CommissionsI am offering literature commissions for the following genres/specifics and some other special services as well. My prices and restrictions are listed at the bottom of each section.
Prices are in (points), but if you would prefer to pay me in actual money, we can work something out.
I will try to be timely with all commissions and will not accept any further requests if I have multiple commissions that are unfinished. That being said, I will usually place no time guarantees on my work because different projects require different time commitments, and I don't want to produce shoddy pieces for anyone.
Poetry (multiple styles and forms)
Fan Fiction for...
Doctor Who (10th and 11th, primarily)
Sword Art Online (anime, not light novels)
DC or Marvel superheroes (limited characters)
Others (Feel free to
CrepuscularTo the girl teaching herself to fly,
a hospital bird with soot in her lungs
and patchwork wings,
you only fly for a little while.
If you want to stop hurting,
learn to drift in the silence of the dark
between night and day.
We're all made from broken parts:
bird seed, letters addressed to no one,
things found in old coats,
brittle things like love.
Glass bottomed birds,
we used to make butterfly hands,
until moths swarmed into our throats,
like dancing butterflies; still
we choked on dusty wings.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs,
the same smoke that you'll inhale.
Let go, little bird --
You were made for moonlight,
never for hummingbird lullabies --
Hummingbirds only fly in the sun,
and the sun was never a child.
We were not meant to be angels.
The nestlings, children of the stars,
we glide together on clipped wings
through the dark.
Question 1: The Normalized Vocabulary of a Poeta) What is sleep debt?
The cumulative effect of not getting enough sleep,
measured in the difference between hours slept
and hours of sleep needed and resulting in sleep
(I dare not use words like torpor
for fear you won't recall their meaning,
but redundancy and repetition are irksome
Is slumber an acceptable synonym?)
b) List three symptoms.
my poetry improves
as my mind muddles into that hazy dream state
I'm told comes with
drugs, but which (as any college student knows)
can be reached as easily after three nights
of homework projects. Next,
I wonder if this will sound as good tomorrow
as my head nods into
Last, the feeling of falling
snaps me awake, immobile
amidst the pillows on my couch, and I manage
a few more lines
before sleep claims me.
c) Explain your answer.
Explain your question.
Is this the indefinite 'you' or a personal address?
If I answer in rhyme, will you read it aloud,
Exit, stage rightI ruined myself for relationships,
found the perfect partner only to let you go.
(Love makes you do stupid things,
Yet I will not give up so soon,
young and passionate, I seem
unable to resist
Try as I might, I cannot bring myself
to say we were not close to perfect. So, I wonder
what's the frequency of perfection
in my life?
Surely love is not a one-time hap,
the teenage romance that made
a certain actor more than just
If you should show up dead,
I'm afraid I won't be killing myself,
you were always Mercutio anyway.
The clown, the jokester, the philosopher,
the one who holds the whole long story
and its players all
The Way the Sun SetsThere is light on the horizon.
If I faced east, I might have been up all night (as I feel I have),
staring at the dim glow of a computer screen,
scrolling through pages of notes,
and flipping the sheets of crumpled past homework assignments,
seeking answers my tired brain could not comprehend.
If I faced east, dawn would soon be upon me,
sun rays lighting the chapel steeple
that glows now in the spotlights' beams
against the cloudless navy curtains of the sky.
If I faced east, my brain would be buzzing with coffee,
swarming with words and answers and questions
I cannot currently conceive.
The world comes alive at daybreak, even for the sleepless.
But I face west, toward the setting sun,
the last hints of cyan light tinting the sky.
I face a night of tired eyes and quick distractions
that go on for far too long,
a night of long questions
and longer answers
and moments spent dozing into my tea cup.
I face west, toward the end of the day,
waiting for dawn
to bring the end of the night.
Statement of My Affections (several weeks late)Dear former housemate and sweetheart (also former),
First off, I wanted to say I'm sorry,
sorry I never said goodbye,
sorry I kept you waiting for six days
to pick up your things
(as if that minor frustration might make you call the whole thing off),
sorry I still have that photo (you remember the one),
sandwiched between the fourth and fifth acts of Love's Labour's Lost,
waiting to be mailed, even though it makes no sense
to send it to you now.
I'm sorry I didn't fight harder, and I'm sorry you couldn't let me go.
I'm sorry I couldn't let you go.
I won't say I'm sorry it didn't work out, this new… endeavor of yours.
I'm also not sorry that I called you fourteen times after I heard.
(It would have been twenty, but my phone died at fourteen.)
Thank you for not pretending your voicemail broke
or that your number had changed.
Thank you for never treating me as anything less
Thank you for not telling me I'm crazy and obsessive.
I already know I'm c