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Literature Text
The sweetest curses are sugar on lips
If I died this evening, you'd find your name
aflame- the words I last shouted in vain
lingering on my tongue like a toxic kiss-
revenge is addicting, venomous pain,
even spent on cries I know are mundane
No fixing up this unholiest tryst,
forged by two fools who believed in their lies;
or maybe it was I, eager for light
even in spite of the flaws I had seen
Can light be fake? Were your twinkling eyes
a mere disguise to make me ignite?
Aflame, in vain, impure light fuels my screams
If I died this evening, you'd find your name
aflame- the words I last shouted in vain
lingering on my tongue like a toxic kiss-
revenge is addicting, venomous pain,
even spent on cries I know are mundane
No fixing up this unholiest tryst,
forged by two fools who believed in their lies;
or maybe it was I, eager for light
even in spite of the flaws I had seen
Can light be fake? Were your twinkling eyes
a mere disguise to make me ignite?
Aflame, in vain, impure light fuels my screams
Literature
Alright
I think I'm alright
I stutter, I shake
I can't sleep at night
But at least I'm awake
I'm doing alright
I mean, I'm not dropping out
They worked me to dust
But it's me they're about
I'm swimming in puddles
I'm dancing in dreams
I'm seeing in visions
That aren't what they seem
I think I'm alright
I stutter, I shake
I'm barely alive
But at least I'm awake
Literature
I miss you
, and i can't say i'm sorry
because these slender, spider fingers
ache to trace the curved letters of your name tag,
emily. i notice you write everything in caps.
( have i ever told you
how much i enjoy saying your name, -EMILY. )
you are screaming to the world, quietly.
but we, we are mid-morning whispers
over stale, back room coffee,
silent eyes, and window pane love.
these hearts were runaways once;
hitchhikers on a trail to nowhere.
you shared pieces of yourself with me then,
emily, between beats and bathroom stalls.
you were a gargoyle under the heat
of july summer. evenings were our playg
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
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So, a break from free verse. This is a Petrarchan (learned what that was yesterday...) sonnet. For FFF's contest: [link], and to promote the lovely new group I am a contributor of: #Crowns-of-Sonnets Join if you are a lover of sonnets.
Tell me what you think. It's my first time using a form in a while, hope I'm not rusty.
edit: DLD [link]
Tell me what you think. It's my first time using a form in a while, hope I'm not rusty.
edit: DLD [link]
© 2012 - 2024 intricately-ordinary
Comments67
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Nice :3
Could you check me out?... (i kinda... Don't even have a favorite in any of my stuff. I'd love feedback)
Could you check me out?... (i kinda... Don't even have a favorite in any of my stuff. I'd love feedback)