My Father: The Hero- and The Drunk by Hellsing-Lover13, literature
Literature
My Father: The Hero- and The Drunk
I remember that night in such vague detail compared to my mother and brothers. The night of screaming; the night of darkness. I was too young to remember or understand. Or perhaps, I simply understood too much and let my mind block it out. Despite this, when I look back, I remember the fear, the senseless anger, and the empty bottles.
I grew up in a quirky, but loving home. My mother was, and still is, a career woman, constantly in control, and a true inspiration to my feminist side. My mother is womanly and worldly in the best possible combination. She's intelligent, sharp-tongued, and a true force to be reckoned with. But for every good th
The Only Sonnet I'll Ever Write by Hellsing-Lover13, literature
Literature
The Only Sonnet I'll Ever Write
Formed poetry stifles creativity.
I don't wish to be in captivity.
Why sacrifice my inspiration
For some sort of verbal congregation?
Rhyme does not make you a decent writer.
It's about heart and being a fighter.
I write not to test my skill, but for change.
I will not limit myself to this range,
But utilize free verse to show the way,
And mold the writing world as it were clay.
I write for my ideals, not for a contest
With myself to see if I am the "best"
That I can be; but what is a writer
Without a need to make the world brighter?
A Sprinkle of Starstuff by Hellsing-Lover13, literature
Literature
A Sprinkle of Starstuff
When I was a child, I often sat alone in my front yard. I was a lonely kid, really, and we had these beautiful forests around my house. I loved to sit outside and watch nature happen. I watched birds and lizards and snakes and rabbits, all going about their lives. When I was young, I used to think how small they were. What’s the purpose of a rabbit? Why is it there? What does it know? Nothing, right? It’s just a rabbit.
My father came out to sit with me, carrying a box. He said, “Gabby, I want you to see what I see in the world around us. I want you to look around and feel that we belong here, that we all have purpose.&rdqu
On days like this,
I like to think
About just how lucky I am.
How lucky I am
To have food
And a roof over my head.
How lucky I am
To have a beating heart
And air in my lungs.
How I lucky I am
To even have been born.
Imagine...
Out of every sperm and egg,
And every unknown miscarriage,
I survived. We all did.
That in itself is amazing.
Then add on that life itself
Is amazing and wonderful.
How many systems
Must work in tandem
To keep me alive?
If one single DNA strand
Were to replicate wrong
My life would be irreparably damaged.
If my temperature is off
By just the variance between in and out,
I die.
These things astound me.
Every c
Inside my self,
There is a place
A place of pain
And regret.
All these things I've done
All these pointless things...
Just to later reflect and wonder
Why?
It made no sense,
But I did it anyway.
I shared a piece of myself
With so many people
And for what?
Pleasure?
There's certainly none left now
And sometimes I think there never was.
My body was used
Abused
And I let it happen.
Why would I do that to myself?
These are not words
Of self-pity or loathing
But those of relection.
And words of hope
A hope that next time,
I'll remember these words.