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mash's profile

mash avatar
AGE: 33
LOC: Rock Hill, SC
GEN: Female
LAST LOGIN: October 25

The only thing more powerful than words?  Barbeque tongs.

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Poetry / Hitchhiker
Version 3
8 Reviews   9 Comments
When I packed my bag to leave, I wrapped you in brown parcel paper and string, like my package delivered from Russia. I carefully stowed you between socks and sweaters, crowded you in with unmentionables and my other loves, as a souvenir of time spent away from my life and obligations. I was a passenger then, a traveler in a life dappled with headlights and smoke, a life of obscurity and illusion, a life that wasn’t mine – but me disbursed through yours. Today, as I unpack my suitcase shaped ...
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Poetry / Abstinence...
Version 2
9 Reviews   8 Comments
What I want is your heart. You can keep your soul, what would I do with a soul, anyway? Fill it with gawdy trinkets and wasted time. But your heart, plump and sweet, I'd fill with promises, sweet nothings and pain. What I get is sticky sheets, a phone that refuses to ring, a pet wolf that I can't tame, and the joy of knowing I've abstained... from abstinence. Just your heart. But if I can't have that, I'll take what I can get.
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Version 4
8 Reviews   11 Comments
Outlaw not for love, but for impropriety - collaboration horizontale. Abundant indiscretions, poorly placed affections, tether you with barbed wire to lovers and wolves. Tarring and feathering as means of escape. Icarus with molten, sticky wings did not soar as high as you. Quills pressing through flesh are not as impeding as self-righteousness, due process and law.
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Poetry / Wrong Directions
Version 2
8 Reviews   4 Comments
The devil says “Maybe.” I say “Oh, of course. Where are my manners?” We agree to disagree, parting ways at the corner of Detox and Hope. But I don’t have the devil’s sense of direction. I’m on the wrong train faster than you can say “excuse me, Miss, you seem to have forgotten your name tag and your halitosis is offending the other passengers.” Twenty-seven detours later, I’m home. I’m naked in front of the mirror seeing what the devil saw. It ain’t pretty, but then, have you seen that forked...
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Version 2
1 Review   0 Comments
Compressed. Compacted. You're squeezed tight into a space that wasn't designed to hold you. How's the saying go? Ten pounds of shit in a five-pound sack. How can you breathe? You're not? You're holding your breath. Suffocating of your own accord. You're overflowing. The seams are coming apart – some of your squish is showing. You're waiting for a rescue. Baby, it's gonna take the Jaws of Life to pull you out. Or maybe they'll have to cut down a wall. You'll come rolling out. But who has time ...
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Reviews
I'm okay with the religousness of the piece. I'm okay with the poop portion - but I'm having a hard time reconciling them to the same space. I understand that your subjects of God and poop don't necessarily go together generally, and the language you would use in reference to one wouldn't generally apply to the other. But the language seems a bit choppy - but not choppy enough to be a metaphor for the difference between these two things. The first sentence seems awkward and I'd recommend repl...
Poetry / Half
Locked
Brevity, indeed. It meets the six word mark. I suppose it could sum up a life...but not a very creative one.
Poetry / Heartache
Based on the criteria - success! The sentence by itself is not bad, either. Even standing on it's own it produces a sense of irony and sarcasm.
How interesting that the writer finds their self-worth diminishing as time goes by! This tells an entire story in very few words - however, it reminds me a bit of Hemmingway's six-word short story. Worth reading and a very telling piece. Solid work.
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