Emily B > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

things that grow wild

he asked what are you thinking about today and I stopped and stared long at the wall and started and stopped again there were just n..

The sun was shining the day that he came in the wagon to take me away from my father’s house. We rode in the wagon barely saying a word. We were..

I woke up drowning one day too many anchors-- and not enough buoyance. The skies seemed clear-- no clouds on the horizon. The waves as still ..

My words don't come in metered, rhyming forms. They come like the rain, sudden and unexpected, falling straight down.

I am sick to death of words like symptom and side effect. Tired of being concerned with diagnosis and prognosis. I am lost in a hazy maze of te..

My hand thinks that it could paint. Glorious scenesof ethereal beauty spring from my imagination. My mind flashes images-- captures for an ins..

Thoughts of her gnaw at his focus too persistently; he finds himself consumed more and more with her smile with her voice. He can't rememb..

I want to be out of doors breathing deep from blue skies. I want to roll in the dew-soaked spring grass like horses do. And puppies. I want ..

early yet . . . still growing