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Literature Text
the sun is melting away,
we call it romantic when
all good things die quietly;
I feel like I’m always transitioning
through different levels of sobriety:
spent up on the people in my life
like the girl who doesn’t remember
my name and the boy who thought
I was joking.
(I will care for myself, and
then the world will stop and
spin in the right direction;
the mirror will blur and
I will finally see me,
unfiltered and beautiful)
I just want to believe
that somewhere there’s a boy
ready to sing my bleeding ears
to sleep
with a cinnamon voice, he
will tell me I couldn’t
possibly be human: something
otherworldly, a moonmaid with
starry eyes come to make
reality surreal
and it would be almost perfect,
floating in that jagged gap where
devotion seems to breed and
where I could finally sleep,
untouched and sober.
we call it romantic when
all good things die quietly;
I feel like I’m always transitioning
through different levels of sobriety:
spent up on the people in my life
like the girl who doesn’t remember
my name and the boy who thought
I was joking.
(I will care for myself, and
then the world will stop and
spin in the right direction;
the mirror will blur and
I will finally see me,
unfiltered and beautiful)
I just want to believe
that somewhere there’s a boy
ready to sing my bleeding ears
to sleep
with a cinnamon voice, he
will tell me I couldn’t
possibly be human: something
otherworldly, a moonmaid with
starry eyes come to make
reality surreal
and it would be almost perfect,
floating in that jagged gap where
devotion seems to breed and
where I could finally sleep,
untouched and sober.
Literature
on yearning to be something I'm not.
I think in a previous life,
I must have been a coyote.
An ugly beast with an
ugly heart, with howls
echoing across ten thousand
canyons.
"Please, give me the moon;
I can no longer stand the heat of
the sun."
This world mocks me.
More love for a
night alone in
a winter's forest than
the lonesome aching in
my heart, I only
want to run with the
wolves; always.
But,
I fear,
this desert-weary soul is
merely chasing rabbits across
empty highways. A coyote only
deserves putrid carrion and
not the thrill of the hunt—I am but a
song dog keening into the night for
the fangs of wolves to keep me cold.
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
Literature
Remember Your Dues
Remember Your Dues:
You think you can forget it;
As soon as you forget it,
Believe you will regret it,
Relieved of all your credit.
Your honour and your lifestyle,
Curled around my knife while-
You sit and play your games,
Thinking everything's the same.
But I'm watching and I'm waiting;
This patience suffocating,
But it's worth the while I'm waiting
For this hatred I am facing.
You thought it was forever,
And so you did endeavour;
To pretend the chains and ties,
That bind you; they have died.
But the fact is you have lied;
Forgotten where you're tied.
The markings on your side,
Remember why you hide!
But its too late for apologies;
The
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sometimes I wonder if he knows I exist
(sometimes I doubt that I do)
(sometimes I doubt that I do)
© 2013 - 2024 intricately-ordinary
Comments49
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I love this and I admire you for writing with such brutally raw emotion. Most of my drafts start like this but I'm too chicken to expose that side of myself entirely.
Btw this totally broke my heart "where devotion seems to breed and
where I could finally sleep...." The knot in my throat's still won't budge.
Btw this totally broke my heart "where devotion seems to breed and
where I could finally sleep...." The knot in my throat's still won't budge.