Our Twisted Renaissance

This is an all-inclusive, cross-cultural, temporal tantrum; a meeting of the minds on a mission of rebirth. Our culture is deteriorating and to watch it while doing nothing would make us accessories to its destruction. There is no more room for apathy, so all are welcome to join this creative community. Submit poems, short stories, songs, drawings, photos, short films or performances. Anything created is worth sharing and can be a part of Our Twisted Renaissance. - OTR Submit to Ourtwistedrenaissance@gmail.com Follow OTR on Twitter for updates on contests, events and posted work. Managed by The Seven

Posts tagged dead

Aug 31

empty shell

Who are you?

I don’t know. Me? You?

You used to be you…

I know. I don’t know.

Who are you now?

A façade.

A mask?

Made of mirages.

And behind?

Black. Nothing. Void.

And the light?


Then I am not you.


Because you are dead?

Only you.


I am not you.


I am not



Aug 16


When your away

I don’t know how to feel

I look for hope in pictures

but dreams aren’t real 

When your away

I feel hallow

like walking

without a shadow

When your away

I feel useless

plain and blue

for i figure 

theres no life without you

Your my medication

A common cliche

but this is different

I’m actually dead

when your away

- Johann Piedras (differentpeas)

Jul 19

To Keep Me Safe

           There was a chill in the wind. The dead leaves would blow along the ground, begging to be lifted into the air so that they might swirl into the sky. But their only partner was the overgrown lawns, whistling under our shoes as we walked over them. They had escaped another cold fall night, but the threat of frost loomed ever closer, so the blades swayed and enjoyed their last gasp of life. These were the things I saw as I moved past the familiar houses that bent inwards to loom over me. Ben held my hand. The other I used to wipe away the last of the tears from my red and puffy eyes.

            Ben had tried to tell me what I should say.

            “Just try to look them in the eye, Taylor. They need to know this. You can’t hide it anymore.” But it wasn’t as easy as that. The hand that he didn’t have locked in his warm grasp was shaking uncontrollably. I had the urge to run back down the street, to anywhere but here. This wasn’t where I wanted to be, but it was where I had to be. Somehow, this had to be done. But knowing that didn’t stop my head from spinning, my knees from buckling under every step, and my blood running colder in my veins than I ever thought possible.

It felt like when I was five and I fell through the ice. It was one day on the lake near my grandparent’s house. My father pulled me out by the hood of my puffy red coat and held me close, safe against his warm body, and I think I remember him crying, but I may be making that up in my head. I tend to do that: make things up. I dig myself holes in the ice, and am somehow surprised when I fall through. But I’m no longer five, and my father is no longer around to save me from them, so now I have to fend for myself.

Ben was wearing a knit sweater, full of purple, grey and blue. We had sat in the park for hours as I cried into it, dwelling on what was happening and at the same time admiring the designs. It was a distraction, like the leaves and the grass and the houses. I looked for anything to bring me away from the sentence, the two words, that would change everything. They sat at the end on my tongue, taunting me like they had all the power in the world. And they had, for a long time.

I didn’t have a choice anymore, everyone already knew, or knew that there was something to know. At school, there was a common understanding, it seemed, between everyone, so that you couldn’t catch wind of the things people were thinking, but everybody still thought the same thing. Sometimes, I would get that feeling like they were dissecting me with their eyes, cutting me open the way you might gut a fish or cut down a tree to count the rings. I was not really a person anymore, but an object for them to observe and take notes on, a strange science project. Something was inside of me that wasn’t inside any of them, and they seemed to know. They were looking for the answer to the question that everyone was asking, but no one was willing to say. Nobody but Ben knew for sure, but uncertainty wasn’t going to keep anyone’s mouth shut. If I didn’t say it first, someone else would surely do it for me, eventually.

“What if he doesn’t understand?” I asked, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Ben said,

“Whether he does or not doesn’t matter. I’ll keep you safe.” His other hand came up and ran through my hair. I closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying the breeze that didn’t seem so cold anymore and the warmth of his body so close to mine. But when I opened my eyes, we were still walking forward, edging closer to place where everything would change.

“Ben? …thank you. I don’t think I could do this alone.”

Numbness enveloped my body and we came up the driveway. The door opened, but it did not seem like my hand doing it. My feet glided over the floor, trying not to disturb the peace that I knew couldn’t last. My hearing dulled and the slow pulse of my heart beat echoed in my head, overwhelming everything. There they were: my two parents sitting quietly over breakfast, everything clean and sterile. The walls were bright yellow, freshly painted in the spring, when my father had time after work. My mother’s china plates were displayed neatly on the shelves, shining in the florescent light. And my parents, polished themselves, even on a Saturday morning, sat in the middle of it all, their kingdom of perfect order.

They looked at me, clearly wondering why there was a strange boy with me. Ben wasn’t a part of their life yet, and to have him there unannounced was unheard of. That didn’t even begin to explain why I had been outside so early, and in such cool weather without a proper jacket. Had circumstances been different, I might have let them lay into me about either thing. I might have taken comfort in their attention to details that allows them to miss the bigger picture. It had gotten me this far, and I could have ridden it longer, perhaps forever if I hid it well enough. But I had resolved that life like that wasn’t good enough, and it wasn’t good enough for Ben.

As I abruptly delivered the sentence that they didn’t want to hear, I noticed a friendly smudge in the corner of the window. The windows had always been my job, the only cleaning that I was trusted with, but not without regular inspections of m hadiwork. I stared at the smudge, remembering how I had left it there carefully, in a place where it wouldn’t be noticed, but where I could see it when I wanted.  So entranced with my smudge, I didn’t see my father’s eyes narrow as he quickly left the room, nor did I hear my mother sob into her pancakes.

When my father pulled me out of the lake, he told me that he was scared that I might have drowned. I was bewildered that someone as big and strong as my father could get scared because of me. I asked him about as he carried me home in his strong arms, holding me close to his warm body and running his hand through my hair. He told me that it was his job to keep me safe, his job as a father. He would never let anything bad happen to me as long as he lived.

The chill bit into my face again as I was pulled roughly out of the house. Still not fully aware of what was happening, I felt Ben at my side as we hurried down the street. He said something about not wanting to attract attention, and I was confused for a moment. But I could recall the creak of the upstairs cabinet opening right before we left, and realised that my father had left to load the shotgun.