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Literature Text
i. she is the sand between your fingers, telling you
to let go because sometimes
it's better to be totally broken than a whole missing that fragment of sand
slipping between gaps in finger-laces and you just don't have a tight enough grip for her.
ii. she is the sewer top after a rainstorm, telling you
that seashells never worked
and all she'll ever be is an ocean-soundwaves poser but sometimes
lies are prettier than the reality and you said relationships are based around honesty,
so maybe you don't know enough about fantasy for her.
iii. she is the star farthest from the earth, telling you
to never hold on to distant things because sometimes
they can be the brightest and still get lost in the sun-daze and moon-glow
and they'd just rather no one gave them love and took it away and you just don't have enough love to give to the brightest.
iv. she is the quicksand beneath your mismatch-laced shoes, telling you
that even if you're stuck, everything will have an end
and all she'll ever be is quicksand ripping you in and giving you soothing comments to last you a day but sometimes
freedom is far too large for the agoraphobic and you never held her tight enough to sooth her.
(agoraphobics and claustrophobics should never mate.)
v. you are a solid whole, telling her the truth she lied about, making long-distance seem like an inch away though this is still too far for her, and creating a cure for agoraphobics and claustrophobics.
you are a heart doctor saving the glitter thread for her and a train-track engineer connecting all the parts to lead from here to where she is with burnt coal
and being everything she once was.
to let go because sometimes
it's better to be totally broken than a whole missing that fragment of sand
slipping between gaps in finger-laces and you just don't have a tight enough grip for her.
ii. she is the sewer top after a rainstorm, telling you
that seashells never worked
and all she'll ever be is an ocean-soundwaves poser but sometimes
lies are prettier than the reality and you said relationships are based around honesty,
so maybe you don't know enough about fantasy for her.
iii. she is the star farthest from the earth, telling you
to never hold on to distant things because sometimes
they can be the brightest and still get lost in the sun-daze and moon-glow
and they'd just rather no one gave them love and took it away and you just don't have enough love to give to the brightest.
iv. she is the quicksand beneath your mismatch-laced shoes, telling you
that even if you're stuck, everything will have an end
and all she'll ever be is quicksand ripping you in and giving you soothing comments to last you a day but sometimes
freedom is far too large for the agoraphobic and you never held her tight enough to sooth her.
(agoraphobics and claustrophobics should never mate.)
v. you are a solid whole, telling her the truth she lied about, making long-distance seem like an inch away though this is still too far for her, and creating a cure for agoraphobics and claustrophobics.
you are a heart doctor saving the glitter thread for her and a train-track engineer connecting all the parts to lead from here to where she is with burnt coal
and being everything she once was.
Literature
water
i am not afraid of death.
i did not want
the boy beneath the apple trees,
or the cherry petals
in the orchard, touched with invisible fingers
leaving brown indentations, bruised
with your inflection even on the brink of spring
not the one littered under the sunlit twigs
grappling for heaven
But the one lying exactly center field
staring straight at the sky--
waiting for a crash of thunder
for the paper flowers, metaphor for holding
over the sills of everything transient,
and left for erasing-- like a soul brimming
over the bridge of an emotion
strong enough to overcome itself.
brave boy with a thousand faces-- i see
Literature
sixth sense
i.
you can close your eyes and count the stars and
find where they connect to draw a face years
older than yours; this weary gaze is turning
in for the night but it won't turn away from you
ii.
just please forget the taste of melancholy goodbyes
and words we haven't said; keep your tongue wrapped
around the flavors of boisterous laughs and every
"i love you" that lingers in this stubborn atmosphere
iii.
and you no longer need these wizened hands to
hold you up and hold your balance on these rocks;
these tired bones are folding themselves in; keep them
in the back of your mind and they'll keep you standing
iv.
if you forget the
Literature
with the catastrophe eyes.
hey you. yes, you, the girl with the catastrophe eyes.
you're the type of girl they name hurricanes after; you crash land into normalcy and throw everything and everyone in your destructive path into instant panic. when you breathe, the world shudders and their moans propel the winds into spinning dangerously close to your center.
nothing can stop you and that's just the way you like it.
hey girl. no, not her, you with the devastating touch.
you're like a live grenade and they throw you away even before they can fully grasp you. it's okay; the select few who can survive your shrapnel explosion will be the ones you want to pay attention to
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i really don't know anymore.
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Comments26
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perhaps it's for the best. sometimes i think they need to find solace in other things. our palms don't hold words very well. for they were shaped to let things through. maybe it means you've let go of whatever drove you to write this. and maybe that in itselfm is good