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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
snowglobe
we hoped it would get bad enough to break glass
that one of our voices
would find the note
to split the window
make a neighbour call the cops
that the dishes would shatter
into too many pieces
to be picked off the floor
we wanted glass in our heels
a trickle of heat
a flicker of colour
in the sun-blank snow
the pines leaned on our doorframe
we waited for them
to pressure in and unfurl
shower our stunned faces
in a rain of needles
knock the teapot off the table
in a blossom of shards
but the trees stood by
evergreen and identical
the same dream of pine repeating
behind yellowing plastic
we painted shut the door
with smi
Literature
Better off as Ashes
She snuffed out the sparks in her soul,
in hopes of preventing
a forest fire
not minding the Scorched
fingertips it left.
because she would rather
put herself out
before letting the world burn.
Literature
i damper
i walk with my
head hung low and i
scuff my feet on purpose,
because i don't want them to meet my eyes but
i want someone to know i
exist.
hey, they say and
try to tell me
this is okay, that
feeling like this is okay,
but it's not -
(even if i'm allowed to be sad,
that doesn't make it okay i'm not
okay
with this, i'm not . )
"maybe you should call the hotline,"
he said. i told him i was
scared, that i can't talk about things,
that this was hard even though
i trust him, that
what if it doesn't help.
i spent an awful lot of time watching
the sky bleed lilac and
fuchsia from beside my window until
all the colors ran together like the
stains o
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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
