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Literature Text
-3.
my hands fall asleep
whenever i think of you.
(i tell you this
and you tell me to go fuck myself with them.)
-2.
my feet grow tired
whenever i have long conversations with you.
(i tell you this
and you tell me to take a long walk off a short pier.)
-1.
my heart wears out
whenever i consider me and you.
(i tell you this
and you tell me shut up and stay that way.)
0.
i've been feeling more awake lately.
my hands fall asleep
whenever i think of you.
(i tell you this
and you tell me to go fuck myself with them.)
-2.
my feet grow tired
whenever i have long conversations with you.
(i tell you this
and you tell me to take a long walk off a short pier.)
-1.
my heart wears out
whenever i consider me and you.
(i tell you this
and you tell me shut up and stay that way.)
0.
i've been feeling more awake lately.
Literature
if she were any more tomato she'd be blueberry
xvii.
i want to write about how this world of
absolute truth, knowledge, and solid food
that which we hold high between two fingers is always
full of watery applesauce and little white half-truths.
and about how utterly strange
it is that all the simple things that people
write about on pages are, in reality,
very few and far between.
xvi.
and i want to write about how there is
peace and war and
poverty and treasure and
cruelty and sometimes,
sometimes,
small and
important
moments
of grace.
xv.
i want to write a poem about why the hell i'm wasting
my time writing poems when i could maybe
actually be doing something produ
Literature
the things they should have told us
see, no one really warns us about growing up.
they leave out things like heartbreak and gossip and broken people you could have saved but didn't.
it is this: the girl who holds her wrists and sits alone and tells me no child should ever grow up being afraid of someone who should love them. Her eyes are fierce, and something inside me is screaming but the clock ticks and the moment is past. i pretend i can't hear the pieces of her shatter as they hit the floor.
the next time we speak there are new shadows beneath her eyes and her shoulders hunch as if somehow she could fold into herself and disappear. maybe it would be better for us both if
Literature
the trouble is
i'd like life to be
quiet and lovely
like distant church-bells
chiming through snow,
muted by the smell of
an old book and the
feel of a fire warming
me into my chair, and
a mug of tea, steeping
the moment in hushed
gratitude, easily in reach.
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Comments1
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Sorry it took me this long to comment, but I have been reading this once every day or two, trying to formulate some constructive criticism. Sometimes, this happens. It's not that the poem is bad or anything; just that it is complex on some level, or I have struggled to clarify my thoughts on it without success.
Anyway, I like this, the unfortunate biographical nature of it aside. The cadence is playful, sort of like a modern Dorothy Parker poem. It's not rhyming as hers was, nor strictly metered, but the chorus of "I tell you this..." makes me smile.
Sorry I have nothing better, but I decided to share before you wind up joining AARP...
Anyway, I like this, the unfortunate biographical nature of it aside. The cadence is playful, sort of like a modern Dorothy Parker poem. It's not rhyming as hers was, nor strictly metered, but the chorus of "I tell you this..." makes me smile.
Sorry I have nothing better, but I decided to share before you wind up joining AARP...