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
“A girl should be two things: who and what she wants.”- Coco Chanel

Published Work

Alice in “Wonderland”- Chapter 2

    As the grass scraped at my shins, little flecks of blood splattered across my dress. Each pinprick of red bloomed into a poppy, and as the green tendrils wrapped around me, the poppies began to sing. 

Hush little one
Lovely as a dove
Let us take you to a secret place
Where monsters run
And flowers embrace
Riddle me this 
 And riddle me now
We know how this story begins 
But what happens when the lights go down?

    The flowers laughed, each of their petals forming a little loop, that they used to bait me. I turned to each one, my little white gloves stained with dirt and mud, and tried to reach for them, but they always pulled away. Like naughty little children they played, running around and around me, until my arms were swollen and pulled like sausages, as their circle became tighter and tighter. I suppose it was a game, but if it was, I must have...

The World's Writer

My Experiment

I see, I observe, I wait
I do not understand the Angels 
Dressed in white, the color of the heavens, they
break nature’s law

I am one indebted, delivered, and denied 
To tests, experiments, and machines 
Yet they study me. 
Their knowledge is vast-
But what good is knowledge after the fact?

It is not how much I have changed. 
It is how much they have. 

Reclamation

The extreme push of pressure
on these knotted shoulders
Invisible scars that hurt more than backpack straps
An unsaid tethering to this dark world 
Undying pressure for a measly point 
Letters that represent futures
I’m done with the expectation.
Gone are the days of toil 
And the even rarer ones of triumph.

I give in to the need for applause
The selfish, narcissistic ache to be the best 
I no longer hide in fear from my ambition 
I simply let it lie 
Let my mouth scream out its victories 
Cast away the false clothe of humbleness
I am proud of my accomplishments 
Because they no longer appear with a push of my glasses and a pull of my brain

Being on top doesn’t make you invincible 
If anything, it makes you invisible 
Stripped away of every title except for “intelligent”
Drink at the fountain of knowledge?
I gorge myself. 
I let froths of spit stream from my mouth, polluting the...

Once Upon a Time

Alice in “Wonderland”- Chapter 1

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who braided her sister’s hair and listened to a story. Just a little girl on a Sunday picnic, frolicking about enjoying her childhood. And then she saw The Rabbit. Being an absentminded child, she ran after it... I am that child. I am Alice. Let me show you my Wonderland. 
I was bored by the games the children played, so I went home to Mommy. I smiled as I ran, my bare feet caressing the grass, as it spoke to me “Slow down, little girl,” it whispered, waving its little arms as I ran, “Come and smell the roses.” But I knew I must run home to mother, and so I ran, my little toy rabbit trailing behind me as I fled. And then, I began to fall. Down, down, down the rabbit hole... the grass rising up around me as I fell, sending thoughts of picnics and daisy chains scampering...

Cutting Fruit

There was a girl cutting strawberries. She moved slowly, pushing her blade between the sweet flesh of each berry, letting the juice run down her hand. She licked her lips, as she regarded the inequities given to each fruit. Some were round, some short, others bumpy in odd places. There were the perfect ones and the not-so-perfect. Each nestled between her hand, prepared to face the knife. She let the sun cast over them, holding up a particularly large, misshapen brute of a berry. In the other hand, she held her blade. Then, she brought down her teeth into the succulent flesh of her fate. Her mouth lined with red and the juices cascading down her face... the berries watched her. And they laughed.

A Masked Ball

She’s staring at me. I can feel her eyes glued in the back of my head. And yet, if I move, I let myself be open. No, I must hide, hide in this mess of tuxedoes and ball gowns and mindless chatter that I wish could mask me forever. And then I see the warnings. A hand clasped on my shoulder, a hand clasped on hers’. Two identical faces of shock. One idiot blathering introductions. I lock eyes with her and she looks away first. Out invisibility assures, I smile and offer her my hand. 
“Nice to meet you, my name is Clairvoyant Person. Who might you be?” She smirks, grasping at my words. “Idealistic Lover,” she says, “A pleasure.” And then we both make our excuses, let the stuffiness and formality return... and we are once more safe in our masks of anonymity, safe in this dreaded masquerade.

Song of the Rising Sun

Hark your loveliness 
Hark your loneliness
Heart of the rising sun
Curse my mellowness
You’re ever so effervesce
I cannot compare
Rise above the rest
Lovely in all address
You’re my rising sun 
You’re my rising sun

Move fountains with your rhythm 
Drive my heart to its discontent
Leave me here to rot and dry
Come up every morning 
Leave me every night 
And still your heart is mine

Kiss me goodnight 
Let is burn my lips
Wave you goodbye
Let it hurt like this
You’re my rising sun

Say your heart’s of gold
But my heart’s untold
You’re still my rising sun 
Rise above
And sink me with your light 
Let it roll and let it wave-
See the sunset begin to fade
You’re still my rising sun. 

Creativity Lost

    Today is the day. I line up with the rest of my class, all of us in stained white uniforms yellowing with age, but with the sign of our elated government, sewn proudly on our pockets. Some of my classmates slouch, but I stand ramrod straight in my two sizes too small shoes. I know it’s probably too late to make a difference, but they’re always watching, and I don’t want this to affect my chances. “A good impression is the key to success.” boomed out from the loud speakers, as if the government is reading my mind. The girl beside me sniffles. Sarah Anne, I think. She’s a mediocre student, one of those “faceless” that wander the halls, average in everything that they do. I can almost imagine the fear she must be feeling. A subpar evaluation means life in the sewage treatment plant, or worse. I subconsciously shift away, as does the girl on the other side...

The Flower Garden

Flowers, flowers everywhere. 
Watch them fall from here to there
Pretty as silent little lies. 
How I loved them. 
I watched them die. 
Petals are falling, white and elegant, little pieces of truncated ash. 
Their softness grazes me
I let it embrace me. 
Peachy smooth skin and velvety
Lovely in every regard. 
They fall apart so quickly in the storm. 
Cursed is the one who touches them. 
Cursed is the one who leaves. 
I watch them tremble, see them roar. 
There go the little thieves. 
Flowers in her hair, rippling ringlets of gold and green. 
Only I know where she is buried 
Deep in Evergreen. 
White rooms won’t prevent me.
I know her when I see her. 
Death is peaceful, oh so dull. 
Let’s make the fun last forever. 
This is a twisted game we play, and the rivets of blood define us.
 The smell is sour, you run away. 
Drink it up, my flower. 
I am darkness. You are...

Daedalus’s Dungeon

I create monstrosities
People cower when they see me
I sacrificed a life to save my own
But I am not a monster
They think that I escaped it, flying free on wings of my own invention 
But I am still trapped
The Labyrinth follows me
I see it in my dreams
I keep going around and around in circles, but no one will let me leave
Because I deserve to be condemned to madness
All because of my “gift”
A gift that I never Wanted
Never Needed
Never Asked the Gods For
        But
            I 
                  Used
                        it 
                            Anyway
So now I will suffer because of my intelligence
Because people look at me and see an Opportunity
They don’t see a person
Just someone who wants to be loved
Who wants to appreciated
They had the chance to...

Watercolors Fade

Watercolors swirl around me, as I watch them sing and dance. They have learnt more than I, their creator, could have dreamed was possible, but they are still not ready. Not yet. 

I lay awake in my studio at night sometimes, watching the swoops and swirls on my bedroom ceiling. They play with me, those archaic dots, morphing into creatures unimaginable by day, but somehow right by night. Like when you love your mother’s comfort food, but it doesn’t taste right eating it out of a microwaveable pouch. Even if that’s where she got it from. Irrational but perfectly justified, as it involves evoking feelings, which is always easier to do when the circumstances are mimicked. I show it in my art, when I paint what I know, and I show it in my life, as I relive the past years of my life. It may seem strange to an outsider, but luckily, I have always enjoyed my solitude. Pursuing...

Creativity Lost

Today is the day. I line up with the rest of my class, all of us in stained white uniforms yellowing with age, but with the sign of our elated government, sewn proudly on our pockets. Some of my classmates slouch, but I stand ramrod straight in my two sizes too small shoes. I know it’s probably too late to make a difference, but they’re always watching, and I don’t want this to affect my chances. “A good impression is the key to success.” boomed out from the loud speakers, as if the government is reading my mind. The girl beside me sniffles. Sarah Anne, I think. She’s a mediocre student, one of those “faceless” that wander the halls, average in everything that they do. I can almost imagine the fear she must be feeling. A subpar evaluation means life in the sewage treatment plant, or worse. I subconsciously shift away, as does the girl on the other side of...

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...