Kristina Moulaison > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

These tapping hands hold each scripted line. The first kiss, after hopscotch, on the playground between my house and school, the hungry way I l..

Unspoken threads run, wafting between people in nods, syllables, micro worlds of quiet knowing this thin weaving, net or noose, we hold light ..

My mind was born in nursery rhyme and fable, sprouting branch and leaf off story's marrow root, sucking words from under my feet, the salt washe..

I am a tree bearing opulent fruit. As you sit in my shade, I bend to listen, absorb your tears, growing deeper roots to hold up under yo..

I walk softly on the earth, don't let my footsteps echo too loud, tiptoeing, chewing softly, so as not to intrude. Seeing how short my years are, ..

It would have been much toodangerousto talk about, the cursethat was eating him,that there wasnothing I could really dotostop it. I was a hell ben..

A Sonnet...ISH :/

Scale of a teenage mother.

Letters refuse to gather around... My heart that rushes and strains at the sound of his voice, the collection of all these years hidden in ..

He walked the narrow beam of conciliatory conversation, unspoken words puddling in dark patches under his eyes, leaking black bile ribb..