I'm not hungry, let's have dinner.

Why are we lined like tin soldiers? 

Our weapons heavy and unused, no bullets, just a ruse.

Why do we march to the rhythm of Silence? Our boots polished and unsoiled, a sole without a ground to walk on. Figurines on glass displays.

They’ve laid me out on the table, with my organs x-rayed and exposed.

They’ve taped my eyelids open, with a little camera trying to wriggle into my soul.

My tongue has been cut out, a simple dissection, they explain, we’ll sew it back on, they assure.

A foreign flag covers my naked body, the fabric cold and scaly, tightening across my skin, to label my complexion they said.

A masked man marks “brown”.

You’ve got it wrong, I wish to correct. My mom says it’s the color of cinnamon powdered over coffee with milk. How did you demote that to “brown”?

We need your veins, I feel them yanked. They never ask.

How valuable are you? The needle teases before pricking in, I see my blood traveling from my body to a glass test tube. At least something in me gets to travel without the need of much paperwork.

A woman takes a sniff.

“She doesn’t smell exceptional. We need to run more tests.”

Five years ago, a college admissions letter told me I had great potential. Come abroad, it lured, knowledge and opportunities, it smiled.

My blood is tossed away.

When will you learn that there is dirt on the road to remind you you’re not the first feet to have taken this path.

amandaonwriting:

10 Signs That You’re a Writer

by Writability

1. You constantly edit. Whether it’s while you’re driving down the street and pass a misspelled sign, or grammatical errors in Facebook posts, you fix errors constantly in your mind—and sometimes not so silently. 
2. You’re highly observant. And not only do you notice things all the time, but you file them away in your I could write about this later folder. 
3. You often ask, “How could I describe this?” You don’t ignore your life experiences—everything from walking outside during a torrential downpour, to burning yourself while cooking, to taking the first bite of a piping-hot homemade chocolate chip cookie can be used in your writing, and you often pause to think about how you would describe it in words. 
4. You have a hyperactive imagination. There’s never a dull moment in that head of yours—your imagination is always working on overtime to keep you entertained and give you fresh ideas. 
5. You feel inspired to write after reading a good book. Enough said. 
6. You often daydream about your WIPs. Your characters never completely leave you— they walk alongside you throughout the day and give you new ideas when you least expect it. 
7. You feel guilty if you haven’t written anything in a while. What a “while” is depends, but after a writing hiatus, a part of you begins to demand that you get back to the keyboard and reprimands you if you don’t. 
8. Grammar jokes are funny. Well, they are. 
9. You can’t get enough books. After all, every new book is a couple hours worth of inspiration. 
10. You keep doing this writing thing. It doesn’t matter if you’re not published, if no one else cares if you continue to write, if you don’t make a penny off of the words that you put on the page—none of that matters, because you’ll continue to write anyway. 

10 Signs by Writability

Reblogged from Writers Write 

(via consultthetrickster)

When the Universe stepped out of his office, for a quick break in the staff kitchen, he spotted a tiny human trying to work out the coffee machine.

“What do you need?” the Universe asked, ready to give.

“Coffee.” Came the human’s petulant reply.

The Universe sighed, because this was the problem with all the other tiny humans he encountered.

They always went for the more obvious requests. 

There is a hidden secret in old age.

A group of 10 ladies, youthful in their mirth, well-lived in their wrinkles and arthritis. 

Approaching 80s, and 90s, and whatever grace period is granted afterward.

“I’ve never hit a piñata” 95-year-old whispers, conspiring with her neighbor as they both watch the born-from-newspaper child-size clown swaying in the middle of the room.

There is a morbid beauty in piñatas. You stuff them with candy, hang them, beat them up, and then eat their insides.

Now there’s a metaphor for that. But we’re too young for metaphors.

And the group of 10 ladies destroys the piñata in shrills and giggles, diving for candy.

The secret is out. 

I have issues focusing on my writing when I’m not busy with other things.

And when I’m busy with other projects I complain about not having time to write.

Really, brain, really.

consultthetrickster:

For all of you doing NaNoWriMo— there’s a light at the end of the tunnel!

(Source: The New York Times)

Who is afraid of the big bad wolf? And did you listen when the crowd explained that was not your path to walk. Yes.

But you weren’t listening. You were never afraid. And when everyone else was, you swallowed it down, medicine for the flu, bitter but necessary.

Who is the big bad wolf? He is a world of wolves, not yours for the hunting.

Wear red to your funeral, the oven is still heating up. 

If the meal is served, so are your guests. But who lacks an invite?

There is

cadency

in your vodka

kiss

bottoms up