i want to break free

Creative Forums Creative Writing
1

I want a break, free
I want to break glass for free,
I want a free cake and frosting writing,
You’re so self-something, selfing your self like an elf on a shelf.
I don’t need your pizza you fucking selfish clique of one.
I’ve got a steak frozen in the oven,
God knows I want to thaw out my steak and just eat with my hands, standing up, balls swinging in the dead flourescent breeze.

I’ve fallen in gloves, no one saw.
I’ve fallen in gloves for the first time.
And this time I didn’t skin my knuckles. Fuck them.
I’ve fallen in gloves, yeah!
God knows I’ve fallen in gloves!

But I hurt my knee. My knee wasn’t wearing gloves.
Bring alcohol, don’t care which.

It’s strange but true
I can’t get over, the way you held the door for me,
stopping it from smashing my nose.
But I have to be sure
When I walk out that door, that I love you.
Oh how I want to bleed free.
Oh how I want to smash my nose.
Insurance will pay for the rhinoplasty.
Just think of the vicodin.

But life still goes on
I can’t get used to living without
you by my side, of my side, for my side, and
in proximity to my back.
I don’t want to live alone, hey, hey,
God knows I got to make it on my own – a diarama
of a scene out of Little House In A Big Wood.
You can’t do it for me. So baby can’t you see
I’ve got to break free and find cotton balls and glue
at two in the morning on a school night. My diarama will be
the worst in the whole class because it was not graded on speed or sanfred and son consumption. I can make a heart over a small i, I just don’t want to.

Hey, hey, break free.
I’ve got to break free
I want to break something, yeah
I want something, lord knows.

I want I want I want I want to break free and all that…

2

Gamer,

Post more of your writing. Your brain is fascinating. Best thing since Tabula Rasa. :smiley:

3

I think this first part of the poem is my favorite piece of writing of 2005.

4

Poor Lexy. You need to break free, find your warrior poet and let the adventure begin. You should shovel yourself out of the snow. Then you should eat a meal. Use your crampons and ice ax to climb down your mountain, just a little ways. Careful. Then trip intentionally, break your arm and use the water of a nearby renaissance man to clean your wounds. Make sure he’s eating steak with his hands, balls in full swing, like a chandelier at all tomorrows parties. Paint chips everywhere, use them as sequins and your first aid kit to bandage your fake arm. Use your trekking pole to trek your way down the rest of the sleeping mountain. Get tired, stop, eat your other meal…decide to dry your clothes. The next day you will find your rescue crew. Say the right thing at the right time, if it is poetic enough they might doctor your wounds and take you home. In other words: thanks for liking half of my insipid poem based on a Queen song dedicated to me minutes prior to hacking it into something convincing to the literary set.

5

i was aware of the Queen, but a little confused by it. i assumed you didn’t make the reference on purpose. and now that its a car commercial and all i just didn’t feel like bringing it up.

i think, really, its this line that doesn’t for me. by the second half of the poem i don’t feel the elfness anymore.

i’m in a library and it smiles like wine.

6

I’m not sure what smiles like wine, the library, or the elf. Perhaps you find yourself in a wine library, searching for the perfect Bois De Boursan Du Pape Red 2005 that will put others to shame, nay, best all others of 2005 due to a decidedly elfin bouquet and car commercial finish. In small amounts, half a glass even, it produces a warm ‘inner glow’. Many people feel more at ease socially after an elf or two. However in larger amounts, it causes slowed mental functions, loss of elf-on-a-shelfness, poor judgment, dizziness, poor co-ordination, slurring of speech, blurred vision, vomiting, and eventually cryptic posts that are neither loquatious nor failures, but something in between and threaten to become “beguiling.” May your shelf runneth over with elves in '06, fair Lexy of letters.

7

Sit down. Peace yourself together, elf. The twisted turn of the master’s wheel takes a shallow pit and digs it deeper. A swine’s song. A melody of chosen words to deceive the naive and the tender. The mark of a dog ripping at ankle’s flesh to the bone all the while puttering on words made of dirty stones and dead carcasses. Lost days of empty, no stone left unturned. One word, she said crying, could sear her white thighs. She lays dying arms crossed at her breast never again knowing if it ever truly happened.

Peace yourself together, elf. There is always tomorrow.

8

Bessy, this would not have happened had we been limited to one literary and cultural tradition, no matter how cosmopolitan. The woodland creatures and vintages chosen take us on a tour of modern European, English, and American literary and cultural history, implicitly making an argument for a literary and cultural tradition we can call cyberpolitan. Alexia does not belabor the point; it is on the margins of her central concerns. And yet the point is made: when we read the modern literary post we engage a tradition central for better and worse to modern Western culture. Her response makes us ask if these modernist cyberdemia habits also inform Gamerian fiction and satire. (The lass is mine for the toying. Back off Athena.)

9

:laughing: What are you talking about? I was just writing my feelings out on a nice Wednesday afternoon.

10

:slight_smile: Moi aussie.

11

:smiley: I want more. Keep going.

12

But the blackbird, ignoring the raucous cries of its’ neighbors,the bitter wind of early spring, the light and darkness of scudding clouds, in slow deliberation moves to and fro. Gathering twigs and bits of string, he prepares for another day, another season. In the midst of a thousand acres, he is king and complete.

JT

13

…but the eyes in his head see the world spinning round.

14

…but the eyes in his head see the world spinning round. …and the birth and death of a thousand stars. He is part and one with all that is in being. He is of a moment with no past, no future. His life is his nature, an odd collection of energies that dance the blackbird dance. Honor him! Emulate him! He has no I, no me, no mortgages, no cars, no religions, no questions. He is not plagued with a million answers. In his being there is peace.

JT

15

Ahhhh. I now get one long, hard deep breath to start out my year.

16

Movies and media are also “fascinating”.

Some things in life can only be broken once we stop toutching them, stop feeling them, and drop them… Think about it.