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Nanara
Director
Joined: 02 Sep 2006
Points: 5,482
Posts: 6293
Race: Polymorphic something
Location: New Zealand
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Luinbariel
Member
Joined: 15 Nov 2006
Points: 4,204
Posts: 4711
Race: I dunno, lol
Location: Canada
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I'm totally still up for it!
In fact, here is my post. To me, this is what it feels like to be otherkin.
Watching as the world goes by,
Silent and smiling like a statue no one sees
Of a figure no one knows from a time that
No one remembers.
Silence as the sun peeks up
From fluffy clouds on the horizon
Of a brand new morn, beams playing along
My still form.
Quiet still as the day moves on
And the light begins to fade
Into the darkness and stillness of a
Long cool night.
They speak words to me,
Phrases that make sense and yet
Don’t ring true on the inside like a
Finely tuned bell.
Their mouths move, lips form,
And still I hear not their intent.
Instead I feel as though I move more slowly,
Outside their time.
I see them and yet I do not;
They move as though they are faster
And yet I see inside them, know them, how
They will move.
There is a comfort here,
An empty space filled with motes of dust
And a warm, slow sense like honey clear and amber
In the jar.
There is a quiet, almost like longing,
Empty and yet full of comfort;
I feel often like there is no one and yet often
One passes by.
Like the birds that land upon me,
This statue that never moves,
This thing that no one knows and
Even fewer understand.
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 Posted: Sat May 10, 2008 3:11 am
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Nanara
Director
Joined: 02 Sep 2006
Points: 5,482
Posts: 6293
Race: Polymorphic something
Location: New Zealand
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Longing…
A woman walked slowly towards the bridge carrying six grocery bags. Her long golden brown hair was tied back loosely in a messy ponytail. She walked slowly but purposefully towards the center of the long bridge. Behind her the crowded city center bustled with traffic noises and people making their way along the street in a hurried manner. Ahead of her on the other side of the bridge a footpath led down a hill into a lovely park that lined the river, and further past the park the footpath lead into a quiet suburban area.
Reaching the middle of the bridge, halfway between the chaos of town and the stillness of the park, a strong gust of wind blew over the bridge and brushed firmly through the woman’s hair, pulling out her old battered hair tie, freeing her golden brown hair. She turned her face into the wind and closed her eyes for a moment. A smile gently tugged at the edges of her mouth.
The woman stopped walking, turning completely to face the wind. She looked through the rails of the bridge as she dropped the grocery bags next to her. She leaned over the railing looking down at the river enjoying the swift wind in her face and hair. It was a beautiful river, wide and deep, lined with huge green trees. The swift flowing water was a vivid green color, like New Zealand Jade. She smiled broadly as a tear of joy dropped from one eye and down her cheek. She closed her eyes, letting the wind flow over her face and through her loose hair. A look filled her tired face, one of pure joy and unadulterated freedom. Another tear fell.
Inside her mind she remembered a time before she came to this body.
Giant golden-feathered wings half-unfolded from her spine and shoulder blades. She watched herself as she climbed the railing and dropped down into nothing, into the great void between the bridge and the river. She fell for a few moments then spread her wings flat, back and wing muscles twitched in resistance to the strength of the wind. Gliding so close to the waters edge she could see herself in the reflection of the water. In the rough watery reflection she saw a great golden eagle.
She cried out in absolute joy; a high-pitched call that expressed her feelings perfectly.
Curving up, away from the water’s surface she glided back up the wavering wind currents and over the bridge. Below her a woman stood looking through the rails at her, tears falling down her face, her light brown hair flowing around her loose in the wind. One more call escaped as she passed over the woman and the bridge… but it didn’t sound right, it didn’t sound like an eagle cry.
Suddenly, the woman on the bridge realized that she had no wings, and could not fly. The large black bird flying overhead, called out again in its strangely pitched screech. It was not an eagle. The sadness choked her for a moment and she put her hand to her mouth to stop the feeling.
Wiping her face of her tears she took a deep breath to clear her emotions enough so that she would not cry. Then, picking up her grocery bags, the woman continued walking slowly across the bridge towards the park and her little house on the other side.
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2008 5:12 am
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