we're not in kentucky anymore, and i went there as far as it would always take me back to his bed yet again. misstepping the what's and when's - like it makes a difference in a he said/he said it again. just a battle of will's and won't's. just like i imagined them. like a gentrified chicken chain on every corner. because the easiest way to a man's heart is through his stomach, but it's not the only one. i hope you came ready to get messy. finger-lickin gentrified chicken chain, close enough to the real thing, because what even is real in this world? does it have to be a thing? a breaker of deals? wheeling here and there, just to settle down together, forever? over a great big bucket of gentrified chicken chain. we are a family because the box says so. still all in this together? where is north going? is this where we turn different directions? is it too soon to say i told you so? didn't i tell you that you would break my heart some day? i didn't know how or when, but i knew you would and then you did. and i never ate at gentrified chicken chain again.
About the Creator
⸘jason alan‽
:::WARNING:::
i am only responsible for what i say,
not for what you understand.
you may learn to be charmed by my [secret‽] discontent,
or you may not.
Keep reading
More stories from ⸘jason alan‽ and writers in Poets and other communities.
Helen Keller
in honor of 'Repeat Day', June 3, here's to the miracle worker, Anne Sullivan, in so many ways in the common world, there is not room to be normal. in a place where nobody is special, everyone wants to be extraordinary. where everyone hates the everyman strives to be. everyman strives to be. every man strives to be. but nobody is listening now. can't hear thunder in an echo. punishment from the pedestal on the hill. i am high and they are mighty, legendary. but i am legend. and everyman knows that every man shits and every man dies, but legends never bite the dust. they are made of ghosts, mass graves of the everyman all around me, everyman living dead inside, buried before their time. doing what Helen Keller would be if she was alive today.
By ⸘jason alan‽2 years ago in Poets
More Than Just Words
More than sweet words, I cherish the people who are willing to show up for me. The depth of a relationship isn’t determined by how many times we say, “Let’s meet up another day.” Those seemingly warm words often go unfulfilled. Instead, it is the friend you don’t contact often, or even someone who lives far away, who quietly drives over the moment you say, “I’m a little tired lately.”
By Emily Chan - Life and love sharing4 days ago in Poets
Getting Serious About Comedy (Part I)
If I were asked to remark on my life and the childhood that paved some road leading me to this point, I would have to say something about all the funny people who surrounded me for the last 26,872 days (and counting). Somewhere along that road, I became a big fan of laughter and the comedy that spawns it – and, I mean not only my own laughter, but the laughter of others, some of which I have actually been responsible for inducing.
By John Oliver Smith7 days ago in Humor
Comments (2)
Wow...great work.
The things remembered and ruined by events or people in our lives....