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Literature Text
lay beside me tonight under these ancient curtains and pull my gaze with yours out the other side of a window that's seen too many screens break
without so much as a word, tell me
tell me quiet as you can because we could ruin this
the moment we let the world know
we're watching
tell me all the things i need to hear in response to feelings
i could never articulate
tell me there are
places out there big enough to fill this void wrapped around my shoulders tell me cities can sometimes be dim enough to let me lose
myself at night tell me
shadows here sleep late sometimes and the morning doesn't need to know the rest of it
the places where brick alleys dripping with wisteria can convince me it's okay
to stay a little longer as my mind knots hard with hanging blossoms and i am dusted
in pollen-hazed panic attacks.
tell me people dont just compliment the words i
arrange because i make a better person than
poet
tell me we'll
see everyone again one day after death that we're not all as good as
gone tell me theres places out there for kids like us with ink smeared cheeks and
shins glass-speckled like shotgun spread tell me we're more
than just dust motes briefly burning on the edge of
somebody else's window sill
tell me you'll chase the loneliness when the evening is dark and the silence
is snow-thick when my medicine wears off and my head swoons thinking with the things i don't need to think about a stress-heavy hippocampus sinking me to the floor a
leaden clump of sodden feathers caught in my throat
hold my hand
in yours ever so gently, Rosie, as we watch the world undress into her dark blue
skin
promise me i am not
the problem i think i am and
if i was you could solve me in a heartbeat
tell me that even in my imagination
you can gently spin logic into every trepidation promise me
with a look of cool and calming adoration
that you have a jar full of imaginary numbers to match
my head of imaginary monsters and if
they ever give me a fright again you'll
bring out your pen and fracture them to fractions
till my chest has found its rise and fall and you've
plotted my every hope in a line to guide me
home
Literature
Fracture, #4
And my memories all came
back to me in bodybags
Literature
Spat Out
It's night. There's no movement in the desert air, nothing to suggest that this night is different from any other, and then it happens. The sand heaves. A moment later, all is still. There is no sign that anything has happened except the presence of a humanoid body that definitely wasn't there before.
It's a few moments before the thing sits up. It does so in a sudden movement, hands raised to protect its face. After a moment, the hands drop to the ground, which it scrabbles its fingers through. Sand pours through the digits while it watches and time passes.
Eventually, the thing tires of watching the endless fall of sand, and rises. It mov
Literature
dried up
there's a bitter sort of irony
in the idea that you two love each other.
it's not much of a secret that neither of you
are all that good at keeping people--
i hold on much longer than i should,
& i still let both of you go.
sunshine girl,
you should know that i put my all into you.
you were my future & i believed in us
more strongly than anyone else.
somehow you still let me down.
i know that you are human & that
i am a lot to deal with,
but you expected too much of me.
you wanted me to put you first &
when i told you i did,
you never believed me.
that disbelief taught me to question
myself,
& in the end it taught me
t
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PatchworkLynx, Rosie, thank you for being someone I can trust and draw courage and inspiration from, even if sometimes I do so silently. You are a font of kindness, beauty, grace, and poetry, and the knowledge that you are by my side during this wild adventure that is life is a comfort and a blessing. You are lovely in every aspect, even in the flaws you may think you have.
The stanza you dedicated to me is the reason that for the first time in months I felt my fingers trace over the ridges of my keyboard with the feeling of finding an old friend who's been gone for a very long time, and found it in myself to write a poem. I'm not good at writing about people, I never have been, but you're the first person who it's felt easy to write about.
I want to see if I can't somehow go forth from this and continue writing about real people, beginning with everyone I can think of who means a lot to me.
I'm glad you were the first person I could start off with, and I'm glad knowing you hopefully won't be the last
Thank you for every single time you defended me against myself, encouraged me, showed me kindness, and took the time to think of me and wish me well. It's made a difference, I swear, and I can't ever repay you, but I hope this poem makes a small dent in that endless debt.
Her poem which inspired mine
The stanza you dedicated to me is the reason that for the first time in months I felt my fingers trace over the ridges of my keyboard with the feeling of finding an old friend who's been gone for a very long time, and found it in myself to write a poem. I'm not good at writing about people, I never have been, but you're the first person who it's felt easy to write about.
I want to see if I can't somehow go forth from this and continue writing about real people, beginning with everyone I can think of who means a lot to me.
I'm glad you were the first person I could start off with, and I'm glad knowing you hopefully won't be the last
Thank you for every single time you defended me against myself, encouraged me, showed me kindness, and took the time to think of me and wish me well. It's made a difference, I swear, and I can't ever repay you, but I hope this poem makes a small dent in that endless debt.
Her poem which inspired mine