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Literature Text
i am running
with kites on runways;
slipping smiles into the breeze.
throwing paper airplanes
down terminals;
fluttering dreams in turbines.
i could've called anyone
there a liar--
but i only found me
inside my head.
and if i learned
that feathers
leave papercuts,
i might not
be here:
afraid of flying
with the feeling of
melting wax
between my fingers
with kites on runways;
slipping smiles into the breeze.
throwing paper airplanes
down terminals;
fluttering dreams in turbines.
i could've called anyone
there a liar--
but i only found me
inside my head.
and if i learned
that feathers
leave papercuts,
i might not
be here:
afraid of flying
with the feeling of
melting wax
between my fingers
Literature
no one is ever going to want me
maybe once
this would've been
poetic
but i'm crying &
there's nothing
pretty
or wonderful
here
i think
my face is scrunched
like a red rag
in the sink
slumped beneath a leaky
faucet &
my hands are shaking
maybe i could make
it
sound nice--
high
buzzed
lustful
but what i have
you won't like
memories
and do you want them too?
stealing & paying
pressing bottles and
pictures to my sternum
the heat
the cold
maybe it's the silence
that hurts
the stumbling
the tumult of words down
the sink and
across the floor
the empty heads
&
i was pretty then
bird-legs and stilted poems
so nice
numbering stars and
crushing books between
my teet
Literature
She always fell for boys who needed saving.
She always fell for boys who needed saving.
Giving them kisses in the dark
to numb their headache from
drinking too much and yet
not enough to kill lust.
She was always adored by boys, who,
if given the chance, would rebuild
the world for her.
But she wanted to be the heroine
and refused to see
she needed saving, too.
Literature
It Came From The Dark
It Came From The Dark:
Amongst the ashes, swirling from the darkness of the pit,
Emerged a hand, dragging a battered body across the rocks.
Blood leaked from the wounds so callously self-inflicted,
And teeth ground with a focused determination and seething anger.
It cared not for the warm rubies - staining the jagged rocks,
It cared not for the sensation of pain...
All that it remembered was a dream, An obsession -
One that drove it ever higher; ignoring all else!
Eventually it emerged from this shadowy hole, this dreary depth,
And in that moment, it learned of the truth.
For this creature, denied sunlight and warmth -
was me...
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© 2012 - 2024 poetic-headache
Comments30
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Balanced with excellent flow. Nice!