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    dots Submission Name: "Fighting for Malice"dots

    Author: Clayman
    ASL Info:    28 - getting late
    Elite Ratio:    6.34 - 609/327/167
    Words: 361
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 626
    Average Vote:    5.0000
    Bytes: 2302

       She kept him away from me, told him lies about me. Neglected him and made him afraid of new things, of life and the unknown.

    Today i won custody, after 11 months of uncertainty and clenching teeth. He is mine to direct and i shall water him well.

    His name is Michael Malice.

    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dots"Fighting for Malice"dots

    "You won't be seeing him anymore."

    She hissed as she churned those rusty words of art into my chest.
    I saw the serpent twirling in her eyes, fighting off kindness and all things humane.
    Felt like i wanted to beat those splintering utterances back down her festering throat.
    Clenching my sanity i wrenched out a caged response in fear of going exothermic.
    "This is not over..."

    It started like a train at first,
    moving slowly,
    i was granted the presence of my blood less and less frequent.
    I took it upon my canvas of solutions to de-crease her lashing statement,
    to make her swallow this cancer imposed upon me and secure the rightful rhythm of things.

    One morning all norms expired as the reality of nothingness descended.
    The train reached full speed,
    i wasn't allowed by her black grace to enjoy the company of our fleshy miracle anymore.

    Madness is also like a train,
    one that never ends,
    ramming you into your sanity,
    chipping away bit by bit.

    I quested till i found the man with the right caliber paper gun.
    A righteous compass embedded in his actions promised success.
    Speaking of resolution yet focusing lightly on obstruction he showed me the map.
    "X marks the spot" he said, "but it will take time".
    "I am a construct of patience" i told him.

    Today it is raining reams, beautiful black pricks of truth and command.
    A paper cut for each lash she dealt, cutting her out of the equation,
    The prince stands now with the king, no longer tainted by uncertainties and fears of the queen.
    The jest of it all is i am burdened by tears and sorrow,
    unable to snicker in disgust as she.
    Knowing the sea is parted in the right direction lends desert to my sorrow,
    oil to my hinges.
    Infinite scenes are abound now as i ready the clear waters of truth to baptise my son with new possibilities.

    Cutting each other always yields the same results:
    Our blood runs identical.

    Why test this formula?


    Submitted on 2009-10-06 09:38:01     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    1: >_<
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    ||| Comments |||
      All of these left me soaking in a thick puddle of envy...

    "...as she churned those rusty words of art..."

    "...the serpent twirling..."

    "...beat those splintering uttereances back down her festering throat."

    "Clenching my sanity..."

    "...make her swallow this cancer..."

    "...our fleshy miracle..."

    "Madness is also like a train,
    one that never ends,
    ramming you into your sanity,"

    "...beautiful black pricks of truth and command."

    "...lends desert to my sorrow,
    oil to my hinges."

    It's great! :D It really shows a part of your life I never expected. I know you're 25, but I didn't expect that you had a kid--nothing like that.

    The only pieces of this work are the metaphors and similies with which you over-adorned it. I love them! But they bash me with so much imagery from trains to the sea to the desert and equations...@_@ Oi! Maybe best to keep a certain metaphor or simile in one stanza, move to another stanza and place your next metaphor or simile and so on. I know you don't change your work, but when you get ready to publish them, refer back to EVERYBODY'S comments so you have a little taste of each. That way, your audience will have already been chosen. ^_^

    Oh, and I know I shouldn't give you anything of my background b/c this is YOUR poem and these are COMMENTS--not life stories--to be left but...I really wish my biological mom would have fought for my siblings and me as you did for your son. But what can you do? People are bound to let ya down.

    | Posted on 2009-12-06 00:00:00 | by mojymo | [ Reply to This ]
      My boyfriends ex took his kids away from him. She told him that if he fought for them she'd say he was abusing them,and he felt that the whole thing would get more unpleasant than the kids ought to be dealing with at that yong age. She involved them in her fight with him, told them lies about him, the whole thing was awful. He didn't see them for three years, until she needed more money than he was giving her. Now he sees them once every 6 months, if that.

    I'm so happy that you managed to get your rights to your boy, it's terrible how mothers can take children away from their fathers. And it sounds like you did the right thing, she sounds like a similar calibre to my bf's ex.

    I wish you all the best with him.

    | Posted on 2009-10-07 00:00:00 | by AlyRose | [ Reply to This ]
      this poem kinda killed me. i dont know why it made me so sad. but you got the emotion across quite well. awesome job. and im very glad for you and your son. happily ever after. peace and love.
    | Posted on 2009-10-06 00:00:00 | by Theophilus | [ Reply to This ]
      I like this, and just reinforces what I believe to the core.... Sons belong with their fathers. Daughters... oh, don't even get me started, but no, daughters would be a toss-up. Sons? More inclined to say, Fathers.

    And that is a cool name. I liked "Mikail" as a middle name, but my ex never did. He didn't like anything I liked. He had to go. lol

    Great write. It has great visions and sunlight in it, the wounded warrior ending reminds me of a tarot card... swords, of course.
    | Posted on 2009-10-06 00:00:00 | by Runes | [ Reply to This ]
      Very nice, I gave it flow of poetry in my head (Habit I guess.) and it entertained my greatly. I must say a story poem is always a pleasure to read. The only thing that distracts me from your writing's is the lower case 'I' that don't belong that way, call it a minor problem. Other than that I throughly enjoy your stpry poem Story poem, that should be a real thing . . Maybe it already is and I just have yet to hear about it. Humm, my thought's on this is what imagies that come to mind, I have a guy in a trench coat and a girl in leather with a dagger hidden some where. Blue eye's that are stardusted with hate, black hair that's curlie to a T, and to top her off, she's 'perfect' in body stature! The guys one of millions of brown hair and green eyes with a well build in the body and a strong jaw. Nice movie of this running in my head, assin's in combat maybe Sorry, totally ruined that but it's what came to mind (Playing too many video games lately I guess.) it was wonderful! Keep writing please!
    But that's taking otu your own comments about the poem with that in mind you have the same characters only more of a former family. That I can relate to a bit better, my own family's a it of shambles Eitehr way it was great!
    - Constance A. Hensley
    | Posted on 2009-10-06 00:00:00 | by Scaredheart | [ Reply to This ]

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