rootsbudsflowers

rootsbudsflowers Nov 2015

There once was a father antelope
Who loved fruit salad
As well as his one and only
Antelope daughter.

One day
A young boy antelope
Came sauntering over
And took a liking to
The daughter.

So he asked the father antelope,
"May I marry your daughter?"
And father antelope said,
"No."

And oh the young boy antelope
Begged and
Begged and
Begged
The father for his daughter's
Hand in marriage.
But he refused.

But you see,
The daughter antelope
Loved the young boy antelope
And she wanted so badly to marry him.

So she made up her father's
Favorite dish,
A fruit salad
With all the fruits you could
Think of.

There was
Strawberries
And
Blueberries
And
Cantaloupe
And
Watermelon
And
Every
Single
Fruit.

She knew this was the way to her father's heart
So she brought it to him
That very day
And she said,
"Please oh please father.
Let me marry the young boy antelope."
And her father said,
"No."
And she
Begged and
Begged and
Begged
Him to let her marry him.
But all he would say was,
"No."

So she brought out her special weapon,
She showed him the salad made from
Every fruit imaginable,
Like
Strawberries
And
Blueberries
And
Cantaloupe
And
Watermelon
And
Every
Single
Fruit.

And she told him,
"If you will not let me marry him,
Then we will run away together
And get married far far away
Without your permission."

And the father looked deep into the fruit salad.
He looked long and hard.
He looked at the
Strawberries
And
Blueberries
And
Cantaloupe
And
Watermelon
And
Every
Single
Fruit.

And without looking up
Without breaking his gaze
With that lovely fruit salad
He said to her,
"No.
Antelope
Cantaloupe."

The end.

Ohmygosh I can't believe you read all of that hahahahahahhaha

#funny #story #laugh #joke

Nov 2015

heather leather

"eight"

when you are eight you will start to become sick of waking
up early to go to church but your mother will drag you
with her anyway and she will always spend too much time on
her makeup so you will both end up being late and the
sweet sickly scent of the perfume she sprays on makes
you sneeze and Sundays will very quickly become
the worst days of the week, this will be when you start
to be ridiculed by all the other girls for having short hair
and this will be when your father starts coming home late
enough for your mother to be suspicious and for the
sound of Frank Sinatra's greatest hits to stop being loud
enough to mask her cries as he hits her for being too **** curious.
Sundays will be when you learn that the devil is an infinite
amount of liars starting with your mother when she says
she is fine and ending with your father when he says
he loves you. now when you are bored you will start to
hide in your closet and pretend to be someone else.
your closet now becomes Narnia, it becomes the rabbit hole Alice falls
into, it becomes Neverland and it becomes the safe haven
your mother's jazz records no longer offer; when you are eight you
will feel the weight of the world stretched out onto your all too
little shoulders, compressed into your mind and a monster in it's
own right that is scarier than the one under your bed because you
cannot find a way to escape it, it lives and breathes inside of you and
it forms a pit in the core of your stomach whenever you see
your mother flinch as your father kisses her softly and later you will
find out that this feeling is called fury but for now it remains
****** into the walls of your mind like a bookshelf at a library
and it surges rapidly like a tsunami and leaves nothing but debris in
it's wake, when you are eight you will begin to dig holes in your
skin with your fingernails to release the pain and the frustration
you feel that causes wreckage inside of you and later on you will
learn to describe this as being cataclysmic but for now you are eight
and you wear your hair in pigtails even though it's much too
short and catch fireflies with mickey mouse in your mind as you
hear frank sinatra's greatest hits become increasingly louder

(h.l.)

thoughts?

#eight

Nov 2015

Alyssa Underwood

Letting Go with Grace

There's a peculiar kind of beauty that can only be experienced
with the innate knowledge that the moment is fleeting
and the most intense beauty can only be seen in
the presence of both light and shadows.
For it’s often in the loss of a thing
that its worth to us becomes
most precious and by
letting it go with
grace we can
best savor
its purest
delights.
Realizing
that the pain
runs so deep only
because the beauty ran
so deep and that without
it having once touched us we
wouldn't now know the emptiness
of its loss, our grief will eventually turn to
thankfulness that it ever touched us at all, and
we will be left awed by the mystery of its haunting.

***

#lettinggo #growth #beauty #loss #pain #haunting #gratitude #thankful #release

rootsbudsflowers Nov 2015

Poetic movements.

Her movements
Are so fluid
There is no reason
To alter the specifics
To make them more appealing
When transferring them to words.

No need for analogies
Or symbolism.

She dips her head back
And lets it slip from
One shoulder
To the other.
Resting on each one
Ever so slightly
To greet them both
The same.

Her hand
Puppeteers her arm upward
To swipe her fingers
Across her brow.
A gentle kiss of reassurance
That morning has at last
Arrived.

Her thumbs lead the way
For her hands to follow
As they slip behind her ears
And make their way down to the ends
Of her hair.
But before they finish their descent,
They meet together
Her smooth hair stops them from making
Total impact.
The right stays put, creating ******* for the hair that is left behind.
The left guides the remaining strands around her shoulder
To rest there
As her hand continues down her chest.
Something that she only allows her own kind
To do.

Her actions alone are pure poetry.
From turning her head,
To stretching her arms,
To simply putting up her hair.
It is all poetic
To witness
To experience
To love.

#love #kiss #poetry #words #movement

Nov 2015

Victoria Jennings

Word Choice

Do not take notice of my words,

Because sometimes,

They speak things,

Not even I truly know.