TheRejectPhoenix

Golden hair is richer than a kingly crown Diamonds are outshone by glittering eyes No rich cloth as luxurious as silken lips Jewels cannot match sweet words of praise No merchant ever sailed for such a costly spice No conqueror ever discovered so vast a fortune To lavish before his king's primordial throne So, if I shun your fervor for material riches Do not look on me with your disdainful sneer With her love I am the wealthiest of men

Many came to my father's funeral, but they weren't really sad. Most were just relieved that the fireman had survived long enough to save their baby, crippled mother or grandfather. They had come out of obligation. I could see it in their eyes. “Your father was a hero, David,” they would say to my crying ten-year old self. And because they did not understand my pain, they thought they could make me feel better by saying that “he saved my daughter’s life.” I don’t need him to be your hero, I wanted to tell them, he’s my father, not yours. I stared at the crinkled paper in my hand. On it were a list

My tongue cleaves to my palate Ashamed of its pretentious pride A crucible of foul remembrances This disease is surely incurable Your words reverberate though me Like a scalpel forged of Truth Piercing the depths effortlessly You lance my arrogant assumptions To drain foul humors from my soul You have a surgeon's practiced hand Your own wounds have taught you well A medicine is perfected through pain Your wisdom bandages my affliction With the sweet balm of reformation Pain is fading as healing begins

I, as if in a waking dream Notice her Couched amid the roses Her serenity an unending sigh Quiet, her body wreathed in thorns A familiar sting of ominous quietude Will you not reply? Is your heart guarded Eyes, closed The resignation of a flower To be laid atop a headstone The somber and terrifyingly silent Voiceless cry of a beleaguered soul Have you surrendered? Are you untouchable Scarcely breathing A shivery porcelain petal A fragile melancholy seraph Defended by a halo of brambles Imprisoned within ancient amber memories Are you trapped? Do you even sense me here Hushed, watching You seem afraid to bloom Your eyes like rosebuds, u

We don't have winter anymore. It was banned.     Human rights activists said it discriminated against the poor and homeless, who couldn't buy warm clothing. Environmentalists said that it was a dastardly attempt by the weather to deny the reality of global warming.  Manufacturers of flip-flops and bikinis complained that it was bad for business. Obviously such a depraved season could not be allowed to exist in a progressive country like ours.  You can see the proof of our forward-thinking attitude everywhere you go.  Look out the window of a rattletrap old bus (new vehicles are illegal; they were wasteful, and caused feelings of resentment

Dear Maybe-Mama, I was not a mistake. It’s strange to think that exactly half of my DNA comes from you, and yet we could pass each other on the street and not even recognize each other. I’ve never really believed in searching for you, my biological family. I never asked my parents the heartbreaking questions that Hollywood makes small, blue-eyed orphans ask: “Why didn’t my real mother want me?” I’ve never believed in any of that, and I don’t expect that you’d want me to, anyway. But if we ever did meet, what would we even say to each other? I don’t speak Chinese, and you probably don&#

Once upon a time, a young woman was so in love with books that she decided she wanted to become a writer so she, too, could create loveable stories. She read everything she could about writing. Then, one day, she found herself in a book store where she bumped into an old man among the shelves. Turning to apologize, she discovered it was a venerable, much-loved author. As soon as she could find her voice to speak, she said, "Oh, sir! I know you are very busy, and so I would just like to ask you one small question: what is the best piece of advice you have for a beginning writer?" The old man smiled and said, "Certainly, young lady. In fact,

The world has ended.  Maybe it was an alien invasion, an astronomical catastrophe, the ever-popular zombie apocalypse, or some ironic twist involving irresponsible science and man's own hubris.  It doesn't really matter.  Perhaps it was a grinding decline like a torch starving in the night, or a fleeting blaze of cinematic glory.  That doesn't matter either.  All that matters is that somehow, I ended up being the last person on Earth. I learned a lot – mostly about survival, but I'll leave that for a later monologue.  I found that in a strange way, I had never really existed.&#