http://slow.writerscafe.org/ghosti The original writings of author ghosti en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776028136 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 When we met, we were like reflections of each other. It was scary- I’ll admit it. Under nothing but the moon and the stars,The sound of the sea matching my heartbeat- It was an odd way to meet. And yet we met. When we met,&n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2802295/ Somewhere in the world, A child’s first word is no. The child’s first word is no And her parents think that something is wrong with her. Where did she even learn to say such a thing? No is rude. No is cruel. No is saying that consent comes bef.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2801775/ When the topic of familycomes up, I tell people that I am adopted. People usually give me The pity look and ask me what happened. When I start to explain my Situation, People tell me Not to feel like I am unloved. Unnecessary. Unwanted. And if I am comple.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2801653/ You walk into the room and my heart stops beating. Your presence steals the air from my lungs and stomps on it,I take the space I fill and dump myself out so you can have it-I erase myself entirely so yoursilence can drown mine out. I haven’t met you and yet you l.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2801573/ Right now, as I sit down to write this poem, I am wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, my hair is pulled up. And this is not to point and be like “Oh! I am not like the other girls!”Because about 50% of the girls at my high school look just like me. I am white, I am blond.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2801479/ When we think of a villain,we think of the manifestation of evil. When we think of a villain,we think of some person, some thing, that is out to get us. It has no hobbies, no interests,it does not care about attending Sunday brunch with its mother. It does not take a knittin.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800918/ I had a dream that My scars had reopened. That I was bleeding again,That I could see into my body,That it was rotten and septic and I did not know what to do with it. What does this mean? Does my subconscious know thatMy problems are resurfacing?Is it trying to warn me?&nbsp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800829/ I have fallen into a hole That I have stared at for years. It has been taunting me-Whispering to me. Calling for me to come near and advising me to leave. You are a poison labeled “Do not eat”, yet I savor you all the same. At least, I say that.&nb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800828/ I am in love with you like an addict is in love with heroin-I am willing to give up my life for a few minutes of relief,and you will give me nothingbut scars, tremors, and a chanceof dying lonely in a bathroom. You are as comforting as a syringe,one filled with blissful poison, a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800827/ 'sanctus, sanctus, sanctus'                    - 'holy, holy, holy'I attend the Mass,Sitting in the farthest back pew. It is dark, it is both full yet empty,The people converse in a language&nbsp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800826/ father, I am afraid of myself. There is growing pain in me,A hunger, a thirst, a suffering,And it is swallowing me. I am sick, I have a disease,Can you heal me? Can you give me a miracle?Is there enough faith to fix me?I believe- I believe- I swear I believe. Is it.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800825/ I don’t know what is worst-being sad for no apparent reason at all,or not grieving when I know I should. I never seem to feel emotions the right way,but it is not like I lack the capacity. I have felt their nameless ghosts before. God made me an empty mason jar,on a rack with ho.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800824/ It is ironic how many love poems I write. How many words I spill that have to do with intense intimacy and heart break-I have no experience being under the effects of Cupid and his cruel mother. I do not recognize them, and I will never be able to. T.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800823/ humans are truly the cruelest creatures on the earth-after all, isn’t love the most basic human emotion? we will destroy ourselves and it will be the most human thing we could ever do.     - we were damned long before she bit that apple  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800711/ My teacher looks at the wrap on my legand asks me if I am okay. How do I say that I remove one of my body’s protective layers until the intense    restlessness and    buzzing finally ceases? How do I say that .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800710/ i am the dead gods that haunt your dreamsi am Mnemosyne; i plague your mind.i hold you captive in the things that have passed,in a cage of nostalgia and flashbacks, in 'what if's and regrets. you cannot get rid of me, as you have made me what I am. i hurt you, because i remind you of .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800709/ grief is begging to be forgiven, and believing you do not deserve it. it is rearranging your internal organs andacting as if you are not choking on the inside. it is a valid pain- a beautiful agony- it is scars we inflict upon ourselves for love. what is more bittersweet tha.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800707/ Do you love me enough,To give me an extra set of skin whenThe one I was born with is not thick enough? Do you love me enough To see me suffering with a smile on my face,And pull me out of the fire I put myself in?Do you love me enough,To cradle me in your arms, holding me close,When my mas.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800706/ the ghosts in my attic can play pianonot very well, but playing is still playingi used to get annoyed- it was always 3 ambut eventually, i got used to it. i grew tired. sometimes it is like steps down the keyboard,sometimes it is a loud, dramatic smash of angerthose are the days i apologize and.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800705/ The best time to write a poem is after you have been crying for half an hour. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800704/ the skeletons in my closet are named. I have them alphabetically organized,bones properly cleaned and attached,names on display. i dissected each oneand assembled them in a line.  each day ipull out one, and wear it like fine jewels(crown on crown, hands on mine). Icontinue throughout the .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800703/ i remember my mother telling me that my grandfather became an angel. she did not mention the burning agony involved.how you can feel you shoulder blades breakas wings protrude from your back. becoming holy is a horrible process-the light is blinding, the smell of blood so thick,a drum poun.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800702/ I don’t know what to do with the love I once had for you. How do I repurpose this intense adoration?These old memories? The frames that once held pictures of us? I can pull apart the house we built for us,Use the wood for a fire, for a crime,I’ll burn down myself with.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800701/ i wrote this when i was asked how i felt about receiving a late diagnosis for a learning disability/neurological disorder http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800699/ I hung my ex lovers up on my wall like art,I keep their bodies as mementos of mistakes I’ve made.Like Gogh, I give an ear to future lovers,But the ear isn’t mine. It’s from my portfolio-My arrangement of masterpieces, an array of red,Agony is a beautiful treasure, isn’t it?&n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800696/ i feel like i have to apologize,because i continue to summon your ghost to write,i sit and use your existence to mourn a loss,but i lost nothing- you never took from me. you were not stolden from me. our lives laid parallel to each other, and i pretend i can make them cross. some.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800694/ “how does it feel to grow up?”your home is the first grave you will ever haveyour childhood bed, a casket, adorned in light pinkstuffed animals watching as you enter a state of holinessit is the first place you die, yes,but that is also when you become a god  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800693/ at my funeral,my obituary is etched into my bodytales of my life transcribed on my skinat my funeral,i am being read Miranda rights by my casketi have the right to remain silent, but i don’t at my funeral,the priest is praying but it is not for meit is too late to get a ticket, and the tr.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ghosti/2800690/