Noctbee - Noctbee

Reblog if you’ve made amazing friends online and are grateful for their existence

No happy ending this time

The thing about you,

Is that I truly loved you.

And the worst thing about it,

Is that I would forgive you in a heartbeat.

But you won't return, you made it clear.

You and me is a thing of the past,

You don't ever want to be seen near.

Bed time stories are meant to last,

But there is no happy ending for us this time.

I was the villain in your tale,

Yet you were the hero in mine.

I tried to forget you, but to no avail.

I don't want to give up on our fairytale.

La lune solitaire,

Dans le ciel, elle erre seule,

Son éclat, sa douleur.

The lonely moon's light,

In the sky, it wanders alone,

Its glow, its pain.

I'm out of inspiration and bored so if anyone has any ideas/prompts or just wants to request a poem, my ask box is open. You could even just send a random word or a theme for the peom and I'll try to come up with something.

What the fuck just happened, he thought as he stood in a white room.

One moment he was in his garden, fixing the new table he had built, and the next he was in a seemingly never-ending white space. Was this heaven or something ? Had he died? Or maybe this was some kind of hospital room – could be, the lights there are always so blinding!

"Hello?" He called out, anxiously. "Anyone's there?"

He turned in slow circles, half expecting something to attack him from nowhere.

He jumped as a door opened with a swoosh – he swore there was nothing but white there a moment ago ! Some kind of creature walked in, wearing an astronaute-like combinaison. Could have been a human if not for its sluggish gray skin and mop of tantacles where hair should be. Its unnaturally black eyes didn't help either.

What was this thing? Where was he? Was this a dream? He pinched himself to check ; it hurt.

The alien-monster-astronaute spoke, clicking furiously at its collar. "Is this translation device working?" Then, slower, "can you understand me?"

He nodded, not quite grasping on the situation at hand. The alien – it had to be that – continued. "Listen, I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend for three days so I can get my parents off my back." It explained.

I'm sorry, what? He thought.

Frowning, he voiced his concerns. "Wait, hold on. What are you? And where am I – how am I here?"

The alien smiled then, contempt that he hadn't rejected its proposal just yet. "My name is—"

He guessed that translation device didn't work well because the next sounds didn't seem like words, or a name for that matter.

"— and I come from the planet," some more unintelligible words. "You are in my spaceship."

He shook his head, almost laughing at the impossible situation he was in. He was in space, with an alien who wanted him to pretend to be its boyfriend for three days. Who would believe that?

"Sure," he finally answered. "I'll do it, I'll be your fake boyfriend."

Would it have been anyond else, they probably would be freaking out right now. But he personally didn't care. He was going to do that just because why not? It wasn't like he had much to loose anyway.

You were just sucked up and abducted by a UFO. The alien inside addresses you, “Is this translator working? Listen. I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend for three days so my parents will get off my back about it.”

Your father planted a tree and said, ‘As long as this tree is alive and healthy, so is my son.’ That was 200 years ago. Today, the tree still stands, defying time, but what of the son?

I want to have someone to write letters to

I feel like that would be such a cute thing to do

And they just feel so special

“ For a star to be born, there is one thing that must happen: a gaseous nebula must collapse.

So collapse. Crumble.

This is not your destruction.

This is your birth. ”

Zoe Skylar

Three wishes

If I found a magic lamp, or a fairy,

I already know what I would ask the genie.

I'd wish someone would look at me

Like they are mesmerized

By a sunset or a stary night.

I'd wish someone would care enough

To hold me when days are tough,

Yet still see me as a person,

And not just a burden.

I'd wish someone would help

Paint a smile on my face

And finally bring joy to this place.

But I have no genie, no magic wand or fairy,

No wishes left, no promises kept.

I have no flying carpet or broom,

No way to get to the moon,

So I sit, wide awake, at night,

Hoping it would all be alright.

But at the end of the day,

I'm all alone and you're far away.

Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And it was red, with a green stem. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at his teacher’s flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red, with a green stem.

On another day The teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.” “Good!” thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes.

But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacher’s. It was a deep dish.

And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didn’t make things of his own anymore.

Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school.

The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.

When she came to the little boy She asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?” “Yes,” said the little boy. “What are we going to make?” “I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher. “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy. “Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher. “And any color?” asked the little boy. “Any color,” said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.

~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy