This is my writing. Most of it's sub-par at best--horrifyingly grotesque at worst--but it's all mine. What poetry I've written that I'll allow to see the light of day, short stories I've tried to shape, and whatever else gets those creative juices flowing.
I'm all about feedback--though I don't always take criticism to heart--so drop a line. Follow me and I'll likely return the favor.
All original work Copyright © 2011 Chris Stanton
I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.
I don’t know how much longer I’ll want to.
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Danielle
She lays bare her soul,
opens herself to my prying eyes.
I drink it in,
this information she freely gives.
And there’s a fear upon the air;
A tension, palpable.
She worries of what I’ll say,
of how I’ll judge.
I try to do neither;
to accept it and move on,
to turn the page and learn even more.
But at times,
when I’m pressed,
what is there I can say?
She needs to know.
It’s obvious in her voice;
a slight, silent pleading.
So I say the only thing I can.
I tell the truth.
I deem her worthy.
Whole.
Complete.
Regardless of what she tells.
Who am I to judge perfection?
To deny her?
Place the ‘book’ upon the shelf
and turn to walk away
simply because I disagree
with whatever I find within its pages?
Nothing I find within the pages,
nothing frightens me so badly,
angers me so much,
or disgusts me at all.
Nothing within comes close
to making me want to quit,
to stop exploring,
and deny us both the ending.
The honesty she holds
burning within like a flame eternal,
it sheds its light upon me,
warms me,
refreshes the soul,
and causes me to ache,
to desire to be better,
to be worthy of standing in that light.
Because no matter what she says
or what she may think
I am not,
but will strive to be.
She lays bare her soul
without my having to ask
yet I see only the future,
care not for the past.
Living in Fear No More (The original)
The face of a kid
who was quickly forced to be a man.
The strength of one
like the strength of two.
The lies quickly spilling forth,
the truth unknown even now.
Acting like he cares
when really he wants to hurt me.
Being the superior one while I’m the little bug.
Starting fires in my heart
that may never die down.
The dragon of my dreams,
the cause of my blood-curdling screams.
I’m scared even now,
but I’ve stepped out of the shadows.
I’ve combined the fear,
the hate, the pain,
and found the strength, and will,
to live again.
I’m finally seeing Life’s wonderful shore,
and I’m living in fear no more.
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Carolina Thing
Dirt roads
and muddy feet,
still very few
blacktop streets.
Wonderful family,
kind-hearted friends,
hoping that the good times
never truly end.
Cheerwine,
it’s our soft drink,
and we aren’t as backwards
as you think.
Pickups
and four-by-fours;
John Deeres
and lives of work.
We’ve got some horses,
and we’ve got some cows,
even got things
not found in other towns.
Home-cooking,
get-togethers,
part of us all
will be here forever.
We’ve got our mottos,
we’ve got our twang.
What can I say?
It’s a Carolina thing.
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I don’t want to live on this planet anymore. (Heh, see what I did there?)
I love how everyone I spoke to about why the voted for the Marriage Amendment here in the state of NC brought up morals, and religion, and how it’s all about the way they were raised and so on and so forth.
I think some of those same arguments were used when interracial couples first started popping up (and for quite a while afterwards).
Here’s my thing, if you vote based on religious views, or the religious views of the candidate, or anything like that, I just wish you’d shut the fuck up. It’s this kind of shit, this persecution of others based on some (what you believe to be) fundamental part of your religion or lack thereof, that caused those who first settled this country to leave their homelands in the first place.
And I get that the phrase “separation of church and state” didn’t mean keep religion out of politics altogether, and that it’s just to ensure the government never passes a law saying “Believe what we believe or else.” But…isn’t that kind of what not allowing men who happen to like men (or women who like women) to marry is doing?
“Oh, you don’t believe that marriage is between a man and a woman like I do? Well too bad!”
I don’t get it. I don’t get why people are so terrified set in their beliefs that they can’t allow their fellow brothers and sisters (in the human sense) any iota of acceptance or happiness. I’m not gay, I’m not bisexual, but I don’t begrudge anyone who can find love what love they do find.
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How do you Love?
Your only purpose is to please me,
with that he lets his hand fall.
The slap of skin on sweet, supple skin
fills the room’s chilled air.
Yes, Sir,
she speaks, her voice timid, yet sultry.
She knows the power she has over him
even as powerless she lays across his lap.
His desire for her ratchets to another notch.
Her reward? Another stinging slap of his hand.
Her flesh started flawless and rosy pink;
now it waits marked and vibrant red.
Again he swats
and again she cries out.
She weeps not only from her eyes;
the spot upon his thigh can testify to that truth.
Each hit of his hand upon her flesh
blossoms to life another burst of pleasure streaked with pain.
She yearns for his touch, whether it be a gentle caress,
or a stinging smack,
if only to be assured he exists, and that she exists in his world.
Good Pet, he says.
Thank you, Sir, she replies.
How do you say “I love you”?
Photo reblogged from My Beauty is Undefined with 36,107 notes
I’m sort of feeling this right now. Not sure why, but this is just where I’m at lately. Something’s gotta give eventually, right? Why can’t it just happen when I want instead of when it’s supposed to? Why can’t those two things coincide for once in my life?
Source: mylovelydemise
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Are we born to be broken, sinners, and thieves?
Someone tell the heavens I’m ready to escape.
This is not what I wanted, not what I need.
Take it all, tear it all, rip it all away!
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The Burn
I’m so sick of being alone. I hate it. I…god. I don’t even know. I just wish there was someone I could latch onto once in awhile, you know? It’s been a hard few months. The shit with my dad…that’s been rough. I never got the chance to just hold someone and cry. Or fuck, be held while I cried.
I’m tired of being alone. And it’s not like “alone” in the sense of not having a significant other. It’s “alone” as in…alone. I walk through the world on a third shift schedule and I never have anyone to walk beside me. There’s no one to come home to, and some days nothing to get up for.
I’ve latched myself onto people again and again. I’ve tried to find happiness where ever I could. I used to smoke pot to be happy. That worked. Well, until the police got involved. Hah. I used to smoke cigarettes to be happy. Between insurance prices at work and my dad’s lung cancer, that got phased out.
Drinking, now, hey, there’s a winner. Drinking will make you happy every step of the way, or at least it has for me. The only issue there? Money. I have none, so drinking becomes difficult.
Vicodin made me happy once upon a time. Now I have one left, and I’ve been saving it for the rainiest of days.
Not a lot of people know this about me. In fact, I don’t think anybody does, really. I was never a cutter. The blood…it made too much of a mess. Besides, Band Aids would stick to the hair in my arms or legs and I’d wuss out on ripping them off. And it wasn’t like I could time removing a band aid to one of my moments of depression, or utter loneliness. So that didn’t work out at all.
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