Hi, I'm Kristin. I've actually already posted a few things on here, but I just found out there was an introductions page. I've always loved writing, and I've always been told I should be an English major in college and become a writer. So now I'm an English major and writing just a bunch of essays (yay college). Now that the semester is over I really want to start writing more. My concentration is in creative writing, so I'm always open to helpful critiques and feedback. Part of me hates sharing my writing because I think it's bad but I'm trying to get out of that mindset. After all, how am I supposed to grow as a writer if no one ever reads what I write? So far I've loved reading everyone's stuff and I can't wait to read and share more!

I sat on the side of the tub and turned the water on. Suddenly, I was in a jungle in this magic tub. I felt the ground shake as a huge dinosaur came towards me. I froze. Morgan Freeman came out waving a foam finger and told the dinosaur to go away. Strangely enough, it listened. His soothing voice always calmed me down too.

I enjoy the ones who use words like paradigm and empirical.

Those folk surely have it all together

Not me, though. Little me. I’m just a rotting vegetable eating meat sack, marinating and languishing in my own juices.

Having said that, yesterday, the veins - my veins - broke through this crazy, crawling concrete skin, exiting out and snaking off in all directions, seeking something, anything to bond with other than me, their host.

At least that was the impression I got based on available evidence.

This made me quite a bit sad. Have I become so difficult to live with that my insides want to be outside?

Betrayal is not a strong enough word.

Taking stock of what was left of myself, I tried calming and centering, adopting an arbitrary approach to what was clearly an outrageous and embarrassing situation.

I spoke in thought to my evacuating innards, explaining to the tyrannic tributary traitors

that without me, they were nothing. This was a codependent coexistence and I was its front man.

Prying a pulmonary from a chair leg, I carefully folded it back inside my chest cavity, only to have the mutinous bastard work its way back through my fingers and wrap itself around the TV.

This vena labyrinth of tissue and plasma that had invaded my once living room was now a prison.

I resembled a grotesque, emaciated octopus. Or that alien from Alien 2.

I've dealt with rejection all my life, but nothing could ever prepare me for something of this magnitude

Hell, I've had the pin pulled on me by the best. Generally what happens is they walk away shaking their heads and blaming our association on either a momentary lapse of reason or alcohol or both. I never worried that much; never been big on attachment anyway.

I was an only child that was very much poisoned early on by his own company.

Never always this detached though.

The kicker was the day my imaginary friend ripped my heart out.

“Its not you, it’s me,” said Randell, as he left via a portal at the rear of my closet. I shut down that day.

Moving along.

I haven't budged from this blood soaked sectional sofa in something like 22 hours.

The veins - my veins - have anchored themselves to a variety of heavy objects, and I am pinned down and being held to ransom by my own body. A body I thought I knew well. A body that, until recently, I had no reason to mistrust.

I hate to moan, though. We all have our problems in life. This just took me by surprise, is all, and I really need a change of underwear.

I'll bounce back, no doubt. I always do, albeit anemic and pissed off. And I will extract fair revenge.

I will hammer each and every one of those traitorous scumbags with whatever low-grade heroin I can find, or I will die trying. This is personal.

Cheers

no matter how fine the feathers

none of it matters

if your wings are broken 

you will never be able to fly 

As I shook the bed

Convulsing with heartbreak and similar emotion

He witnessed nothing,

Entranced by the dance

Of music parading in his eardrums. My agony

was not loud enough, he

Did not hear me screaming

How much I wanted him

Shall I compare you to a winter's night?

You are more frigid and more pitiless. 

Blizzards slam into towns with all their spite,

And winter's an eternal barrenness.

At times will Jack Frost's magic flare up wild,

And oft will dregs of silver bleach the earth;

And every man and beast touched be defiled,

Claimed victims of the season new in birth. 

But your sour aura always will prevail,

Nor can your visage ever hope to smooth,

Nor for you shall e'en death desire to hail,

When I have made known to the world this truth.

            In only parting with life shall I cease,

            And only then will you and I find peace.

I can't go to sleep

don't make me go to sleep

these secrets that I keep

don't make me go to sleep

these voices in my head

keeping me from bed

I can't go to sleep

don't make me go to sleep

the past is all I see

regrets reminding me

replaying every mistake

how many scenes I would remake

I can't go to sleep

don't make me go to sleep

please

don't make me go to sleep

I can't go to sleep

who knows

what I'll

do to me

worse than an animal

at least dogs can be trained 

you won't even eat the food we so carefully prepared

i always did what my dad wanted so why can't you

why don't you use your brain more

ungrateful little girl 

i never disobeyed my father

you were a regrettable accident

you make me so mad 

screaming at you two ruined my throat

i tear at my skin

and the tears overflow

when will you shut up

please do tell since i'm screaming to know

hold the razor with shaking hands

if i die will you love me

oh god oh god oh god oh god 

with head in hands to knees

i'm sobbing hard enough to gag

when the hell does it end

Several years ago, I was told by my mother to practice the piano again. I refused, and she beat me with a plastic clothes hanger, screaming that I had to, that I should never refuse my elders. She forced me into the bathroom where she hit me hard enough that the hanger snapped against my hip. The next day, my parents were talking about sending me off for adoption. I went to bed hungry, and lay there wondering whether I should leave. I was afraid that my new family would be worse, but I did not want to stay in this family. My mind went around in circles like this for several hours, but eventually I was told to come out and eat, and I never was sent to be adopted. 

I have a friend who goes through something similar to this frequently. Hearing about her experiences made me remember this incident. I think I was around eight at the time, but I might've already been depressed. How awful is that? 

I still wonder whether I should have told them I wanted to be adopted.

silence reigns here

in cold ink rather than water

feed on the corpses 

that drift down

through the dark

like pale snow

even if you are light

we all live a life

of eternal hunger

of snapping jaws

and fluttering lures

in the crackling fathoms

where silence reigns