", she took his fingers gently with the tips of her own. He listened to the gentle patting of her bare feet against the hardwood floors until the transition to the gallery's plush carpeting. He moved aside, letting her appreciate the art as slowly as she liked, offering no guidance or swaying of preference. She stopped cold in front of his favorite, as he knew she would.
"This one is incredible, Nick," she breathed.
"I feel that way too," he replied, moving behind her. "Thanks."
They talked a bit about media and inspiration. She, a fellow artist understood even the things he tried to say but couldn't quite articulate.
She lay on her back on his bed, feet dangling off the edge. He lay in the opposite direction. They formed two thirds of a triangle, the tops of their heads resting together. They talked more about art, of life, learning, beauty, love--avoiding that which painfully reminded both that the special understanding between them still lingered, like their love for each other, though they'd both moved on to other relationships. They talked until they fell silent. And then they lay silent until he was sure he heard her soft, deep breathing.
Getting up slowly, he made his way to her side of the bed and gently moved her legs from the edge into a more comfortable position. As he did so, her gauzy dress shifted upward slightly, and she stirred, giving him a heavenly glimpse of her creamy smooth inner thigh. Before he would let his memory conjure remembrances of his mouth pressed against that same thigh, her fingers splayed and tangled in his hair, he covered her with a comforter and made his way to the bathroom to change his suit for pajamas.
When he returned he found her there, a lovely ivory contrast to the black of his bedspread. She had rolled onto her side, her hair endearingly disheveled about her head like an auburn red halo. He had not forgotten the way he would lie awake, watching her sleep, naked and warm in his bed on many nights like this; however, she belonged to another man now. He would not betray that.
Instead he flopped down in the black armchair near his desk. From here he could have a perfect view of her as she slept so peacefully. He let his eyes greedily drink her in, allowing his thoughts of her to roam freely across the plains of his mind. She stirred again and her arm fell forward slightly, pressing her breasts together. He longed to close the distance between them that felt like an chasm, ached to kiss the fullness of her breasts, cover their peaks with a rain of kisses and bury his face in the valley between them. He wanted to, at the least, lay beside her and wrap his bare arms around her to feel the softness of her skin once again. He wanted more to feel her naked legs wrapped around his waist as she filled the room with her cries of pleasure.
All this he felt as he sat on the edge of his chair, staring intently, brows furrowed. When he came to himself he felt a surge of guilt envelop him... She had trusted him, obviously. There she lay, so ethereal and vulnerable in his own bed. She slept deeply; he could see her so clearly.. so strong and so beautiful, yet so fragile there as she lay asleep, dreaming. But she was Kevin's lover now, not his. He had no right to feel that way about her still.
He shifted his underwear to relieve some of the tension that had been building up for what seemed like forever. It was undeniable: he wanted her even now. Winning her back seemed impossible, though. They were just friend at this point. Otherwise, would she be so trusting? What if she knew that he still loved her, possibly more than he ever could have when they were lovers? There was no way to sort it all out tonight.
Yawning, he leaned back and propped his feet up on the leather ottoman. He should at least try to get some sleep. "It might prove difficult, though," he sighed, with an angel in his bed.
Wednesday, March 10, 2004
Brian loved the way Megan touched him in the middle of the night as they slept. He'd questioned her last night about it, his mouth forming a smirk, his arms encircling her and pulling her closer.
This afternoon, as Megan lay mulling over that thought, she remembered telling him how much she enjoyed feeling him swell beneath her fingers, but she didn't tell him all she'd been thinking. On the occasions where she was conscious, she did enjoy waking him for mid-night lovemaking, but much of the time she was unconscious when he'd wake up to the feel of her hand massaging and kneading his hardness through his boxers. He would roll over, half on top of her, caressing her breast. She mostly woke up groggy and would concede while he loved her enthusiastically those nights. But, she thought, how could she possibly tell her lover that the manipulations of her wandering hand most of those nights, which he found so damned erotic, were motivated by unconscious actions? And worse, how could she tell him what she thought: that what gave him so much pleasure and sexual energy stemmed from the tragedies of her childhood?
Tuesday, March 09, 2004
took bout half an hour to write this and get it just as I wanted it... Leave comments if you please.
Lightly toasted yellow
Red of passionate lips
The saturation of his aura
The intrigue of his undeniable presence
The persuasion of his seductive carefree smile
The coercion of his eyes’ cleverly veiled desire
Slowly spreads like warm honey, melting her icy flesh
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
Calla, Like the Lilly
Scattered, I know... I'll revamp when I get the time and motivation.
Sometimes, idly, she'd pick her nose, a habit she'd began at 4 and never quit, to the chagrin of her parents. She stared out the window in her little corner, just remembering that, letting her mind freely wander over the people as they passed her. She didn't have to worry about being seen, as she'd taken her position in a remote corner of the stacks. Besides, as her mother Josephine so often pointed out, she wasn't particularly noticable, or beautiful, like her mother. Maybe her nose really was too broad and flat, her cheeks too full, giving her round face a resemblance to a cherub, or worse, an apple. Her only noteworthy features were a crown of thick, dark hair which she always wore tightly pulled back, and "expressive eyes"--at least, that's what she'd been told by the guys she used to fool around with in the backseats of their cars.
She didn't really feel too guilty about fooling around, she thought. Her family was more religious than she was; threats of death and hell offered little deterence from her life of sin, which, apparently, included getting felt up, occasionally leading to not-so-good sex, and sometimes smoking weed with her brother and his best friend in the laundry room of their apartment. That's not to say she was a problem child, or even a person predisposed to lawlessness. She was a good student and respected her parents' wishes, for the most part--up to the point where her rebelliousness kicked in. She knew that Josephine herself understood her daughter had a deep rebellious streak, a problem with authority that lay below her docile surface.
All worldliness and vices aside, she'd say she knew little about the world she so often ovserved from the outside. Peoplewatching was her favorite pastime, so she continued, tempted to skip her next class. It was a 90-minute long lecture on the classics of the 18th century, taught by a professor so boring she had to bring Mountain Dews to every class. Literature was enjoyable, but not more so than music, which ignited passion within her. She'd longed to practice piano or even the violin, as her music teachers over the years had cajoled more than encouraged. During senior year, her high school music teacher claimed she was blessed with the gift of long, lean fingers just perfect for making "beautiful music". Apparently he shared the same digital gift, as three months later she found herself in his office after school, sitting on his lap as he practiced his fingering inside her.
First post is dedicated to the reasoning behind this new page.
I got a jolt of inspiration this afternoon while waiting for class to start, and before I knew it I'd written almost a page (in my characteristically tiny handwriting). So.. I'll post my random short stories, poems, or even mere paragraphs of prose for you. Don't steal, and if you'd like to comment, don't be mean. Thanks.