I found my bond early.
Not exceptionally early. In eighth grade. I was thirteen; he was barely fourteen. And a matching mark appeared on our skin, meaning that he was my bond. He is my bond.
Our mark is made up of three dark black stars, charcoal black, pure black. The first one, the biggest star, is on both of our left breastbones, the segundo largest just under it and slightly to the left, and the smallest just a little lower down, directly under the first.
This year, tenth grade, I showed my mark to my teacher, Ms. Satari. She said since it depicts something that exists only out of this world, it probably symbolizes curiosity, the need to explore, the need to know things. I think that's accurate to describe us; I, and my bond.
His name is Mico, and I amor him.
* * *
In history, we learnt about how our world used to be. It sounds like a terrible place. People persecuted others just for the color of their skin, their gender or religion, or for being homosexual.
The faeries, the fae, they saw this and knew it was wrong. They blurred the lines of sexuality. Everyone still has a sexuality, of course, but even if you're heterosexual, you can still fall in amor with many people of the same gender.
They opened our minds, made us see that to be different is not always to be wrong. They made sure each gender was recognized for its abilities and strengths.
And they gave us our bond. So that when we met our bond, a mark would appear on our skin, a mark depicting the similarity between the two. To make sure, in this world the faeries had created to be a utopia, that if anything did go wrong, we would have someone there for us.
This was millennia ago. A blink of an eye to the faeries, and forever to us.
* * *
I stared at my desk. Someone had written on it in blue pen.
'Hi, my name's Saundai,' it read. The i's had hearts instead of dots. I picked up my pen, wrote a response: 'Hello. My name is Kein.'
The sino rang, signaling that class was beginning. Ms. Satari walked to the front of the room. "Hello, class," she said.
A collected mumble of greetings hummed in my ears. I propped my chin in my hands and yawned. It was still morning, and I take a while to wake up.
"Does anyone remember where we left off?" Ms. Satari asked.
"How the faeries changed us," someone called out.
"Yeah, a really long time ago," a female voice amended.
"Alright, thank you." Ms. Satari turned and began composição literária on the board. "Does anyone here know about the ten planes?"
A murmur of: "I've heard about them." and "I don't really remember."
"Alright. Well, there are ten different realities on this planet. We don't know about the other planets; only this one. Anyway, the different planes all share the same space, yet have no consciousness of each other. For example, in another plane, this school could be a zoo. This classroom could be a pinguim exhibit, but do we see any penguins? No, because they exist in a different plane. Does that mean there are no penguins? No, they're just in a different reality.
"We have no way of traveling to a different plane, at least none that we know of. The faeries are the only ones who can cruz between planes. In fact, we would not know anything about the other planes could we not communicate with the faeries.
"The faeries have told us that only five of the ten planes were actually altered, with the people's minds opened. Only five of the ten planes have blurred sexuality lines. Only five have bonds. We were lucky enough to be one of the five planes that was altered."
My eyelids grew heavy. I lay my head down on the escrivaninha, mesa and drifted off.
* * *
"Kein. Kein?" Somebody shook me gently. "Kein, wake up."
I opened my eyes, blinked twice. Mico's face came into focus: his adorable freckles, cerceta, verde-azulado eyes, tousled blond hair. I smiled sleepily and sat up. "Hi, Mic."
"Hey, Sleepyhead. I came down here to walk you to class. Good thing too, otherwise you might have slept for the rest of the school day!"
I stretched and stood up, grabbing my pencil case from my desk. "I think that's a bit of an exaggeration."
"Just a bit." Mico grinned and picked up my backpack. "I can carry this for you."
"Thanks, Mic." I followed him into the crowded halls. As we maneuvered our way through the throng, I noticed something.
The topo, início two buttons of his camisa were unfastened, exposing the topo, início and largest star, the one on his breastbone. He walked with a slight bounce in his step, proud, happy.
Proud to be my bond.
Not exceptionally early. In eighth grade. I was thirteen; he was barely fourteen. And a matching mark appeared on our skin, meaning that he was my bond. He is my bond.
Our mark is made up of three dark black stars, charcoal black, pure black. The first one, the biggest star, is on both of our left breastbones, the segundo largest just under it and slightly to the left, and the smallest just a little lower down, directly under the first.
This year, tenth grade, I showed my mark to my teacher, Ms. Satari. She said since it depicts something that exists only out of this world, it probably symbolizes curiosity, the need to explore, the need to know things. I think that's accurate to describe us; I, and my bond.
His name is Mico, and I amor him.
* * *
In history, we learnt about how our world used to be. It sounds like a terrible place. People persecuted others just for the color of their skin, their gender or religion, or for being homosexual.
The faeries, the fae, they saw this and knew it was wrong. They blurred the lines of sexuality. Everyone still has a sexuality, of course, but even if you're heterosexual, you can still fall in amor with many people of the same gender.
They opened our minds, made us see that to be different is not always to be wrong. They made sure each gender was recognized for its abilities and strengths.
And they gave us our bond. So that when we met our bond, a mark would appear on our skin, a mark depicting the similarity between the two. To make sure, in this world the faeries had created to be a utopia, that if anything did go wrong, we would have someone there for us.
This was millennia ago. A blink of an eye to the faeries, and forever to us.
* * *
I stared at my desk. Someone had written on it in blue pen.
'Hi, my name's Saundai,' it read. The i's had hearts instead of dots. I picked up my pen, wrote a response: 'Hello. My name is Kein.'
The sino rang, signaling that class was beginning. Ms. Satari walked to the front of the room. "Hello, class," she said.
A collected mumble of greetings hummed in my ears. I propped my chin in my hands and yawned. It was still morning, and I take a while to wake up.
"Does anyone remember where we left off?" Ms. Satari asked.
"How the faeries changed us," someone called out.
"Yeah, a really long time ago," a female voice amended.
"Alright, thank you." Ms. Satari turned and began composição literária on the board. "Does anyone here know about the ten planes?"
A murmur of: "I've heard about them." and "I don't really remember."
"Alright. Well, there are ten different realities on this planet. We don't know about the other planets; only this one. Anyway, the different planes all share the same space, yet have no consciousness of each other. For example, in another plane, this school could be a zoo. This classroom could be a pinguim exhibit, but do we see any penguins? No, because they exist in a different plane. Does that mean there are no penguins? No, they're just in a different reality.
"We have no way of traveling to a different plane, at least none that we know of. The faeries are the only ones who can cruz between planes. In fact, we would not know anything about the other planes could we not communicate with the faeries.
"The faeries have told us that only five of the ten planes were actually altered, with the people's minds opened. Only five of the ten planes have blurred sexuality lines. Only five have bonds. We were lucky enough to be one of the five planes that was altered."
My eyelids grew heavy. I lay my head down on the escrivaninha, mesa and drifted off.
* * *
"Kein. Kein?" Somebody shook me gently. "Kein, wake up."
I opened my eyes, blinked twice. Mico's face came into focus: his adorable freckles, cerceta, verde-azulado eyes, tousled blond hair. I smiled sleepily and sat up. "Hi, Mic."
"Hey, Sleepyhead. I came down here to walk you to class. Good thing too, otherwise you might have slept for the rest of the school day!"
I stretched and stood up, grabbing my pencil case from my desk. "I think that's a bit of an exaggeration."
"Just a bit." Mico grinned and picked up my backpack. "I can carry this for you."
"Thanks, Mic." I followed him into the crowded halls. As we maneuvered our way through the throng, I noticed something.
The topo, início two buttons of his camisa were unfastened, exposing the topo, início and largest star, the one on his breastbone. He walked with a slight bounce in his step, proud, happy.
Proud to be my bond.
oi Mom,
It's been a while
Since you sat seguinte to me,
Since I saw you smile
I miss you Mom
I wish you were here
Giving me kisses
Holding me near
I can still see you Mom,
the laughing happy you
Not the ill broken women
Who broke my coração in two
I'll always remember Mom,
You taught me well
To do good things,
And with Honesty tell
I'm telling you Mom
Losing you killed me
Laying a rose on your casket
Trying hard to be
Strong.
That's what you were Mom,
Strong.
In everything you said
In everything you did
So now I'll be just that
Strong like a mother, not like a kid
I wrote this in honor of any child who has ever lost a parent.
It's been a while
Since you sat seguinte to me,
Since I saw you smile
I miss you Mom
I wish you were here
Giving me kisses
Holding me near
I can still see you Mom,
the laughing happy you
Not the ill broken women
Who broke my coração in two
I'll always remember Mom,
You taught me well
To do good things,
And with Honesty tell
I'm telling you Mom
Losing you killed me
Laying a rose on your casket
Trying hard to be
Strong.
That's what you were Mom,
Strong.
In everything you said
In everything you did
So now I'll be just that
Strong like a mother, not like a kid
I wrote this in honor of any child who has ever lost a parent.
><
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Tick, tick, tick
That sound, constant in my head,
A sound that haunts every mind,
A sound that brings fear,
A clock,
Ticking the segundos of your life away,
Making life shorter and shorter with every tick,
Drawing death nearer and nearer,
But you should not live in fear,
For life is too short for such a thing,
Some people waste these precious seconds,
Others treasure them, making sure that no tick is wasted,
The clock ticks on,
But as this sound is registered,
What do you do?
Tick, tick, tick
Three mais seconds, gone, like that,
Did you use them well?
Live life,
For life is too short to spend these segundos in hell.
><
><
><
Tick, tick, tick
That sound, constant in my head,
A sound that haunts every mind,
A sound that brings fear,
A clock,
Ticking the segundos of your life away,
Making life shorter and shorter with every tick,
Drawing death nearer and nearer,
But you should not live in fear,
For life is too short for such a thing,
Some people waste these precious seconds,
Others treasure them, making sure that no tick is wasted,
The clock ticks on,
But as this sound is registered,
What do you do?
Tick, tick, tick
Three mais seconds, gone, like that,
Did you use them well?
Live life,
For life is too short to spend these segundos in hell.
His Melody
To quiet the tears
She sings him to sleep
When the morning has dawned
He can’t be roused from a rest so deep
She sings him to sleep
Night after night
And when he does not awaken
Her will to go on grows slight
She sits and waits while he’s away
She remembers his laugh and smile
Oh what a joy to see his joy
She lifts up a prayer “May I see him in a short while?”
She sits at the window and waits
The sun sets slowly behind the colina
The others say hello but she doesn’t hear
She is waiting to make the tears still
The time has come she cannot wait
She sets out to see her boy
To stop the tears
To bring him joy
But the tears she stills are not his
They fall from her eyes
She sings his lullaby again tonight
As she kisses the stone and her son good bye
To quiet the tears
She sings him to sleep
When the morning has dawned
He can’t be roused from a rest so deep
She sings him to sleep
Night after night
And when he does not awaken
Her will to go on grows slight
She sits and waits while he’s away
She remembers his laugh and smile
Oh what a joy to see his joy
She lifts up a prayer “May I see him in a short while?”
She sits at the window and waits
The sun sets slowly behind the colina
The others say hello but she doesn’t hear
She is waiting to make the tears still
The time has come she cannot wait
She sets out to see her boy
To stop the tears
To bring him joy
But the tears she stills are not his
They fall from her eyes
She sings his lullaby again tonight
As she kisses the stone and her son good bye
Dear record of my misfortune I was correct. Today I walked into class and saw a huge pile of letters on my desk. When I opened them I realized that it was hate mail. It was so stupid, people were getting angry at me for what I did to Jessica when it was her fault! They were saying things like : Die emo cadela, puta die, bitchy whore. That last comment doesn't even apply to me! I haven't even had my first kiss and they are saying this stuff to me! There was one letter that was bot mean even though I don't know who sent it. Inside it said rosas are red violets are blue I don't now why they hurt you, if you want I'll tell them to can it, all because I amor you Janet. I don't know who wrote you amor poem rhyme thing but I amor you too!
Is It True You Lie?
Is It True You Hate Me?
Is It True You Want Him?
Is It True You're My Best Friend?
Is It True You Enjoy Hurting Me?
Is It True You Like Me Crying?
Is It True You Talk Behind My Back?
Is It True You Tell People Our Bussiness?
Is It True I Hurt You?
Is It True You Back Stabbed Me?
Is It True You Let Me Believe The Lies?
Is It True You Let Me Call You My True Bestfriend When You Weren't?
Is It True.....?
This is A Poem Hope Yuh Enjoy It Btw Tell Me What Yuh Think And This Is Just About Me Gettin Hurt After Being Stupid Enough To Believe Her Lies She Wasnt A True Bestfriend
Is It True You Hate Me?
Is It True You Want Him?
Is It True You're My Best Friend?
Is It True You Enjoy Hurting Me?
Is It True You Like Me Crying?
Is It True You Talk Behind My Back?
Is It True You Tell People Our Bussiness?
Is It True I Hurt You?
Is It True You Back Stabbed Me?
Is It True You Let Me Believe The Lies?
Is It True You Let Me Call You My True Bestfriend When You Weren't?
Is It True.....?
This is A Poem Hope Yuh Enjoy It Btw Tell Me What Yuh Think And This Is Just About Me Gettin Hurt After Being Stupid Enough To Believe Her Lies She Wasnt A True Bestfriend
Her eyes were fogo red,
as if they were
lit from anger.
I dont understand
why you are
mad at me.
Why you shoot
those harsh words
at me.
Aimed like bullets,
piercing my soul.
And It cant heal.
I never can dodge them.
The words hit me,
and I fall back.
My friends ask me:
"What's wrong?"
"Can I help?"
But they cant help.
Because I dont understand,
why you are mad.
Why do you have to do
what you do to me?
Why does it give you
joy to harm me?
Why?
Why are people bullies?
Why dont my friends take action?
Why cant you tell me WHY?
as if they were
lit from anger.
I dont understand
why you are
mad at me.
Why you shoot
those harsh words
at me.
Aimed like bullets,
piercing my soul.
And It cant heal.
I never can dodge them.
The words hit me,
and I fall back.
My friends ask me:
"What's wrong?"
"Can I help?"
But they cant help.
Because I dont understand,
why you are mad.
Why do you have to do
what you do to me?
Why does it give you
joy to harm me?
Why?
Why are people bullies?
Why dont my friends take action?
Why cant you tell me WHY?
Streetlamps, houses, gates, remotes, books, CDs and televisions. Brothers. Pairs. Each has a twin. In this chaotic place of materials the world has come to be, everything has a brother. But brothers are family. And family is connected somehow; if not por blood, then por what?
Energy.
Look hard. At everything that has a brother. A line of energy casts a connection between the two. The energy, with its harsh glares and cold looks creates the strongest and most complex bonds. Strong because of their brotherhood. Complex because of its invisibility. For there is power in invisibility. Cold, cruel power. The power to be a persecutor with no chance of being a victim. The power to twist and squeeze but not feel the wrenching pain of your twists.
Now, you ask, what is left? Cruel, invisible energy. For a cruel, invisible world.
This is my first time composição literária in stream of consciousness. I know it's short but don't judge me too harshly.
Energy.
Look hard. At everything that has a brother. A line of energy casts a connection between the two. The energy, with its harsh glares and cold looks creates the strongest and most complex bonds. Strong because of their brotherhood. Complex because of its invisibility. For there is power in invisibility. Cold, cruel power. The power to be a persecutor with no chance of being a victim. The power to twist and squeeze but not feel the wrenching pain of your twists.
Now, you ask, what is left? Cruel, invisible energy. For a cruel, invisible world.
This is my first time composição literária in stream of consciousness. I know it's short but don't judge me too harshly.