Writing is an important and powerful tool of expression. Join us if you need to write.
LittleLambs
incoherant as a disjointed goldfish.
Posts by LittleLambs
You don’t sing…
Feb 21st
Press play.
My favourite tune…
Certain frequencies trigger it.
No, the words, ‘Abusadora, Abusadora…Bendita sea la hora en que te encontré..’
If only they were merely words like the ones you’re reading now, my mental dictionary activated. Processed. Translated.
Stomach quelching. Hips swaying. Eyes closed. Why is there salty water on my face? The taste is one that forever lingers.
I’m not pressing ‘Pause’. The button with the two lines.
Fury. How dare you try to dictate which button I can/can’t press?
I’m me.
Sedúceme negra yo ya prendí la fogata. Se ven las luces de neon y el humo.
I’m not going to translate this one.
It’s my tune. You don’t own it yet somehow your name is on the rest of this damn playlist. Let me have this one song.
Just this one song…please.
Now You see me, now You don’t…
Feb 21st
Shall I tell you why I love you?
Guess…no, don’t…You’ll see stars, red roses or Celine Dion. Bleurgh.
It wasn’t your eyeslashes.
It wasn’t your cool Casio watch.
It wasn’t your charming smile.
It wasn’t your strong deltoids.
It wasn’t your tan brown shoes.
It wasn’t your well-defined mandible.
It wasn’t your kind hands.
You must think I’m deranged. It wasn’t your presents, nor the fact that seeing you at a 20 metre distance makes my heart blissfully skip a beat like a Hickory Dickory Dock clock with one arm. This thing supersedes you every time we walk towards each other especially on those wet windy winter days in the park. It gives me a euphoric whiplash without fail before lifting me off my feet into your arms.
It’s not your name.
It’s not your edible nose.
It’s not your soothing voice.
It’s not your hair.
It’s not your comforting gaze.
Without this, our love is rendered scientifically obsolete. Partially.
Its…
Your Smell.
A Nomadic Toothfairy..
Feb 16th
Once upon a time there was a toothfairy called Mary, she had a cat called Hairy. He was 3″8 and only ate dairy. One day Mary was walking down the streets of Whirlpool, a village in Southern Japan when she bumped into a giraffe called Fishfingers. She was no fool, she knew she was cool. So she decided to embark on a journey.
Continue reading “A Nomadic Toothfairy..” »