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Literature Text
and as your sepia-saturated voice fades into the night
you will remember all those dreams you woke from,
weeping, for the conversations you'd never
have and the people you'd never get back
you will remember the flock of birds that used to
reside in your chest, pounding against your
ribcage, crying to be free (and you will try
to remember the day their wings went silent)
as you hear the leaves hum and the sky pulse,
you will try to fall into cadence with the steady
music of nature, but instead begin to believe you're just
an outlier.
you will tell yourself, in your needly, narcissistic
way: you are a falling star, a withering celestial
being- you never quite fit in
and it will mean that the words you had engraved in
your ceiling (the last thing you see before you sleep)
about how one day, you'd mean something, you'd be
something, you would finally morph into a person
beautiful and magical and worthwhile
came to be another poorly told story,
too.
and as your whispers die in an unwelcoming night
you will know
the birds have never [will never] break free.
you will remember all those dreams you woke from,
weeping, for the conversations you'd never
have and the people you'd never get back
you will remember the flock of birds that used to
reside in your chest, pounding against your
ribcage, crying to be free (and you will try
to remember the day their wings went silent)
as you hear the leaves hum and the sky pulse,
you will try to fall into cadence with the steady
music of nature, but instead begin to believe you're just
an outlier.
you will tell yourself, in your needly, narcissistic
way: you are a falling star, a withering celestial
being- you never quite fit in
and it will mean that the words you had engraved in
your ceiling (the last thing you see before you sleep)
about how one day, you'd mean something, you'd be
something, you would finally morph into a person
beautiful and magical and worthwhile
came to be another poorly told story,
too.
and as your whispers die in an unwelcoming night
you will know
the birds have never [will never] break free.
Literature
Sehnsucht
October again;
and the curtains billow
with broken glass echoes and
Mendelssohn's bride waltzing
to better times
(ein
zwei
drei)
She becomes the rain,
and breaks her own heart as the sound
drips
right through us.
Literature
Melancholia
Soothe and subdue me,
overthrow the ferocity
that harrows me nightly,
and all through the day,
when I should be
happy with you.
Say you will slay
all of my fears
and the forces that drive me
always to tears,
or this intensity
will surely devour me.
You won't escape its teeth, dear,
because you love me so.
You stand by your woman,
even when the wind is blowin',
threatening to tear our house down.
And the colder the winter,
you just hold me tighter,
vowing nothing
will tear us asunder.
Golden-hearted you,
bravest of lovers,
have withstood all the tempests I bring,
but together we will drown,
stuck in its
Literature
just
i am everything i never wanted to be.
it's funny to realize,
five years ago i would've looked at me and thought,
"you
are the worst kind
of lost because you don't even know it,"
and now,
i see that's what i was before.
but i'm still just a fraction
of an idea
that tries so hard to show itself.
others say
i should
speak louder,
sing louder,
just
be
louder;
but i was born with vocal cords covered in
bubble wrap.
my fingers curled in,
with my arms pushing against my chest
in an x
because it marked the spot
i often fight to fill,
while
everyone else was armed with pitchforks and shovels and i clutched tightly
with my fingernails
and screamed
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Sometimes I think we have birds in our chests and whispers in our throat that will never come out.
© 2012 - 2024 intricately-ordinary
Comments27
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This is incredible in so many ways. You amaze me. ^^
Some birds have to be let free though, I think.
Some birds have to be let free though, I think.