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Literature Text
she’s a subtle girl in a loud world –
there are
voices
in her head but
her mouth will not
shape them.
you could shout over her, you could.
she is
the hints unspoken
the words unsaid
the small smile when you look her way;
with those characteristic sad eyes
almost like she used to speak once
but soon gave up, because no-one was listening.
she’s
reading in a library
and if you’re texting her
you can never expect an immediate response.
she says
she’d sleep through a century of januaries
if she could. there are funny bruises on her knuckles
like orchids. like she’s been trying to break
red-brick walls, or overstepping boundaries –
she never
said it where you could hear it
but the ring of bruises
around her neck
and the thunder scars
scraping her arms into flakes of lightning
not all that could have been self-inflicted.
there are places on our bodies that we do not dare reach.
like beer bottles. like cigarette stubs
in ceramic ashtrays. like rainstorms in cemeteries.
she was a soft girl, a silent girl.
she never spelt it out for you.
she was ultraviolet dreams and
you forgot that uv rays cause cancer;
you didn’t dare think that she was wounded like
war casualties, like
the deer lying by the highways
and fruit flies ruining the elegance of a cadaver.
you didn’t want to think it, because it terrified you.
she was a subtle girl
a h e l p l e s s girl
and maybe you were listening
even when they tried to drown you out
maybe you were listening
but you didn’t understand her language.
there are
voices
in her head but
her mouth will not
shape them.
you could shout over her, you could.
she is
the hints unspoken
the words unsaid
the small smile when you look her way;
with those characteristic sad eyes
almost like she used to speak once
but soon gave up, because no-one was listening.
she’s
reading in a library
and if you’re texting her
you can never expect an immediate response.
she says
she’d sleep through a century of januaries
if she could. there are funny bruises on her knuckles
like orchids. like she’s been trying to break
red-brick walls, or overstepping boundaries –
she never
said it where you could hear it
but the ring of bruises
around her neck
and the thunder scars
scraping her arms into flakes of lightning
not all that could have been self-inflicted.
there are places on our bodies that we do not dare reach.
like beer bottles. like cigarette stubs
in ceramic ashtrays. like rainstorms in cemeteries.
she was a soft girl, a silent girl.
she never spelt it out for you.
she was ultraviolet dreams and
you forgot that uv rays cause cancer;
you didn’t dare think that she was wounded like
war casualties, like
the deer lying by the highways
and fruit flies ruining the elegance of a cadaver.
you didn’t want to think it, because it terrified you.
she was a subtle girl
a h e l p l e s s girl
and maybe you were listening
even when they tried to drown you out
maybe you were listening
but you didn’t understand her language.
Literature
anfractuous.
and I have so many things yet to show you.
none of this is beautiful
when compared to hair whipping out a car window
in a night so deep and far-flung from city lights
that you can see by starlight for miles.
desert grass desert dust sighing in the wind
chasing at the tires and the sky–
oh my god the sky oh my god that sky,
she calls for only her wildest children tonight.
she calls for us to gallop against each other
against each other our shoulders brushing with canyons with coyotes
like brothers
like sisters
she calls for us
calls after us
as we pelt free and far-flung beneath her blue-black belly
pregnant with planets
Literature
garden
the morning light slants
all golden and violet,
color radiates
all through my geraniums,
never to be picked,
only to be admired,
while we walk through the garden
Literature
To Return
I'm too young
to look back
in regret,
to forget
the feeling of freedom.
But despite my best efforts,
making a life for myself
became losing myself,
my voice,
my poetry,
to the rat race.
Life
and love
and work and grief
have weighed me down;
I'm all stifled dreams
and watery smiles
and chafed vocal cords,
and I can scarcely
recognize myself.
I've missed the lightness
of gravity defied
on swings at the park,
of teacups-turned-ferries
to memories past,
of hopes burning blue,
of love that felt
effortless.
So the other night,
in the spirit of revival,
I soared
on a kiddie swing
four hundred feet up--
a distance that, in my younger years,
I cou
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i love this almost as much as i love u. this left me breathless i gotta process this omgndndnsfg