Akito19• Show poetry

"And yet I still act sometimes like I was only about twelve. Everybody says that, especially my father. It's partly true, too, but it isn't ALL true. People always think that something's ALL true. I don't give a damn, except that I get bored sometimes when people tell me to act my age. Sometimes I act a lot older than I am- I really do- but people never notice it. People never notice anything."

Catcher in the Rye ~ J.D. Salinger

Sapphy

http://allpoetry.com/Sapphy

Sapphy spent the day on the subway train, the shopping bag nestled tightly beneath her arm. Under her breath she hummed softly while watching, with careful eyes, the old woman sleeping in the seat opposite her. Sapphy wanted to move toward her, touch her, just to really make sure she was asleep. The idea seemed foolish and vital all at the same time. Then the train jerked to a stop and the woman’s eyes opened. She smiled at the younger girl and Sapphy felt a sort of loneliness. She departed the station, heading toward the cemetery with the shopping bag in hand.

Lady sock

http://allpoetry.com/sock%20monkey

It hadn’t been easy, but a task well done was its own reward. Lady sock softly shut the motel door behind her, removing her coat and pulling closed the lavender curtains. It wasn’t in that one singular minute in which the deed was actually done that she found difficult. It was in every moment leading to it. Each minute was a trial, every second saturated with a heady mix of anxiety and anticipation. And when finally she was successful in her task, Lady sock felt a sweet release flood through her, the pride of a job well done. She craves that feeling. It’s the reason she still does what she does. Kicking off her shoes, she pulled a shot glass and a bottle of brandy from her suitcase and settled in for the night.

Slave

http://allpoetry.com/SlaveToTheBlade

Slave switched off the radio and lowered the driver side window. With one last look at the little nuisance he pitched the cell phone out into the night desert. It wouldn’t be missed. Slave allowed his arm to linger as it dangled out the window, enjoying the cool, rushing midnight air that swam around it. And then suddenly, he felt a surprising stirring in his heart, the small voice of a memory buried beneath all the hardened years. Slave’s breath caught in his throat, eyes welded to the glow of the headlights sailing through the darkened road. They could have him tomorrow, but this night was his.

Fox

http://allpoetry.com/InsaneFox

Fox slipped his foot into the old weathered boot, tied up the laces and left the field. The other stood behind him, watching Fox, but that person didn’t matter anymore. It was early, very early, in that small window of the day when the night began to meld with the mornings light. Still dark, but the sky a softer grey-blue. In all of the days twenty four hours, it was these few minutes he loved the most. He’d have given anything to freeze time and live the rest of his life in these pre-dawn moments. Slipping his pack further up his shoulder, Fox kneeled down and ran his hand across the green field, his fingers swimming through the dew collected onto the blades of grass. Today would be different, he thought to himself and smiled. The other person watched as the young man stood and walked off and knew they would never see each other again.

Neko

http://allpoetry.com/Neko%20Mimi%20Mode%20Desu

Sitting alone in a run down diner, Neko nodded as the waitress asked if he wanted his cup topped off. Behind him, two teenage girls at the other end of the diner had slipped a quarter into the jukebox. Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” filled the air and the two began to slow dance and giggle. A slice of peach pie, barley touched, sat in front of him. Neko brought a thumb to his lips, letting it slip into his mouth, angled, feeling the flesh between his teeth, resting his tongue against the tip, and bit down. He bit, studying the pain, until he was sure he’d broken the skin. He pulled it from his mouth, listlessly observing the blood and saliva spreading across his thumb, watching it seep beneath the nail. The song ended and Neko’s heart ached. Just sitting alone in a run down diner, waiting for someone who never came.

rooly

http://allpoetry.com/roolbreaker

rooly snapped the lighter closed, slipping it into his back pocket with one hand and drawing in the friendly smoke with the other. His old compatriot Mr. Full Moon sailed his way across the sea of tree tops, letting his light splash over onto the deserted forest road. rooly smiled and raised his cigarette to the old man in thanks. The night charged forward full blast with its silent orchestra and rooly began to dance, his feet, lighter than air, swaying to and fro from dirt to pitch. Ginger Rogers floated out from the shadowy trees, falling into his arms, locking her grey toned fingers with his. The stillness reached a crescendo and the two twirled out into the road, her dancing heels keeping step with his black and white Converse shoes. Old Mr. Moon sang his song while the stars span around them, and the trees swayed with dreamy sighs. Then, just a bit away, rooly spotted the headlights approaching and bowing goodnight to Miss Rogers, he stepped back aside and stuck out his thumb.

Akito

Akito was a strange one. Something they all had to agree.