literature

crystal catastrophies bottled up

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intricately-ordinary's avatar
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Literature Text

v
her shaky hands couldn't hold a pen
or a promise
"my fingers have broken
trying to rewrite clichés-
believe me when I say, I'm special"
hollow laughs glossed over her
tempered smile

as she waited for the day
when that might actually mean
something

i
there was an eve long before dawn
ever tainted the starry night sky and
inflicted vision on those who preferred
to stay in the dark, where a girl
crooned quietly to herself
"what if when we meet,
I've run out of I love you's?"

this was before the sun whispered in her ears
that they'd never mattered, anyway

iv
hopelessness descends
on wearied souls
who couldn't learn just how
to cross their fingers right
"maybe depression is a state of mind
for those who never knew
any other way"

she threw out all her mirrors
when they became too loud

ii
life is something you grow into
a conglomeration of
soul searching and
forgetting to breathe
where age is indicative of
all that you have lost
"children dream, but adults
deny wishing in anger-
they are hurt it always falls through"

dreams are something you grow
out of, with time

vi
she never made it anywhere
(you can't move
when you collapse)

"strength only belongs to those
who know how to believe in their own actions

it's hard to be forsaken
by yourself"

iii
confusion breeds resentment and sadness
anxiety, fear, despair,
and sometimes even writers
with a need to be heard
"one day, my every last word
will be a treasure,
worth holding onto forever"

and every struggle
would finally be worth it

because the end, she dreamed
would justify
the means
Fragmented story, fragmented girl.

I had this picture in my head of a glass ship in a bottle: easily shattered and untouchable.
© 2012 - 2024 intricately-ordinary
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DogmaticKerr's avatar
This is what did it for me - what convinced me - what made me realize that you are... breath-taking. Is it really possible to express too-much good of a person? But, I digress! I cannot pick a favorite part as I've fallen a little bit in love with every word here - and again, it all resonates so much, it's hard not to cry. It is all so familiar. Desires, wishes, realizations and that ache of honesty.

It can be hard for writers to present words as art - really well and truly as art - where you can get the same impression that you would from looking at a painstakingly crafted and presented painting or sculpture as you can from words, if not more. I, again, have to recognize my own bias in just how closely I feel this... but then again, that's the point.
This really takes me back :heart: