Lilygreen

United States

Ridiculously self- pressured, hopelessly (and unsuccessfully) in love for three years, and scared to write the things that matter. And that’s me on a good day . Good luck.

Message from Writer

“Here’s some advice- stay alive.” Haymitch Abernathy
“I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if ... But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.”- Marilyn Monroe

Published Work

Hope and Lies


Lies are everywhere
I feel as if i am falling
With only a net of deceptions to catch me
But I believe in light
Light that never ends, a hope that is always golden and bright and mine
Only mine
Because, as i reminisce, i see myself in this illusion, free like i was once before
Light will shine within and without me, crippling everything i touch 
Until 
an explosion of ashes 
Silence
Darkness
Stillness
I sell an idea of hope
To myself
And others
But what will happen when i stop believing?

Sijo

A Plea to Death

I want to stop writing about death. 
But it follows me: it takes my heart, my loved ones, my mind. 
I cannot escape this prison of mortality. I can’t unsee my past. 

Abandoned Hare

Lovely hare, come here and lie
Torn from me with a young girl’s cry
Stuffed and combed, strangled in a merciless hold
Black eyes beady -oh so deceiving!-
They scream of tales that will go untold
There he stays, the wretched thing
Abandoned in the height of spring.
On a mantle of dirty picture frames
The images in them torn: they are all that remains. 
Still frivolous and lovely only in their telling of better days
But we cannot rewind the clock 
We cannot take back what is nought 
Children’s tears, while sickeningly pure-
Are no match for violet spots.
I have no cure.

An Ode to My Childhood

i miss my Childhood.
the words shouted out in joy-
and lost without Love
skies with clouds to touch
and Reach
forever unattainable.
Beautiful in their loftiness-
and child-like appeal.

even the grass sung out to me
not with words of worry, but caresses of sweet delights yet to come.
i pulled at its roots, 
made bracelets of Lightness and Fairies in fields
for that is to Imagine.
to see something and BELIEVE
to know without doubt or hesitance 
FREE in a state of mindless Happiness
loved by the World
lost in a Story
longed for once more...


 

For Adi

She ran up to me and vibrated, her entire body was so alive and in motion.
She loved to sniff the weeds at the bottom of our house, and eat the yellow flowers that grew there. They didn’t have a name, but she did. Adi. I repeated it to her as they dragged her away. As if I could make her life hold more meaning by reminding her of who she was to us. A Scottish princess, a beautiful dog. It mattered to me, but now all I have is a jar of ashes and a pillow wet with tears.

Fallen Love

Cut your ties when you should’ve been home
Let you lie
It cut me straight to the bone.
And now I’m here, still awake and alone-
For you lie gone in the blink of an eye

In the Eye of the Storm
In the Storm of the Night
I watched you die 
Now watch me cry. 

Your memories lost like open jars
Broken Hearts 
Sitting on stars
Loved from afar. 

I loved you then 
And I loved you now 
But what we have, I buried deep underground. 
 

School Day Blues

Worry and weariness came with me to sleep
They took me by the hand, and wounded me
While I dreamt of faraway lands, places paved with ice and swirling leaves,
They stayed awake
Plotting and scheming, yelling in my ear
They emerged to the sound of an alarm, rearing back their hated faces
What had once been escaped in rest now emerged in morning 
I brought them to school with me
Worry sat with me in class
She cartwheeled, overturning desks and chairs in a whirlwind of chaos
But no one saw her except for me
And when she scared me, leaping from behind a door...
I cried out
Everyone saw me.
But not her.
Weariness trudged along
He put stones in my backpack
He played hide and go seek with my homework 
And he finally pulled me back into sleep’s careless embrace 
Right before a math quiz
Together, we made it through the day
And then I lay my...

Starry Skies

I know that she could never love me. 
But when I look up at the sky and remember how lucky I am to be in a world where someone like her would smile at me-
I know that that is enough.
I wish someone would bring me back to Earth.
Because my heart is in pieces, scattered amongst the stars.

Prisoner

The smells of cooking waft throughout thin, reed walls. Fat, smoke, meat.It has been so long since I have last eaten, my stomach hurts. My teeth gnaw at my nails, tearing them down into little stumps without my brain taking notice. By the time I glance at my hands, my nails are gone, and my stomach is still empty. Hunger is a strange thing. It will start with your brain, like a gnat grinding against a screen door. Feed me, feed me it whines, until finally, the voice moves into your stomach. Now it begins to hurt. A dull, achy pain that doesn’t go away until a couple of days later. I know hunger. It is a familiar song that I have sung too many times to count. By now it is a dull cycle. Day passes. I want food. Night passes. I need food. Sun rises. I am too hungry to get out of bed. Sun sets. I...

My Lily

    Lily. When I held my sweet, innocent child up in the air for the first time, I just knew that she was a Lily. I work in the field, day after day, and all I see are plants. I hate them, those tiny green things that always get stuck in my hair, nose, and mouth. Calling for me to pick them, weed them, plant them. Then, when I do, I hear their nasally, wicked laughter, taunting me with my burnt neck, sore hands, and tired feet, shouting that they’ll be waiting for me tomorrow. All they do is take. They take my time, my health, my pride. And then they laugh when I can’t do anything about it. Lilies aren’t like that. Their only purpose is to provide joy in the world, making people happy with their beauty. That’s what I want my Lily to do. Spread joy.
    They didn’t think I could handle it, those midwives with...

25 Words

Stopped Heart

To honor the stillness of her heart, I listen to nothing but the beatings of my own. She deserves my silence. 

Perfect Little Cheerleader

I saw it in my head
the swift strokes
the perfect pulldown
the Speed
I saw a better me.
a faster me
a stronger me

I’ve always been the smart sister
Books and words and a straight row of As.
That’s what I have.
She has the glory.
I have the grades.

I’ve watched gymnastics meets
Ballet concerts.
Races.
And I’ve cheered through all of them
Smiled, even when I would rather do anything else-
so hard I wanted to rip out my teeth
As easily as she rips away medals
from the hands of her competitors.

I poured in effort in place of natural ability
Push-ups for perfection 
Crunches for triumph.

I’ve waited.
and I’ve worked. 
Cried.
Bled.
Bided my time.

————————————————————
And then watched as she passed me.
every girl who went home
When I stayed at the pool
laughed before meets
Hung out while I worked.

But I saw my sister’s face.
as she pulled ahead of me...

The Spasms

Her head was wrenched towards the sky, and her eyes went blank. 
Then there was only the darkness.
That riveting darkness, the lair of all that lurked, dark and pure and nothing. 
The darkness was her realm, but now she was not alone in her safe haven. 
Broken Barbie dolls and spilled ice cream were the old inhabitants. 
Something much more sinister was here.

Treasured Type

Remember the smell of paper
Remember the smell of ink
The blockiness of the letters
As we put them on the page
Splinters in my hands 
and yours.
Spelling out our names
Together
Side by side
Until the presses began again 
And I lost you.

The Darkness After a Rainbow



    I never look outside after it rains. Because there might be a single ray of sunshine, a chance that I could see something there that could stir up old memories. I cannot look at rainbows anymore. I used to love them when I was a kid, because my name was a part of the natural world, literally everything that lies above us. I felt like a part of astronomy, something so magical and untouchable that gravitated so high up there, all I wanted to do was jump. If I could, I would have jumped and touch my namesake and everything in it, without ever coming back down.  I loved rain, sunshine, clouds, and rainbows. They were all a part of me, something special and unique that only I could truly understand. 

    So I asked questions and learnt everything I could about them. My mom and dad were helpful, my science teacher supportive, but my most vocal and...

Something Living to Call my Own

I’ve always wanted a cat. My mother raised one when she was a child, a scruffy alley cat that she found in the back of a movie theatre. She loved that cat, she raised him on an eye dropper of milk until he slowly grew into a rambunctious feline, intent on destroying her house’s screens and climbing to the top of the door. She called him Buddy, a tribute to the idea of animal companionship that she had always wanted. Caring for a cat is not the same as caring for another human. Cats are special, an idea of animal perfection, lithe hunting predators that can be tamed for a short period of time, during which, if you are lucky, you can touch them. The sound a cat makes once it has been petted, a sound so sweet and distinctly foreign to the harsh vowels that come from a human tongue. Nothing can rival petting your first cat, especially one...

The Darkness After a Rainbow

Two sharp notes, and then a flat. After Music Theory, I only heard the squeals of indignation my flute had made today, causing the entire room of students to shudder, and Mrs. Barnet to break down in sobs. To be more factually accurate, I was the one crying. Inwardly. The rest of the class unwittingly clapped after I finished Mozart’s iconic Flute Concerto No.1 in G Major, and Mrs. Barnet was among those woefully misled listeners.
Two sharp notes, and then a flat. I repeated this to myself as if in a daze, terrified that if I forgot this, if I forgave this, my time at Canterbend’s was over. There were not many schools that would accept students whose one desire in their lives was to play music for a living, and Canterbend’s the only one  on that very short list that would even consider accepting me. A 3.2 student who had always been more interested in sneaking off to...

The Piper of Canterbend

Two sharp notes, and then a flat. After Music Theory, I only heard the squeals of indignation my flute had made today, causing the entire room of students to shudder, and Mrs. Barnet to break down in sobs. To be more factually accurate, I was the one crying. Inwardly. The rest of the class unwittingly clapped after I finished Mozart’s iconic Flute Concerto No.1 in G Major, and Mrs. Barnet was among those woefully misled listeners.
Two sharp notes, and then a flat. I repeated this to myself as if in a daze, terrified that if I forgot this, if I forgave this, my time at Canterbend’s was over. There were not many schools that would accept students whose one desire in their lives was to play music for a living, and Canterbend’s the only one  on that very short list that would even consider accepting me. A 3.2 student who had always been more interested in sneaking off to...

Watching the World Pass By

I am looking at you 
I see you, smudged and wrinkled as I am
Not perfectly centered, nor glistening with tears of joy or sadness
No passion haunts this hollowed dome
I see light and darkness
But no color
Stuck permanently within pages, I will never learn to blink
To look closely, to be rubbed at, caressed, or smothered with makeup 
Because when I see the world, it will always be from the safety and prison of one place 
Born of pen and paper, I will be forgotten
Thrown carelessly into a basket of useless things
Not even granted death
Oh, how cruel, to watch from the sidelines
As others journey to foreign worlds in search of glory, companionship, love
I will stay here
For I am only an eye on paper, watching the world pass by 




 

Wanderlust

A blurry figure on the road 
Walks a warped path to her abode
Umbrella held straight overhead
The fading sun glows amber red
Behind her hair she tucks a pin
The wind whips up as she begins
To spin and spin and spin and spin!
Until the storm lets her go through-
And she walks home, like me or you.

Red as Blood

Her hands are red.
 Not the stunning red of dawn breaking, or the ruddy, healthy red of her mother’s cheeks when she spends all day at her oven. 
 Deep, venomous, red-as-a-living-heart-wrenched-out-of-your-chest red
This is blood red. 
And she is stuck in the middle of it, a living doll in a cocoon of color.
 There is no one else who can see it. 
People walk around her, but they are all coated in it, bulbous figures with wide, gaping eyes and fingers that point much too often.
 She hates them. 
There is a man at the blackboard, writing numbers. 
Only, he is so far away. 
The girl comes closer and closer, fighting off the nausea that she feels every time the rolls of red wash over her.
He looks clear, filled with colors that she has never seen, will never see
 If she can’t force her eyes to focus just a bit more... 
Closer now. 
The colors are almost visible, but...