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Literature Text
i.
look-
i have a post-it-note hidden in my third drawer with the words 'you deserve it' scrawled across the front. it's under old sweaters and threaded shirts that seem to come apart if I pull too hard. it's lying there and I tell myself that one day i'll be able to tape it across the front of something that makes it true. that day was three years ago and i was too afraid the tape wouldn't hold, there were no staples littering the ground and so i let him go. he was never made for labels anyways.
ii.
last night i thought i heard shadows talking and it made me uncomfortable to know their secrets. i faded into the walls until my lungs synchronized with the concrete, and in the distance i thought i heard a train and all i could see where the tracks we fell on. i never knew flowers grew on the edge of danger as if they belonged, but then again i always clung to you.
iii.
i have rust stains on my jeans from kneeling at your side while we looked across the pond. the water looked like shimmering beer bottles lost in the illusion that they'd never cause any harm, and i remember thinking that maybe just once i could believe in the images my eyes wanted me to. i remember the way i leaned into your arms and never thought of falling over the bridge, but the danger never lay in drowning.
iv.
it isn't raining anymore, and i find it easier to count windows without curtains drawn over their meaning. i have pressed flowers in an unread book that i never open to conserve the fragrance, but i never knew what lilacs smelled of. i was always drawn to mysteries, even if they were just a string of accidents one after the other.
v.
i cut the phone lines that kept me connected to you because we never had good reception. the wind's picking the dust off the streets and it's swirling in my hair and for no reason i feel more alive than i have in a while. i'm walking towards the horizon because the southern skyline always looked best when you were searching for the impossible.
vi.
i tore the post-it-note to shreds and replaced it with 'he deserves you', but the ink ran together in the shape of a broken heart. and i tell myself that one day i'll be able to fold it in the pockets of someone who knows it used to be true.
but not anymore.
look-
i have a post-it-note hidden in my third drawer with the words 'you deserve it' scrawled across the front. it's under old sweaters and threaded shirts that seem to come apart if I pull too hard. it's lying there and I tell myself that one day i'll be able to tape it across the front of something that makes it true. that day was three years ago and i was too afraid the tape wouldn't hold, there were no staples littering the ground and so i let him go. he was never made for labels anyways.
ii.
last night i thought i heard shadows talking and it made me uncomfortable to know their secrets. i faded into the walls until my lungs synchronized with the concrete, and in the distance i thought i heard a train and all i could see where the tracks we fell on. i never knew flowers grew on the edge of danger as if they belonged, but then again i always clung to you.
iii.
i have rust stains on my jeans from kneeling at your side while we looked across the pond. the water looked like shimmering beer bottles lost in the illusion that they'd never cause any harm, and i remember thinking that maybe just once i could believe in the images my eyes wanted me to. i remember the way i leaned into your arms and never thought of falling over the bridge, but the danger never lay in drowning.
iv.
it isn't raining anymore, and i find it easier to count windows without curtains drawn over their meaning. i have pressed flowers in an unread book that i never open to conserve the fragrance, but i never knew what lilacs smelled of. i was always drawn to mysteries, even if they were just a string of accidents one after the other.
v.
i cut the phone lines that kept me connected to you because we never had good reception. the wind's picking the dust off the streets and it's swirling in my hair and for no reason i feel more alive than i have in a while. i'm walking towards the horizon because the southern skyline always looked best when you were searching for the impossible.
vi.
i tore the post-it-note to shreds and replaced it with 'he deserves you', but the ink ran together in the shape of a broken heart. and i tell myself that one day i'll be able to fold it in the pockets of someone who knows it used to be true.
but not anymore.
Literature
the things we'll never say.
1.
snakes crawl out of my mouth,
hands like sleep waiting silently
for me to give into them.
i toss words like rocks
across my tongue, skipping
across the lake, and we reach,
hands outstretched, for the sun
but it's a shame it's all empty.
2.
listen, if you loved me, you
wouldn't try to fix me.
if you loved me, you'd paint
butterflies across the wall
to make me smile. listen,
if you loved me, you'd give
me handrails to hold onto
on the way down. you'd tell me
that right now, i'm a caterpillar
(but that caterpillars become
butterflies.) listen,
if you loved me,
you'd love me broken, too.
3.
don't speak.
sure, you cou
Literature
bird wings.
theres a girl who has irses the colour of running ink. she covers canvasses with blood-red paint and covers note books in everything she wishes she could be. hanging red canvasses on the blue walls in her room sometimes make her feel as though she's burning. when she comes home from school she lays on her bed and she cries, burning from the inside out.
-
theres a girl who spends her nights curled in a ball, in the park behind her house. her cheeks are decorated in purple-blue-black bruises and her tights are ripped. i want to hold her to my chest and run my fingers through her sienna hair; hold her hands and kiss her fingers. i want to prot
Literature
fingers dialing
I wrote a letter and buried it in the dirt. I wrote it for the tree's unraveling roots- just wanted to let them know that sometimes being awake isn't enough. I needed them to know that my mind is based on a story about a broken hand, and what goes on in my brain is not a rush of words, but rather a headache of loud sounds. and speaking is nothing more than these sounds falling out through my teeth. I needed to stop dreaming about losing my head and floating away. so this is me finalizing all things, saying I know I'm on the right track when I'm tied down and a train is coming. this is me screaming into a telephone, whispering that I'm scared
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Comments15
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Wow this is just so beautiful. The whole thing flows amazingly. Your word choice is just brilliant. The concept is just enough and even better is you made it work flawlessly. Emotion just spills out of everything from your sentences to the periods that separate them. Absolutely magnificent!