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Literature Text
There is so much writing
and music on our
death, our inescapable
end.
Both soldiers
and inmates,
we are fighting
and we deserve this.
It is not something
to dwell on,
or mourn ourselves
with cracked speech.
We are here for
each other, as
always-
together,
together we will
pray for rain.
and music on our
death, our inescapable
end.
Both soldiers
and inmates,
we are fighting
and we deserve this.
It is not something
to dwell on,
or mourn ourselves
with cracked speech.
We are here for
each other, as
always-
together,
together we will
pray for rain.
Literature
Arise and Breathe
little siren girl, held up by fishhooks
and lines - you'll only be free when
they cut you loose.
still, they tell you: you will not fall
victim to swelling tides, you
will float. (you are a dead weight.)
you are something incomplete
like the forgotten house on the
end of the row, eating itself,
dimming day by day:
paint chips and chapped lips
have nothing left to say.
there are monsters nursing
deep beneath your flesh, with
threadbare spines and trembling
hands, they are afraid of their own
shadows. (you are only weak when
your eyes are open)
a new year waits upon your doorstep,
promising to take all that was ever [you]
Literature
zero
i swore
i would never number the poems
i wrote about myself because that
would be like ticking off the days
until my breakdown;
i was a moth, unapologetically throwing myself
at any gleam of hope; wasting my wings
on industrial promises
colors always felt much more
appropriate for the purple boiling
beneath my heart and the pallid
purposelessness of my head,
but i was born into a colorless world--
no one sees me behind the metallic scars
of my skin and iron grating of my voice against
the grain; no one sees me as more than
gray regret or monochrome mistakes,
no one sees me but
all i ever wanted was for a
fallen god with feathered he
Literature
intricately ordinary
I am the wayward child,
subliminal and defeathered—
almost perfect.
What's that in your heart?
Myths and the things that really matter
like wallflower clippings,
unfiltered and restless.
Don't forget to let me go;
the keepers of my heart
are undedicated,
sleeping behind the wheel.
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Comments3
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thought provoking.
Great as always.
Great as always.