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Literature Text
my heart is hunger
and quick to catch
a mouth weeping lies
for its blood's sake
and i know you've been
quiet but i am tired of
waiting and
bodies sprout outside the bedroom
window to the rise of me, and god
i am willing for whatever is willing
for me, spineless or boned
and i am sick of wishing for the
room in your hand when you
only let it fill with
easier to grab lilies
Literature
in which I try to forget my dreams
with Sunday-heavy lips, she calls me
selfish and means it. I remember
dreams better than people, strangers
greeting me in the grocery store over
a common past and sorry selection
of red grapes. I remember Katie
being beautiful and happy and
wearing the same abnormal toe shoes
and being a few decades older than time
would allow, I remember Emily
being alive. I remember me
escaping to France to defy logic
and stow away in a pretentious,
overpriced tourist resort where
I’d learn to speak a language
I’d never use and love people
who’d never know me; I remember
impossible things.
she tells me trust is not a virtue.
respon
Literature
The Petals Only
Another late night
sober, without conviction.
Not loveless, not
a cat in the road,
not even moss on the doorstep.
The heat shimmer is bawdy
and the kids go to sleep
early for a reason.
It's just like
when you find out
you weren't born special.
When you find out
the pretty ones do
have petals on their beds.
Stepping on the sheets.
It's the pin-prick stars
that are sick of waiting
for us.
It's telling the clouds
what they look like.
Grab a handful of a dirt
with your back to the grass,
and choose which finger
to point at the sky.
Literature
Dear Poetry,
You will find out that I am not a strong person. Dragons do not make a home beneath my skin to hoard their treasured princesses. I am not that lucky. For I have misplaced collarbones just as quickly as I’ve misplaced hearts, a pulse still rhythmic against my fingertips. I am a monster of words, devouring Cummings and Plath with no ounce of self control left in my body. I promised myself this weight would not fall for the sharp edges of stars ground into your knuckles. But, write air into my lungs, poetry. Give this wild thing a reason to learn the definition of tamed.
Write me a poem, and I will promise to fall in love with you, sl
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me being funny and angry aaat the same tiime
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me being funny and angry aaat the same tiime
yeh
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Comments25
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"quick to catch
a mouth weeping lies
for its blood's sake"
sorry no twisted reflection this time... I did however really those lines so much I felt the need to mention it