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Literature Text
i have not read enough poetry
and i am not one to muse
or maybe think
but i do have
a question
i am one student in a freshman course
who wonders
why so many poets use only
lower case
is it artistic
is it sexy
to write as if
you do nothing but whisper
i want to be loud
i want
the survivors of death
to remember me
i will not mutter
like a fetus
trapped
undeveloped
perhaps there is
nothing to this
technicality
but there is value
in knowing how to yell
and in absolute
silence.
and i am not one to muse
or maybe think
but i do have
a question
i am one student in a freshman course
who wonders
why so many poets use only
lower case
is it artistic
is it sexy
to write as if
you do nothing but whisper
i want to be loud
i want
the survivors of death
to remember me
i will not mutter
like a fetus
trapped
undeveloped
perhaps there is
nothing to this
technicality
but there is value
in knowing how to yell
and in absolute
silence.
Literature
Absolved
echo girl drops down so far,
(so dark) she swears it is heaven:
exodus, this final breath
strapped to the wings of fairies
and forced to fly away,
light like the gossamer sun
seeping in her skin and the
repetitive reshedding of her
meager lungs, exodus
the awakening and glorious release—
swan-dive into everything she ever wanted,
where the broken jaded looking glass
never shines right and the spiders
nest between her spine and he
still calls her beautiful and she
drops this faithlessness in exchange
for a quiet dawn.
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
softened
the sky whispers,
ribbons of crystalline quiet,
same shade as the angel dust
you shivered every time we were
alone.
in the darkness, we were
sorry birds searching for
open dawns. you, the
swan, me, the
raven,
black as night and
just as hopeful.
and there were poems
written in your skin, universes
blooming in your hands; your eyes
were a December sunrise saving me
from any sleep.
I’ve decided that
people are a composition of
all their greatest memories—and you,
you were always the most
beautiful piece of
me.
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A bit of an experiment, and a comment. Not trying to bash.
© 2012 - 2024 FallingAsleepTonight
Comments38
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Excellent, interesting. I might have chosen to put the word "absolute" in caps, but it's a technicality. Cheers!