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Literature Text
And so they told me
once again
that it will not count for much,
that all the words
will blend together,
and everyone's
a poet
these days. She suggests
that I seek some sort
of solace
in the fact that I am not the first,
will not be the last (It's a matter
of mind over matter,
mind you) she says
knowledgably.
With every morning
she clips her coupons
drinks stale coffee
scribbles neatly
eggs
bread
milk;
I rip the slings and
arrows
from the local newspaper,
fire back.
I rifle through the files
of trifling nostalgia,
the stray birthday card
whose sole purpose it is
to obscure legal documents
birth certificates
licenses
passports;
in search of a pen
I dig up a poem,
a sad story in verse
of small romances
she recorded.
I sigh and swear
never to become
eggs
bread
milk.
once again
that it will not count for much,
that all the words
will blend together,
and everyone's
a poet
these days. She suggests
that I seek some sort
of solace
in the fact that I am not the first,
will not be the last (It's a matter
of mind over matter,
mind you) she says
knowledgably.
With every morning
she clips her coupons
drinks stale coffee
scribbles neatly
eggs
bread
milk;
I rip the slings and
arrows
from the local newspaper,
fire back.
I rifle through the files
of trifling nostalgia,
the stray birthday card
whose sole purpose it is
to obscure legal documents
birth certificates
licenses
passports;
in search of a pen
I dig up a poem,
a sad story in verse
of small romances
she recorded.
I sigh and swear
never to become
eggs
bread
milk.
Literature
why didn't you say goodbye?
Love wasnt in the air the night you unbuttoned my shirt and kissed my skin. No, love definitely wasnt in the air the night we spent in heat of moments, sweating and tumbling and fumbling on your fathers bed.
It was anywhere but there. Does love go on vacation? I ponder and make fleshy butterflies from my outstretched fingers. Probably.
I cant remember much but I can remember the beginning. The burn of acid bleeding and gushing past my tongue and down my throat. The noises and then your silence. The clumsiness and then the awkward kisses.
You had a garden of dark hair growing from your scalp and dirt eyes. You had a
Literature
loveisamentalillness
You say it is my fault for forcing
you to imprint scars into my flesh
and bones but I can't bring
myself to care.
You tell me I am beautiful,
I release a breath of relief as
I count my rib cage one by one,
swirls of dark purple yellow black
blue red on my thighs, my once
light chocolate skin fading away
to pale.
You demand I do not see him 'cause
then I will leave you and I do not try to
reassure you 'cause deep down
in my gut, I wonder if you are right.
(I miss him and his soft touches-
I did not believe him when he yelled out
I was falling straight into hell but
I know I should have-I could have been
flying to
Literature
psychosomatic demons.
/inhale and exhale. listen for the rise and fall of your abdomen, because it might be the last thing you ever feel./
it begins when you feel the fire warm across the expanse of your back. in an attempt to extinguish it, you twist and turn, falling onto a heap on the floor and arching in ridiculous angles in order to scrabble at the seemingly raw skin. you give up when your joints begin to protest, and the fire happily proceeds to eat through the rest of you. oh, you're so beautiful, it says, words as slick as ice, and it cools down the burnt skin so well. the glint of the mirror catches your eye, and you take in the sinister air, the inky fl
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I'm in a better mood than this,
dancing and
nodding,
but I think there may be something
to this
"poet
thing,"
and you can only be
so happy
in the business of words.
dancing and
nodding,
but I think there may be something
to this
"poet
thing,"
and you can only be
so happy
in the business of words.
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