Coasterfreak601

She had an aesthetic quality to her face: it was beauty for beauty's sake. It existed solely to be looked at. It had an objective beauty that could not be refuted. A mandate from some realm above mankind that her face must be appreciated by all. A piece of genetics in all of our DNAs passed down generation to generation telling us to love this face. Whereas some people may incorrectly claim that Renoir's "The Luncheon of the Boating Party" is too impressionistic or Wilde's preface to Dorian Grey shows acts of gross indecency, no one stood a chance against this face. It was a face that stopped a person on the street and cause them to stop thin

 I am loved by my husband. I have been very well taken care of by him. The place was chosen by my husband. Complaints can not really be made. It truly is a nice place to live, once the grayness is gotten over. My husband thought me to have some sort of problem with control. My temper cannot be controlled too well. It seems to get out of hand and my hysteria acts up to a point where I cannot breathe. But that is not the point. The point is that I am watched after by my husband. Well, matter of factly, I am watched after by Gloria. She is a nice woman. Very large.  The perfect size for a woman to take of a person like me. Gloria

I played soccer. Once. It was one of those simple games. One team against another. Like everything in life. A competition where one must be the victor. We all walked onto the field. It was like a magnet. Everyone simply moved towards the center. I was near the center. I was not entirely certain what was going on. I was waiting to be placed onto a team. Waiting for someone to tell me to go over there. I was not told. Everyone walked away from the center, sure of which way they were meant to go. I stood in the center, unsure of which team was which and which team was mine. I thought someone would tell me. For everyone else, it seemed like s

I used to believe In a higher power That made sense And when took away Specifically gave reasoning As to why And gave back. I used to believe That the world made sense And that when I suffered There would be an answer That I would realize Somewhere in the distance I could somewhat see And that this higher power Made sense and was nice. I used to believe. Now, I am not so sure.

I'm obsessed and appalled By the Kober-Cogan Hall, The plastic that lines those empty doors. A place I used to know When I was feeling so low A place I like to forget, And God knows I regret That piece of me that lingers And gently rises. A place that brought no comfort Yet yielded some results Can now forever be untouched. The place I knew so well, But now these feelings of hell This constant failure I feel a stranger And know I cannot go Back to this place Of terrifying comfort.

Sometimes when I see something That really hurts me, I walk away and think Like a dog, saying, "If I can no longer see it, It no longer exists." The problem is, I'm not a dog.

A chipmunk almost on the verge of death Lies on my doorstep as the cat walks in. I grab a paper towel and wrap him up And lie him in the dirt as his body struggles To move. He still struggles to die, his body shaking In the only way it can, and all I can do Is move it for my sake so that I Do not have to look at the suffering my beloved Cat brought.

She perches, her cold eyes Staring into mine, asks For entrance. Her gold fur Soft, with small streaks of black, Glowing in the sun, the Picture of serenity. Man, for ages, has been Terrified of this "beast". Now, though, she seems harmless, A quiet cat, pink tones In her soft ears, perked and Asking to be let in. I don't understand how Anyone could be afraid Of this gentle cat, just Sitting there, looking calm Cool and collected, so I open for her the door. Yet when she runs in, I See what she has left there, A mouse begging to die, A small bump pulsing on His side. Meanwhile, the cat Perches, licking her paw. Her f