http://slow.writerscafe.org/Molly The original writings of author Molly en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775991206 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Puritythey call it.Whiteas snow:Frozen,cold and lifeless. Itwas easy in the dark,WhereI couldn’t see your eyes,Blackas burnt coal. Therain outside was white noise;Cleansing,pure noise.Butwe didn’t listen.&nbs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/656366/ Something I composed today and thought it was funny :) http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/647134/ There was nothingof use to be found in that dark room and I felt frustrated that I had faced myfear for nothing. I carefully returned to my own room, all the while glancingback as though I were afraid the arms would take on a life of their own and grabme. I shut the door when I got b.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/646970/ This is old and a little cliche, but I came across it in my files today and felt like sharing :) http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/646390/ My first thoughtwas of a documentary I had seen years ago about sharks and their attraction toblood in water. Obviously, there were no sharks in the house, so I immediatelypushed the thought aside as nonsense. More importantly, I told myself,something in the neighboring room was the .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/645865/ I spent aneternity lying on the floor staring at the ceiling. Hour after hour had passedand I still couldn’t make heads or tails out of the message under the table, orout of this whole place for that matter. The thought had occurred to me thatperhaps my captor had put it there .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/634778/ I don’t know whatmade me stay. Well, that’s not entirely true; it was his voice that did it. Iwas about to run, I don’t know where, until he spoke. His voice was like a pitand I couldn’t help but fall into it. I don’t think it would have mattered whathe .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/631310/ It was one of thefew moments in my life when I didn’t stop to analyze my actions, but simplyacted. I was never a particularly good runner, but except for being the “rottenegg” in childhood races this had never been a problem. Now, as I pushed myselfdown the hall.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/631029/ “No, I’m fine. Ijust want to go home,” I said for what must have been the hundredth time.Having woken up in the emergency room, I felt ridiculous and was anxious toforget the entire experience. If I had been a little cleverer I would haveinvented a better reason for.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/630529/ I knew he would bethe death of me from the first moment I saw him. As much as I tried to assuremyself that dreams don’t kill people, I simply couldn’t shake the feeling. “Thiswasn’t like other dreams” I tried to explain to my roommate, who was displeased.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/627939/ This is a novel I'm doing for NaNoWriMo. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/627938/ In honour of Halloween....this was one of my greatest childhood fears. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/614993/ I wrote this for my younger sister. One day I'll let her read it.... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/614521/ This poem is not about death..... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/612169/                         Every Summer we comehere,                      &nbs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/612076/ This one's a little strange....find the hidden message! Lol http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/612064/  Burnthe books, the scandalous books!Lockthem away; they can’t be seen.Putthem in a dark box in the back of a truck,Drivethem far into the night. We’llget them the help that they need.We’llprod them with questions and offer them pills.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/611855/ This one's a bit of a riddle.... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/611850/ This was a little ditty I wrote while studying Beowulf. I was having fun with alliteration....this poem really reveals how big a nerd I am. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/611849/ Myalter ego looks a lot like me.That’sbecause I ate her.Idid it out of pity, and because I couldn’t stand her ignorance.Poorgirl knew nothing,Excepthow to make pancakes,Andhow to grow roses,Andhow to hide in the closet when her mother screame.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/610705/ When I first saw the yarn I thought it was safe.It was the color of blue jeans after a long summer’s use.I never wore jeans.The way it slipped through my fingers reminded me ofchildhood things:A stuffed animal, a blanket, the sweater my mother made mewear.The tr.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/610704/ I can feel them pullme down,Dragging at my skinwith their dead weight;A thousand tinycorpses smothering my living flesh.I scrape at them,pull them with my fingernails, scrub my skin ‘til it’s raw,Anything to eradicatethe little beasts. They .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/610703/ I’vealways hated those girlsWhocurse their freckles and call them ugly;Ilove mine.Theymake me feel wild and beautifulLikea sun-touched jungle childRunningfree as a spotted leopard.Imiss them in the winter when they disappearAndI have to go ba.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/610702/ Thereare pale green leaves on the Japanese Magnolia,Irreverentleaves that know nothing of the pain that came before them.Theydrink up the bright sun and whisper happy songs to the wind.Songsabout daffodils and children in Sunday dresses and baby chicks and rabbits,But.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/610700/ You’rea cheap thrill,Withyour gaudy colorsAndalcoholic stench.You’reugly once you’re old and dryAndwhen you’re young you’re fickle.Youstain my carpet,Youspoil my sheets,Youdefile my pristine fingers.Ihate you for.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/610699/ This poem is about chickens. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/610697/ Five, Six, Seven,EightAnd hold. The carved icesculpture, shrouded by nightHer crystal musclestenseHer slender corpsecan hold.And hold.And hold. To be made of ice:Drain the blood andremove the flesh,Fill the emptinesswith froze.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/610694/ He named allcreatures,Or almost all. And like a good womanshould,She adopted what wasleft. The long-legged onewith the flat, sturdy backShe fondly strokesand calls “ironing board.” With magnetictrinketsShe rewards.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Molly/610691/