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Literature Text
we sat in your basement
drinking hot chocolate
and freezing our toes
off,
because we didn't have
a blanket to cuddle in.
your eyelashes are much too long;
they hide those cinnamon
eyes i want to hold and
keep in a jar
so i can stare at them
forever.
we played air guitar
and pretended we were
superstars;
our dreams felt so fragile.
i didn't want to talk too loud-
i was afraid to break our dreams
like the wind whips through
a spider's web.
i fell asleep curled up
in the basement
listening to your heart beat-
my toes were warm
because they were
tangled in yours.
Literature
Not Worth It
Pretty girls don't cry.
My smile is what I hide behind, it's my safety net. (Or prison, take your pick). I need to be just a little more perfect, just a little-just a little-just a little bit more, until I'm out of control and just a little bit too scared to say NO; stop right there. Stop. That's just a little bit over the line.
I used to be a dancer.
I'd skip and glide and leap and run across the stage, my home, my joy. I trusted the strength of my body and the stability of the wood that I stood upon, the arms of my dance partner encircling my waist and holding me steady as a smile wrote happiness across my face.
But dancing is for the c
Literature
someone's october
maybe tomorrow
i will lace my fingers through
my ribcage, or
lay pennies in the hollow of
my throat, just between
the collarbones
(i carved my skeleton
with my bare hands, so
leave a wishbone at my feet
& let it break)
maybe tomorrow i will
leave myself
on the sidewalk, all skinned knees and
scraped palms, and become
someone else entirely:
i will unfold my eyes
and linger behind them,
warm as winter
Literature
these feelings should be finite
I'm terrified and I know there's nothing unique about this, but I'm standing here completely out of touch with the rest of the world, realizing for the first time that we all feel things a little bit differently, which is why this doesn't hurt for you at all. I figure the only logical reason for how you could do this as if it means nothing was if it really did mean nothing at all for you. It's easier to hate you this way. It's easier to forget you without the burn of your kiss against my skin. It's easier to stay mad if I don't have to remember the way that it felt. Most of all, I can forget this as if it's a memory in someone else's lifetime
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candor; honesty in giving one's view or opinion; frankness and sincerity
this is pretty much
the most honest
i can be.
Comments14
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All of your poetry is really interesting, because I feel like you don't filter it and wash it out. So yeah, that's all I wanted to say... Good job, and thank you 