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Literature Text
overly eager to
cross fine lines
and use fancy words
spends too much time
and money
on petty satisfaction
doesn't wish on stars
or airplanes
but secretly drops pennies
in fountains
and waits for them
to send ripples down her spine
too often cages words
in her mouth
and behind her teeth
like fluttering birds
trying to sing
but always
falling
silent
always listening
and waiting
for someone to hear
her whispers
filled to the brim
with hesitating timidity
and unfulfilled daydreams
dripping with wistfulness
cross fine lines
and use fancy words
spends too much time
and money
on petty satisfaction
doesn't wish on stars
or airplanes
but secretly drops pennies
in fountains
and waits for them
to send ripples down her spine
too often cages words
in her mouth
and behind her teeth
like fluttering birds
trying to sing
but always
falling
silent
always listening
and waiting
for someone to hear
her whispers
filled to the brim
with hesitating timidity
and unfulfilled daydreams
dripping with wistfulness
Literature
To Consecrate
When you first met me,
All you could see was a snow white glove
jutting up from the filth I let them bury me in,
digits half curled
wrist arced and carpels tangled
as if I had once strained
to reach up for something more,
but had long since given up...
Your fingertips were my Autumn
as I walked backwards through Winter-
A sleepwalking shadow
spurred on only by sound of a melodic voice
and the faint whispers
of a promise
that I was worth more than ash and dust;
It's been two years since you first coaxed me up from the mire.
I opened my eyes into a hurricane,
reached out to grasp at the hem of your dress
only to come up short
when I found
Literature
Flowers and Rain
A city full of flowers. A city full of rain.
I watch over it through the gap in the crumbling brickwork. There's a little girl wandering in the street below. God knows how she got there. I can't see properly through the scope of my rifle, but it looks like she's crying.
When I see her face I remember something I haven't remembered for years. I was her age when the evacuations happened. At least they started as evacuations. The word implies that everyone was following a plan, but it was just mass panic within a few hours. Still, we call those days the evacuations, because that was the word they gave us. That's the word my parents used.
I re
Literature
the 'd' word
when i was seven years old, my mother, tear-streaks
drying on her cheeks, fingered her wedding band
and told me, “love hurts, sweetie,
that’s how you know it’s a good love.”
two days later, my father came back home.
he was missing his wedding ring
and when he left again,
he left a handprint on my mother’s cheek
that she carried with her even after the bruise was gone.
i grew up without a father influence in my mother’s world
and without a mother influence in my dad’s.
neither of them got remarried.
they had found each other and that was enough.
they had found each other and that was too much.
i gre
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takin' a step back from my other project
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