An elderly woman limps, cane first, through one of the many doors of a purple room in your head. (or mine? Never was good at geography.) She sits down in an aged rocking chair. You sit on the floor staring up. Her cold, wrinkled hands shake a little. She grabs a small, hardback book from the dark, wooden shelf at the left. Her hair, short and gray, curls at the ear. She beams at you, making your heart the tiniest bit warmer. If you've written a poem about suicide in the last weak, you probably needed that smile.
"Hello child, would you like to hear a story?" she asked in a firm, loving voice.
Now, here's where things get a little interesting, but it's still quite easy. If you nod she'll read some stuff about me. Of course, you will really have to read it yourself, but don't let Grandma know that. If you don't like old people and say no, feel free to scroll down or(if you're impatiant) click the link at the top entitled "skip biography".
"Once upon a time," she began reading the large, swirly text, "there was a young child named Phlox." She turned the book around so you could see the picture. There was a short girl with big blue eyes and puffy, curly golden hair. The kid your looking at is wearing a pink shirt with light blue jeans.
"She lived in Alabama, or the 'Heart of Dixie,'" She continued. You look at the page and there is a map of the United States with a dark red heart at the bottom near Georgia.
"One day she bunched some words together and called it a poem." Phlox is on top of a desk kicking the word "flower" onto a sheet of paper.
"Everyone loved her poems." A round light hits the stage of an other wise dark room and Phlox stands in it, mouth open, reading off a piece of paper.
In the front you can see word bubbles with boos inside them.
"She came across a website that she really liked." You see Phlox in front of a monitor with stickers tossed all over it. Her face is very close to the screen, and she's wide eyed. Her mouth has dropped to the carpet.
"Soon her talent grew, and so did she." There's a row of wooden stairs with white railing in front of Phlox. She has one foot on the first step.
"One day a nice poet who went by the name of AbortMe visited her poetry and adopted her." You see Phlox standing next to a much taller person wearing a hood so you can't see that person's face.
"Hello child, would you like to hear a story?" she asked in a firm, loving voice.
Now, here's where things get a little interesting, but it's still quite easy. If you nod she'll read some stuff about me. Of course, you will really have to read it yourself, but don't let Grandma know that. If you don't like old people and say no, feel free to scroll down or(if you're impatiant) click the link at the top entitled "skip biography".
"Once upon a time," she began reading the large, swirly text, "there was a young child named Phlox." She turned the book around so you could see the picture. There was a short girl with big blue eyes and puffy, curly golden hair. The kid your looking at is wearing a pink shirt with light blue jeans.
"She lived in Alabama, or the 'Heart of Dixie,'" She continued. You look at the page and there is a map of the United States with a dark red heart at the bottom near Georgia.
"One day she bunched some words together and called it a poem." Phlox is on top of a desk kicking the word "flower" onto a sheet of paper.
"Everyone loved her poems." A round light hits the stage of an other wise dark room and Phlox stands in it, mouth open, reading off a piece of paper.
In the front you can see word bubbles with boos inside them.
"She came across a website that she really liked." You see Phlox in front of a monitor with stickers tossed all over it. Her face is very close to the screen, and she's wide eyed. Her mouth has dropped to the carpet.
"Soon her talent grew, and so did she." There's a row of wooden stairs with white railing in front of Phlox. She has one foot on the first step.
"One day a nice poet who went by the name of AbortMe visited her poetry and adopted her." You see Phlox standing next to a much taller person wearing a hood so you can't see that person's face.
- Last seen on Aug 28 9:57 PM. Member since September 20, 2003.
- I'm a moonstone path poet for 531 comments.
- My mood is , and quote is Umbrellas don't protect against pigs.
- I am a 17 year old girl from Alabama (United States)
- When I'm not writing, I'm a student.
- I am in the groups Real Critiques
- I have 531 comments, 1 contest
My Poetry
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A small, wooden chest
stood on her top shelf.38 lines, 3 comments, April 19, 2007. In Other -
First comes the the flourishing season.
The days that sun rains heavier than water.21 lines, 2 comments, April 17, 2007. In Nature -
Past a deep path along southern Alabama
br
My Stories
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Struck with boredom, I stepped over to my sweet, plump guinea pig's cage and reached in to gently lift her out. She playfully kicked my hand. I knew what that meant, she wanted
Visitor Book
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AdamAdkins : it wont let me reply yo your comment so.... on April 10yes, We just have different styles of writing. I find I write better in long line freeverse, but you dont. A lot of people dont enjoy my style, but people that do dont enjoy your stlye. Its a strange thing that I think people need to get past.
anyways, the "darker then inquisition period yahweh"
"yahweh" is hebrew for god, the inquisition period is often refered to as the darkest time in judeo christian faith. Then the enlightenment(also known as age of reason) came about and everyone was deist and such. I just liked the idea of the contrasting religious movements representing my coffee and cup. -
your understatement on March 15, 2004Your writing really speaks deeply to me... I'm so sorry I didn't get to comment. But I'll come back sometime soon and coment on your works but as the night grows darker, I must go to sleep or suffer my teachers trying to kill me while I sleep in their classes.
~Jess -
ShadyLass on February 1, 2004Thanks for your comment on my poem.
~Amanda~
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xbyebyebeauty on February 1, 2004Thanks for the nice comment..i have confidence issues so thanks for the encouragment.
