This is the first poem I've posted on here in awhile and that's because even though this is in a rough state I rather like this poem. I think a lot of it has to do with this one actually coming from my heart.

Her jaw is glued shut.

The questions come unfiltered,
barrage at all sides,
the answers are demanded,
her jaw is glued shut.

They do not care to listen
when she tries hard to explain,
so instead her body stiffens,
her jaw is glued shut.

Words beg to be heard
but their meanings are all marred,
she keeps them inside her head,
her jaw is glued shut.

If the tongue would only loosen,
if the ears would care to open,
if only she was lucid -

Her jaw is glued shut.

words: 90
notes: Yes, I was attempting some half-rhyme scheme business, 'cause I suck at rhyming. Oh well. At least if I'm failing at swc2011, I'm still getting some writing done.

They say a woman should never be sent to do a man's job. But I say a man should never be sent to do a woman's job.

If I had just killed the brat in the beginning myself instead of depending on that stupid hunter, she never would've ran to those damn dwarves.

Damn dwarves.

Who knew men that were three feet tall were full of cunning and a stupid loyalty to a girl who merely served as their maid? Some men are so easily charmed. I had to use spells and potions and all sorts of seduction techniques to crawl my way into Queenhood, but no, that little princess just blinks her doe eyes and sings a pretty song (in that shrill, thin, grating voice of hers) and suddenly all the men swoon.

I simply cannot understand it.

I think my downfall was underestimating the power that blasted girl had over men. All sorts of men. Old men, young men, tall men, short men. She's probably a witch and doesn't even know it - she's that persuasive. Even in pseudo-death she managed to convince a man to save her.

Intolerable!

It's simply infuriating, that's what it is. All these lovely plans of mine derailed because of one stupid little girl. She wasn't pretty or a good singer, and she had the most atrocious haircut, so my only explanation for her ability to win over every man she met was simply that she had a drop of magic in her.

If only had I gotten her killed in a "horsing accident" or something of that sort. If only I had taken care of everything.

If only I hadn't underestimated the lengths to which men go when under the spell of a girl.

words: 292
notes: If it wasn't obvious, this is from the POV of Snow White's stepmother. Part of "Deadily Ever After: Imagined Monologues by Disney Villains."

BRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMP.

Ellie jumped as Allen blasted the vuvuzela into her left year. "There are better ways to announce yourself, asshat," she snarled.

"Well, isn't someone in a lovely mood today," Allen replied, eyebrow raised. "Bad dream?"

"I wish it was a dream," she said, sighing into her hand. "Norman just broke up with me."

"Wait..." Allen paused. "Norman... broke up with <em>you</em>?"

"You heard me."

"And I thought hell freezing over meant we were in an apocalyptic state. I can't believe... I mean, not to be rude or anything, but I think everyone thought if anyone was gonna break up with anyone, it would've been you with him." Allen looked at the shadows under Ellie's eyes and added, more gently, "You want to talk about it?"

"I guess you have a point, that I did like him less than he liked me. I don't know if it's because he sensed it or anything, all I know was that he told me it was because of Kathy Steiner." Ellie snarled again. "Kathy Steiner," she repeated, mashing the name with her teeth.

"Kathy Steiner? Wait, brainiac queen Kathy Steiner?" Allen echoed. "That's... random."

"Tell me about it," Ellie agreed, with a frustrated huff. "I think it just burns extra because Kathy beat me in our second grade class spelling bee, leaving me in the dust. Just because she knew how to spell antidisestablishmentarianism! Bitch."

Allen arched his eyebrow again. "Someone holds a grudge."

"Ohhhh yeah," Ellie replied. "Kathy Fucking Steiner would never let me forget it, too. She never misses a chance to one-up me. The way she smacked the M of antidisestablishmentarianism... she was directly mocking the way I suck lychee jello out of its little cup! I knew she was. I call her out on her one little spoonerism - but c'mon, who wouldn't laugh at her calling the bly skue?"

Allen snickered. "I do have to agree with you. But I don't really see what Norman sees in her... she's not exactly the type to scream 'fornicating concubine!' Then again, Norman doesn't seem like the type of guy to go for that."

"He's not. She's not. I have no idea why he ditched me for her. This whole situation is this big ole paradox for me, too." Ellie rubbed her hands over her face. "And..." She sniffed as if trying to keep her voice composed. "I have no idea why it hurts so bad."

Allen offered his hand to Ellie, who looked at in confusion before he explained, "Here. Get yourself up into a perpendicular position. This is pathetic, Ell."

"What are we doing?" she asked, grabbing his hand but still staring at it in confusion.

"We are getting your ass over to my family quarry so you can demolish some rocks and pretend that you're sending Kathy Fucking Steiner's face all the way to Constantinopole. You game?"

For the first time that day, Ellie smiled. "Definitely."

words: 489
notes: The original version of my PH writing prompt submission, found here. I think this is a fairly AU scene, since Allen's right: Norman would never break up with Ellie. All 3 are from a story of mine that may never see the light of day but known affectionately in my heart as AdeN/CoChoc. Although a horrible first draft of it was posted on the lisiharrison.net forum/boards, but those are gone now, so.

Also crap I need to get started on swc2011.

So, I've decided to try, yet again:

SUMMER WRITING CHALLENGE!
better referred to as swc here.

But unlike previous years, instead of doing whatever every day, I am going to force myself to work on my full-length stories. Now that it's summer and I no longer have to use my brain for schoolwork, I definitely have time and should, in theory, have the energy.

WE'LL SEE.

I'll be interrupted by some vacation times, which might make things difficult, so I'm just going to wait to officially start this until after I come back from my senior trip. Which would be July 4th. That's a good day to start things, right?

In the meantime, I might write a few short things because I won't after, for awhile, most likely. We'll see.

Project(s) to Attempt:
- Snow White retelling
- Viva La Vida
- Freshman 15
- Fairytales are for Pansies (edit/rewrite)
- PLAN: Bottled trilogy & Kieran's story and maybe Aralyn's story
- Elves story?

Dexter is sipping tea when the boy enters.

He is dripping onto the marble floor, Dexter notes, which is a certain sign of desperation. To trudge through the rain so determinedly? Dexter would think that most people would at least think to bring an umbrella.

Perhaps this boy has no umbrella to bring. Yes, there is definitely a little sadness and bitterness underlining those haggard eyes. This teenager clearly can't be more than eighteen, and that's a generous estimate.

They stare each other down for a few moments before the boy finally speaks. "I'm... I'm looking for Dexter."

"Your name, boy? And your business with Dexter?" Dexter regards him coolly, sizing him up with unflinching hardened brown eyes. Even the teacup is completely still.

"Kieran. Kieran Long. And I... I need training, and I've heard Dexter's the best. The best who isn't a power-seeking evil entity, that is." The boy's mouth twists at this latter statement, and Dexter can't help that slight smile that creeps out. Dexter can appreciate snark and sarcasm, especially in an era with no lightness.

"Very good, Kieran. You've heard correctly."

"Great. So, can I meet him?" The boy's impatience is only too clear.

Dexter's mouth quirks at this last question before replying, full of amusement, "Meet who?"

"Dexter!" His shout is just a breath away from being aggravated.

"Oh, Dexter," Dexter drawls. "Why, Kieran, you've already met Dexter."

"I have?" The boy frowns, full of confusion. Was Dexter the guard at the door? The one who escorted him to this room?

Dexter laughs. "You're looking at her."

She enjoys the boy's disbelieving gape and glance up and down her body and the womanly curves that are never betrayed in the rumors about Dexter.

"You're Dexter?" He asks, flabbergasted. "But you're... but you..."

"But I'm a woman," she finishes for him. Now all amusement slides out of Dexter's face. "Well, Kieran, this has been nice, but if it's training you want, then it's training you'll get."

She closes her eyes for a moment, and when they open again, her irises are glowing, and her hands are covered in almost blinding white light.

"Let's begin."

words: 358
notes: Brief scene from a story idea I got over the summer. Couldn't help myself with the Dexter twist - I do love my girls with guys' names & feminist gurrrl power stuff. Also I couldn't really think of a title. Clearly.

In exactly one week I will turn eighteen.

Even in my early teens when all I wanted was to go back to being little, I still craved and hungered for the day I'd turn eighteen. Eighteen represented adulthood: freedom, unimaginable freedom.

Except now I'm almost there and I... I want to run backwards. I always feel like time is running circles around me, but now I especially feel it. Birthdays haven't been extravagant affairs for me for awhile now, but now I feel like turning eighteen is the start of a new chapter in my life, but it's not one that I want to read yet.

I don't know what it is, exactly, but I feel like there's so much I have to do that I haven't done yet. Which is stupid because eighteen is supposed to open doors, not close them. It's not like I want to commit a crime and not have to go to jail for it, but I guess it's just now I'm really realizing all the childhood experiences I'm missing out on.

I don't really have much else to say, but just that I guess I'm scared. I don't want to be eighteen yet. But it's happening whether I like it not.