mspadfoot2

leave me your stardust

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Downpour by mspadfoot2, literature

Africa [for Hannah] by mspadfoot2, literature

Bushchild by mspadfoot2, literature

Soundtrack by mspadfoot2, literature

Literature

Soundtrack

A rough wind blows away the rain that lingers sweetly in the air, leaving me bare before your accusatory grin. I feel it grate against my face while I think about your eyes. You are smiling at the music my tears make as they hit the concrete, and you sway to the beat of the blistering breeze. Once, you gazed at me with moons in your eyes and suns in your smile. Soon, clouds rolled in to the soundtrack of popped corks, cracked caps, and the fizzing bubbles of carbonation. I remember they smelled like cigarette smoke and tasted like good California pot.

Mission Hill in the '90s by mspadfoot2, literature

Literature

Mission Hill in the '90s

My childhood was scuffed knees on hardwood floors, playing pretend in hallways while we ran away from our parents. ( - You be Simba - I'll be Nala.) The house had dark mahogany floors and rooms we couldn't see and fake grass in the fingernail of a backyard. The wild streets of Boston seemed like a fantasy land for giants and we were scared of the basement. We ate gum and oreos for breakfast and got Barbies every Christmas with our picture books. Over the years, the four-hour drive stopped seeming like forever, and we stopped scuffing our knees because we cared too much for our jeans. The gum and oreos stopped in the wak

Eras by mspadfoot2, literature

Literature

Eras

The sun sets, blood red and angry orange on something I thought would last forever and my tears fall to the beat of my heart breaking and I'm on my knees with the weight of what you stole from me. I hurt a little more with every lie you tell. The air fogs up with the smoke from your cigarettes and my feet stick to the residue of your cheap booze. Don't you remember promising underneath the stars to be best friends for life? Or did it fall away with your carefully orchestrated amnesia? Don't you remember all those promises me made, planning the words in my first book dedication and what you would wear to my wedding? Or

To a Former Friend by mspadfoot2, literature

Literature

To a Former Friend

I used to see the night sky in your kaleidoscope eyes. Now, you kill the smile on my face as surely as poison, cyanide spilling from your lips like rain while your eyes spit arsenic-dipped daggers from the across the table. I sit still as they soak through my armor, your words giving me third-degree chemical burns. You take a breath and I crawl away on all fours to lick my wounds like the beaten dog you've gleefully reduced me to, with your steel-toed kicks and iron-knuckled punches, cruel giggles sneaking through the cracks in your apathetic smile like naughty children. I shiver because your palpable hostility makes the room

Sentiments of Caffeine by mspadfoot2, literature

Literature

Sentiments of Caffeine

In the blue-black darkness and hushed noise of my favorite cafe right in the center of what remains of Little Italy in New York City, I sit at one of the smallest two-person tables I have ever seen. I hold a cannoli in one hand, a cappuccino in the other and a copy of the newest New Yorker is open on the table. I sit here, warm, comfortable, alone. I think about you. I think about your dark eyes and everlasting, megawatt smile and I think about how you haven't talked to me in months. What did I do to make you angry at me? I am alone in this bustling shop in this bustling city and I wish you were here.

Smirk by mspadfoot2, literature

The Song of Your Empties by mspadfoot2, literature

Literature

The Song of Your Empties

Kaleidoscope wings, sea gull laughs, and angel tears: Please don't wind your way down to the ground in your own sort of destruction. You ask, if it's not a dream, how do I land? Perhaps if you called me sober with no gravitational troubles between your wings, no colder air to sink you through buttermelt skies, her knuckles ice-white with their grip on her suitcase... Do we feel the aura of the world around us, or do we see only what's in front of our eyes? The blood of flowing rivers topple in self-consciousness and in my heavy-hearted confusion I didn't know you knew all my words were paper tigers.

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Downpour by mspadfoot2, literature

Africa [for Hannah] by mspadfoot2, literature

Bushchild by mspadfoot2, literature

Soundtrack by mspadfoot2, literature

Literature

Soundtrack

Mission Hill in the '90s by mspadfoot2, literature

Literature

Mission Hill in the '90s

Eras by mspadfoot2, literature

Literature

Eras

To a Former Friend by mspadfoot2, literature

Literature

To a Former Friend

Sentiments of Caffeine by mspadfoot2, literature

Literature

Sentiments of Caffeine

Smirk by mspadfoot2, literature

The Song of Your Empties by mspadfoot2, literature

Literature

The Song of Your Empties

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Bushchild by mspadfoot2, literature

Mission Hill in the '90s by mspadfoot2, literature

Literature

Mission Hill in the '90s

To a Former Friend by mspadfoot2, literature

Literature

To a Former Friend

The Song of Your Empties by mspadfoot2, literature

Literature

The Song of Your Empties

Inky Companionship by mspadfoot2, literature

Et Tu? by mspadfoot2, literature

Literature

Et Tu?

Who am I? I am a mother. I create lives out of words after many hours of painstaking labor. Every brown-haired, green-eyed, thin-nosed angsty teenagers that falls onto my page grows into a story that grows a mind of its own that defies control. But all the same at the end of the day, I tuck him into bed in my notebook, with his stories like any good mother should. Who am I? I am a performer. When I get up on stage I own it. And just because my poems don't rhyme doesn't mean they aren't poems. I don't need your big words and fancy metaphors; I have rhythm, grace and more power than anything you've ever written. Who am I

Kitchen Tables Blues by mspadfoot2, literature

Literature

Kitchen Tables Blues

While wiping her hands on her apron she comes out of the kitchen with the still-warm apple pie in her hands. Outside, the grass is green and her picket fence is a newly-painted white. Two years later, she comes out of the kitchen while wiping her hands in her apron, the last of her food stamps in her hands. The bills are stacking up her apron's in rags, the grass is dead, and outside her white picket fence finally falls down.

Oblivious by mspadfoot2, literature

Break by mspadfoot2, literature

A Cafe Dream by mspadfoot2, literature

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ache by ClamShellHeart, literature

If Only I Had Lived by lolDalk, literature

Literature

If Only I Had Lived

I remember how I always said that I would face this moment with dignity, but it seems that noble disposition has left me now that the moment has come. My whole body shakes; not of cold or weakness, but out of fear of what is happening to me. It happened so suddenly; I never expected that a story such as mine should have such a silent and unheard end. I remember how the memories of the people I loved and the moments with them calm me, but as I try to recall them from my mind I find that they are slowly fading. It just keeps getting harder and harder to recall their smiling faces, or the warm ambiance they brought. That truly terrifies me; tha

it won't be long by Mercy-Waters, literature

Literature

it won't be long

well, how are things in heaven? it's been five days, three hours, fifteen minutes and thirty seconds since i heard those two short words: he's dead. i'm not just count- ing the seconds. i'm counting every breath and every heartbeat, thinking: how can i still be alive? darling, i need you to distract me from the spider- web cracks spreading throughout my soul. so, please tell me. how are things in heaven?

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one day in the wind by mspadfoot2, literature

one day in the wind

mspadfoot2

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About mspadfoot2

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Artist // Student // Literature

June 25
United States
Deviant for 17 years
She / Her

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My Bio

One day I will live fabulously in Manhattan with my wifey and write all the time. One day I will travel the world. One day, I will fall in love.

Favourite Movies

Schindler's List, Social Network, Black Swan

Favourite TV Shows

Merlin, Glee

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

Beatles, Lady Gaga, Adam Lambert, Gregory and the Hawk

Favourite Writers

Ian McKellen

Tools of the Trade

pen, paper, and a poet's mind

Other Interests

looking at art on dA, reading, writing, learning, music, movies

Posts

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mspadfoot2

Oct 5, 2010

Portfolio Challenge

0 min read

One of the colleges I'm applying to this year requires a writing portfolio if you are applying to the professional writing program, which I am doing.  It must be one to five pieces from the genre you are most comfortable in.  I either want poetry or prose, but I'm not sure which.  I think my poetry is very good, but it only comes when it wants to.  I think my prose is quite good, but not really fiction unless it wants to.  Help me choose one to five of my best pieces from one genre.  Please?

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mspadfoot2

Sep 1, 2010

A Surprise Gift?

0 min read

I got a photo in the mail that was on my wishlist.  I didn't pay for it, and if someone would tell me who did, I would be ecstatic to return the favor.

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mspadfoot2

Apr 13, 2010

Computer Problems

0 min read

I have little to no access to a computer the majority of the time right now.  My laptop and desktop computer are both away getting fixed.  My desktop's hard drive fried, and my laptop is getting its hard drive wiped because it gets a virus every other week.  So...for the time being, I am at a standstill.  Most of you don't put anything up, but if you do, I'm sorry I can't comment or anything.  I will try soon.  I promise. That being said, when I do finally get the computer back, I will be going on a killer upload spree.  There are at least five pieces that I need to type up and put on here, so that will be done quite soon (I hope).  Be patie

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Profile Comments 239

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Happy birthday!!!

Thanks!

You need to correct your bio. One day we will live together in Manhattan. One day you will marry me and/or share my boyfriend and it will be great.

The end.

Love, wife. <3