almost_rain

almost_rain @ 2009-11-05T23:03:00

2009-11-06T07:04:15Z

After all, I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.

Writer's Block: Mysterious benefactor

2009-10-29T22:52:45Z

If you could give a secret gift of any value to one anonymous recipient, who would you choose and what would you give them?

Submitted By enchantra71

View 790 Answers

I would give my grandmother the world.

almost_rain @ 2009-10-04T01:32:00

2009-10-04T08:32:51Z

i am a dancing instrument.

almost_rain @ 2009-09-07T09:18:00

2009-09-07T16:53:12Z

we were children of the creek. it rose and fell like clockwork, ticking away the early years in a murky, placid green. Heather and I used to have contests over who could skip a rock furthest across the surface. We would spend the entire morning in search of the perfect competitor - round, smooth and flattened into a grey disc by the giant hands of time. On a count of three we would wind our arms and send our rocks flying into the creek. We watched wth our breaths held as they skipped across the surface three, four, sometimes five times. Heather was the usual winner of our chilhood games.

We were friends. And then one day she kissed me.
One day we're going to get out of this shit hole town. We're going to get a big house on the ocean and drink martininis out of fancy glasses. And we're never, ever going to go back to Elsinore.
I remember how soft her hair felt as it brushed against my cheek.
She pulled away and looked at me for a long time. I felt her eyes searching mine for an answer, but i had none to give - i was just as lost and as empty as she only a little less brave, a touch more cautious.

almost_rain @ 2009-08-25T23:28:00

2009-08-26T06:38:49Z

Water thundered into the tub. the sink. we filled every cup and bowl, anything with a concave shape, with water water water. I sent Marie to call our relatives and tell them to do the same. The girls were closing and locking every window, door, crack in the house. Everyone had a task to do; something was not right.
"The phone lines are dead" Marie yelled to me over the rush of the water. I could see panic in her beautiful green eyes

almost_rain @ 2009-08-24T16:30:00

2009-08-24T23:31:17Z

the rain don't fall on me

almost_rain @ 2009-08-17T10:38:00

2009-08-17T18:02:09Z

I fell, long and hard, from a high, high place. As i spiraled down i flipped and turned in an acrobatic dance, watching the world zip past me in various pigments of time. soon i became tired and sick, wanting nothing more than to reach the bottom, to set my two feet on solid ground, to wash away the dizziness with a step or two in the right direction. But I kept on falling. I kept on flipping and spiraling down from this high, high place. I started screaming, my voice throaty ad lost among the speed of my descent. strands of my hair brushed against my face. I wiped them aside with my hands, and i watched as they turned from brown to grey between my fingers, then white, a blinding absence of color.

Peru

2009-07-31T08:23:38Z

peru,
i look forward to meeting you, to making myself at home, when i am far from home. to take off my shoes on your welcome mat, and walk barefoot through the rooms of your house, to smell the sweet air and shake hands with the history of the Incas. i cant wait to lose myself in the hospitality of your shores, in the clear water of the surf, to mold with my bare hands memories of your perfect sunsets. to run my fingers through your grasses, to seek shade under your trees, to pick flowers to put in my hair as it whisps across my face in the wind. my shoulders to become onlive under your yellow sun, and my eyes to swell with the sights of the world.

i think of you and i feel summer...

2009-07-31T08:13:17Z

rain

I go outside and it feels cold on my skin.
it spatters over my eyes so i close them,
and let the water play along my lids like young children.
I can hear the drops laughing as they splash in their rubber boots,
then run home to drink hot chocolate with mom
and tell her all about the wonders from the sky,
while their hands thaw out from the cold.

almost_rain @ 2009-07-16T23:41:00

2009-07-17T07:06:26Z

A midnight bikeride through the strrets of el monte
the pavement moved slow and steady beneath our wheels
revovling in the fashion of days, sliding between our fingers into years like sand.
Have we met before, or is this the work of summer's past?
To blow winds across my olive shoulders, and throw rocks into my fickle memory.
Are you faded pages in my diary that were thrown into the fire so many ashes ago?
standing together our shadows play like a favorite toy;
we are used and worn at the edges, faded and soon to be tossed, replaced.
Have i known you an hour, or has this tryst been the work of a lifetime?
beginning a drop of water, then carrying us away with an almighty flood
rendering eachother helpless - bobbing like bouis and crying like children for nothing.
this will end like it ended all of those beginnings ago.
rewind before the bikeride, before the late nights, before the day that we danced when was no music playing.
excuse me, but have we been in love before?

almost_rain @ 2009-07-04T01:59:00

2009-07-04T09:01:09Z

to what degree should we congradulate time?

coco

2009-06-28T08:54:48Z

A dog. an annoying, needy, painfully loud dog; my friend. my best friend because he is. he just is.

almost_rain @ 2009-06-25T03:23:00

2009-06-25T12:12:20Z

I listened in the darkness as the leaves brushed across the pavement in the wind, dancing the melancholy rhythm of used up time, scraping across the walkway like nails on a chalkboard; this was my first summer away from you. Sitting sitll on the wooden bench outside his house I wondered. I leaned my head between my legs and let the blood flow until my eyes drenched in warm memories of our year in Berkeley, shuffling the good times with the bad in the short deck we were dealt. I shut my eyes tight and acclamated to the darkness, because it was what I was meant to do. Among the sonnets of chores and triumphs of myself, i waited.
Scratch and pull and screech. The trees wrestled relentlessly just beyond my touch. To be young again reveling in innocence, to not have bedded with experience, and awaken to cold sheets without you. After a color-strewn night of living. Untouched. Virginal. there is no white to brighten the focused scope of my year. Till death do us part, lest we part between ways. oh the cobble stoned streets of our college town.

centered int he middle fo the square was the worlds largest tuning fork. Bright red and stretching beyond the farthest reach of my pale fingertips, that lengthen and shorten with the ever-changing ferocity of my wills. The cars rolled by and the fork would strum a smooth alto. It was the voice of the children and the begetters of children that have wandered alone in the town. That have stopped the sound of feet at the base of the clock-tower, and abashed themself to the constancy of time. The tuning fork sang while the clock tower ticked - somewhere inbetween, with nothing but the last drops of my sanity to lose, I shut myself down. And let my sanity flow from me like the last winter snow melts from a chanced blossom. I was mad with life and overwhelmed with death. Me juxtapose him. To list would use up the last breaths from my lips; idiot wind for years.

the unstoppable force against the immovable object; the poet and the madman; the mother and the daughter. from a safe distance I try to understand, but it will never be true to me. It is the end and the beginning lost in the middle of a destroyed apartment. Our apartment. With our wedding photo pinned to the refrigerator like a scarlett letter. Permanent and red. permanent and stitched to my chest like a part of my flesh turned thread. I am mad to be a part of it, I am damned to be this disguised. I am mad I am mad I am mad. experience vs innocence vs experience experience. fuck fuck fuck.

"But the world is cluttered with six million thinking brains with six million broken hearts. What is one more if I see you to be fit?"
I felt compelled to testify against Him, but none but fair witness could be called to the stand. Have I no one if truth flanks neither right nor left behind me? "Then damn me to humanity, for that is where the poetry of self does bloom." And my hands and feet of Prometheus's weary clay melted into the flesh and blood of my six million brothers. In the wind of creation we cried of our flaws which were the basis of our unified perfection. And we gloated and triumphed in the chaos of it all.

He undressed me under the stage. I danced the roles of the actors above, feeling the emotions from my eyebrows to my toes, naked with sadness of thirty years of womanhood. I pleaded for fairness with the fullness of my pouted lips and scorned my lovers with the lines of my breasts. Were it a comedy I would not have laughed, a tragedy I would not have cried. it was a saga of touches and turmoil, a soliloquy of a woman undone.
Under the dress rehearsals and stage directions, I lived it all. I exhaled the rawness with swift bends of my elbows, a sway of my swelled thighs.
He admired me because of what I had felt, and what I was capable of feeling. He watched my body move like a wooden bow strains to make music of stri ngs. And it was a beautiful sound of rain water and dish water.

and the tuning fork.

almost_rain @ 2009-06-19T04:19:00

2009-06-19T12:18:02Z

He a goofy looking guy with long curly hair and ears that framed his face like double handles on a toddler's sippy cup. He was rail thin and his head, oddly large and misproportioned to his body, almost brushed the door frame when he strode into the room. The poor guy was a six and a half foot bobble head, but damned if he wasnt the cutest bobble head i'd ever seen.
I decided, within thirty seconds of laying my eyes on him, as he nervously figited in my living room twiddling his thumbs like an idiot, that I was going to sleep with him that night. All he had to do was breathe.

A lady came up to the counter with a white shirt held taught between her two manicured hands. She held it up to the flourescent lights, squinting her eyes and inspecting a faint tint of lipstick on the collar. It was similar to the shade my mother wore, dark and asking for attention. It was the color lipstick you wore when you wanted men to look at your lips and consider the possibilities. All the dirty, unspeakable possibilities. Or maybe that was just my mother.
"This is the only one on the rack in my size. Do you guys have anymore in the back?" the lady asked.
"No, what's out is out. I can try and get it out with wipes though" I said.
"Actually," kelly said, coming around the counter to my side, "Lipstick this dark isn't going to come out. The wipes take everything off except lipstick and mascara."
"Mascara? I didn't know it stained."
"My pillow is painted black from all the nights I've cried myself to sleep."
And just like that, I learned more about Kelly in two minutes than in the last two years combined. She took the wipes and returned them back under the counter. The lady never bought the shirt.

"How's married life? Have the morbid fantasies about chopping him to pieces with a rusty butcher knife creeped in yet?"
"No mom, not yet. Give it a week or two." I gave my eyes a good roll around the room.
"You think I'm kidding, but just you wait. I promise that you will never ardently love or passionately hate anyone as much as you will love and hate your frist husband."
"First and only mom. Dont try and ruin my marriage because your first four ended in divorce. I married for love, not money, remember?"
One look to my mother's face and I knew I had gone too far. I felt her start to close down, to nail up those impenetratable walls that kept me just beyond arm's length as a child, always left wanting, cooking up countless ways to gain her affection.
"Well" I offered, trying to reel her back in, "we have been having some aruements about Coco."
By inches, her curiosity triumphed and she waved her hand for me to continue. I should have known that the mere mention of a disagreement between Rick and I would bring her around - it always does. She loves me more when I have problems.
"It's nothing really. Rick wants Coco to sleep in the garage at night, but I want him in the bed with us, at least while he's still a puppy."
"Well honey I take his side! (This statement, of course, did not come as a surprise) You should never let anything get into to bed with you two, not the dog, not even when you two decide to have children. The bed is your own space. If it gets crowded, it could really strain your relationship."
"Strain our relationship? Gee Mom, but Coco and I have been doing really well."
"You're not funny."

Track Home

2009-05-07T07:06:05Z

romance is an intermittent thing. it comes with the wind and leaves with the rain, then turns around and comes with the rain and leaves with the wind. there is no logic, only an occassional hasty look towards the sky, with a pocket full of change jingling in your jeans pocket.
I used to think that love was intermittent, too, a casualty of fickle hearts and what Grammy calls 'wander lust', but I'm not so sure about that anymore. Actually, there are a lot of things that Im not so sure about anymore. Not the simple things, like why the grass is green or why the sky is blue. But the less simple things, like why the grass is always greener on the other side, and the sky so much bluer wrapped tight in the arms of another. Because from then until now, i have crossed that picket fence into the other side, and I have gazed up at a lazuli sky, only to blink and open my eyes to behold a sea of grey. And I'm not sure. I just dont know anymore.

almost_rain @ 2009-01-11T21:43:00

2009-01-12T05:45:15Z

stressful day. jess kicked david out. She wanted to lay with him. He wanted to lay with her, if she took her shirt off. She kept it on. He turned his back to her and marched out of the room. romance, at its finest. We dropped david off in elsinore. He cried in the backseat the entire drive. We picked up Logan - david's mom and sisters were crying too. must be a martin thing.

almost_rain @ 2008-11-23T14:46:00

2008-11-23T22:47:02Z

retrospect. is. a. bitch.

Song of Myself

2008-10-28T07:51:32Z

I mind how we lay in June; such a transparent summer morning;
You settled your head athwart my hips and gently turned over upon me,
And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my barestript heart,
And reached till you felt my beard, and reached till you held my feet.