Angela M streater
Bio
Hey everyone I’m Angela I love being creative writing is a big passion of mine.I’ve been wanting to be a writer since the second grade.Those adorable fur babes you see are my life bandit an cupcake.I love sushi an shows like the office.
Stories (8)
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IVY FlOWER
IVY FLOWER Ivy flower was ready to climb.Ivy flower choked on her vine.The dirt fell from the jaws of society into her eyes.Their laughter echoed from their lungs as she cried.Like pebbles on the coffin of the soulless.She died everyday inside.She was torn from her heart by claws of ferocity.Exhausted she felt she was the object of systematic property.Her heart stayed open an her tears faded into hope. She turned the excuses that weakened her mind into a strength nobody could understand or know.Her emotions unconfined.Intimidated by her strength the shadowed infant thieves returned her blessings. She then overturned their ignorance with the fire of forgiveness as the made her their queen releasing past festering grudges that were once so deeply embedded.
By Angela M streater5 years ago in Poets
Concrete Rose in Acres Homes
Concrete rose in acres homes. Pushed away by the birth maker.Avoiding her own existence hoping someone besides the metro will take her.The devil spoke to her with such carisma convincing her such false prestige. Never did she think she would end up forced in a shed of antiques on her hands and knees.When everyone asked why did you stay?She thought who would believe the cries of the desperate teen.Her inner cutting continued to breath.Months later so badly she wished the pain would leave.She drank until she lay breathless on a gurney. She considered herself a useless runaway lost in journey. She saw it as the end of the world but 15 years later to this day her demon still lurks in the shadows of acres homes hunting for more runaways.She was dead from the inside feeling the disgust everyday. Seeking revenge when the world told her to pray.The memories run deep from blood to bone.Now she knows she’s not alone. She is the acres homes concrete rose buried in a swarm of stone.
By Angela M streater5 years ago in Poets
JUICE DICTATORS
They speak in groups declaring change amongst one another.Exposing colorful metal coins for overcoming addiction face to face calling each other sister and brother.We know not what blends in or what the mind hides. Genuinely over coming addiction is getting clean from inside.They rant an judge some stand behind sobriety certificates.Some go to the gatherings trying to understand how the darkness leaks running away from the sickness.The wounds from within grow into dried scars an they still can’t fix it.They are the juice dictators. Guidance from leaders once stuck out before can’t place labels on addicts that boomerang back an forth.Concrete based hunger for acceptance is a permanent appetite for more.I always say swim your own skin in the heart of honesty or drown in the hypocrite shore.
By Angela M streater5 years ago in Poets
TRADITIONAL CUTS
They pray in solitude always taught the structured hand of the savior.Their humor is held back by the fear of their imperfections threw the judgement of the teachers that emotionally break them.Traditional cuts scars that stay stuck.They ones that claim to be prophets sweep the children’s tears under the rug.Screaming underneath the silence of hungry compassion.Cutting threw the toiled tears of sadness.Listen to the hope as the floor boards rattle emotional bruises never recover from a worn down wooden paddle.Karma will work its way into the false prophets.The evil bounded law bracelets will be their fate on the docket.Traditional cuts No more hunger no more swollen skin or broken blood.No matter how deep the scars the seeds of traditional cuts never lost faith in God’s love.
By Angela M streater5 years ago in Poets
COBRA MAN
Two buses to the French fry kingdom. She’s a mere servant to the hungry insecure moles starved for financial freedom.Appalled by what her eyes start to breath in. A human being so lost she can’t believe it. The public glares are often fiendish. She peers at the island on the highway out the window. Their scrutiny so sinful. Watching spectators fly past the cobra man labeling him a nuisance surrounded by empty quarts.Some people are just assholes that don’t have any heart.Cobra man you were such a fresh face so long ago.You live in the center of traffic with no place to the world but the death stroll.God’s hand needs you so don’t drown your hope.Please come back from the bottom of the cobra bottle cause you have love on the outside so much more than what you know.Cobra Man.
By Angela M streater5 years ago in Poets
CANDY WRAPPER
A letter to the maintenance man who’s use to in with the new out with the bad.He lost so much nobody ever knew he had.Mattresses an chipped paint toys an dishes left behind.The lack of outside judgement but inner aftermath living would blow his mind.Candy wrappers stuck to his tax payer boots.He contemplates suicide always asking what he has he to lose.Chugging a quart before punch in hour in a baggy maintenance suit.He saw visions of his more peaceful days.Flashes of the waves would drift an sand beneath his soul were his best elements an always seemed to balance out his faith.Tiny hands in his toiled overworked palms the death of his peace years back set him off like a drunken bomb.Pictures frozen under the blur of his addiction he hadn’t seen his life in years an often blames the system. Maintenance man please don’t pull the trigger just listen.Smell the sweet dream in the air an try to think. Just walk a few more steps an you can hear her sing.A velvet soft hand touches his unconscious soul. He opens his eyes in tears to realize once the haze is faded his life is sweeter then a candy bowl.He found a joy that like the wrapper of her favorite candy was purified gold.Candy Wrapper don’t you understand your life matters?Tossing out the bottle with just his heart to give.Just like a fresh apartment he cleaned out the emotional dirt an started living first for him.Candy Wrapper.
By Angela M streater5 years ago in Poets
THE SISTER OF ENVY
The ice cubes were like music to the ears of envy.Nobody ever knew she was trying to kill me.She blended the poisoned stems an roots with a sweet liquid drink suddenly her younger sibling became a child in a state of mid where she could only laugh an not think.The sister of envy.So sneaky jealous of a life she could never have or see.Her father was like wind invisible cold hearted to her needs.Now she’s a asset to society in camouflage fabric on top of the skin of so many insecurities.She would die for a easy lifestyle claims it’s for her country but she’s like the rest of us no better.She’s doing a job for green underneath her denial sweater.She struggles with inner weakness like twigs on a rotting tree.I may be slouchy a heavy metal head and a black sheep to a family but I am great full the sister of envy is something so low I could never be.
By Angela M streater5 years ago in Poets
FOLLOW THEM NOT
Are you ready?For the towers of history to repeat itself.Don’t be afraid of the nightmare we create our own hell.Don’t play into systematic groups learn to pull the string an ring your own bells because there’s nothing like a human being that can think for themselves.Your low into the cement pull yourself up no matter how heavily your weakened.Follow them not.Shatter the dark frame of your mind when your ready to have better in life.The strong women fight with words.The followers need a knife.It’s harder to bite down against ignorance an do what’s right.But please believe me the fisher ain’t worth the price.Follow them not.
By Angela M streater5 years ago in Poets
