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Literature Text
Our summer days consisted of
Burning bonfires
And burning skin.
We would sit down
By the lake, on the sand,
Brushing away mosquitoes
And weaving complex lies.
You would tell me
The meaning of life
And how it was impossible.
You would say
Fish can't drown
Nor can birds fall
And therefore no matter
How hard you tried
You couldn't die living.
Burning bonfires
And burning skin.
We would sit down
By the lake, on the sand,
Brushing away mosquitoes
And weaving complex lies.
You would tell me
The meaning of life
And how it was impossible.
You would say
Fish can't drown
Nor can birds fall
And therefore no matter
How hard you tried
You couldn't die living.
Literature
So, I lied.
I am a poet.
At least,
that's what my
skin tells me when
I bleed.
I'm slowly melting into
bed sheets not worth
lying in twice.
Half sick of shadows,
I think I've lost my mind.
My thoughts are s p i n n i n g
and my bones are shaking.
But I keep repeating re-peating
repeating your name like a mantra.
All I want to do is sleep.
But you see,
I bleed more than red
and there is this ink pen
digging through my skin.
Literature
Failure
She was the Thief Girl with no faith and half a heart, and she didn't care if they never ever saw her soul anyway. She was almost content in the half broken life she had created for herself. Her fingers were always drenched in ink, her mind was always preoccupied with her treasure. Words stolen from conversations, from homes, from mouths that didn't need to speak any more.
She found the Lost Boy somewhere in an alley of poetry and a war of lyrics, fighting for his life with a broken piano and a worn tuxedo. She stole him before the bass viols, the gleaming guitars and the thrashing drums could kill him.
He fought with her all the way, telli
Literature
reality of unrealistic people
it's funny,
the day i decided to let you go,
at least for a while,
we were holding hands.
and my hand was the one
holding stronger to yours.
and you didn't want to let me go,
but your hand was still there
lying on mine, cold as death.
yesterday i noticed,
that when we sit
the inside part of my arms
are always facing the sky,
no scars to hide.
the inside part of yours
are always facing the floor,
so only the ants can see
everything you've gone through.
i'm always reaching for the sky,
when you do your best to hold on to the pavement.
you still look at the moon,
and i'll always reach for the
unreal looking stars.
you sti
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So this was the poem I submitted to my local library for the poetry contest. The theme was "Impossible".
P.S. I did win!
P.S. I did win!
© 2012 - 2024 Irrelephantlovesyou
Comments21
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THIS IS TOTALLY AWESOME! love.