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Literature Text
i.
This distance between us
is devouring my lungs.
I'm left here gasping,
trying to suture back together
all the broken nights-
the cigarette burns in my bedsheets.
ii.
I'm tracing maps on my limbs,
and I'm painting black holes on my palms,
pressing them into letters
left on my nightstand
untouched and unread.
iii.
I keep telling myself
none of this is about you.
But I'm reaching for empty galaxies
as I try to remember what it felt like
to be one of a binary star.
iv.
Light-years away, and I'm here-
just another nova on your ceiling,
searching this vast universe for you.
This distance between us
is devouring my lungs.
I'm left here gasping,
trying to suture back together
all the broken nights-
the cigarette burns in my bedsheets.
ii.
I'm tracing maps on my limbs,
and I'm painting black holes on my palms,
pressing them into letters
left on my nightstand
untouched and unread.
iii.
I keep telling myself
none of this is about you.
But I'm reaching for empty galaxies
as I try to remember what it felt like
to be one of a binary star.
iv.
Light-years away, and I'm here-
just another nova on your ceiling,
searching this vast universe for you.
Literature
Crayon Soulmates
Dear Stars,
I have a bone to pick with you. You see, when I was six, I called myself the nowhere girl... and I coloured myself a soulmate. I made him on crumpled sheets, with broken pieces of crayon, on a playground that was too busy wondering whether growing up entailed stealing their mother's cigarettes and their father's dirty magazines (I suppose I was already wise enough to know that growing up meant choosing one of the many ways of breaking yourself in two.)
I hope you remember him, stars...he was important to me (My best friend threw that drawing away on my seventh birthday and told me that someone like me was not supposed to have su
Literature
Dream On
A dream can be
a passing thought;
a passionate ambition.
A dream can be
a battle fought;
a superficial mission.
A dream can be
a driving force;
a forgiving comfort.
A dream can be
a thriving source;
a deceitful consort.
A dream can thrill you;
drive you or kill you.
Beware of this, dreamers—
and Dream On.
Literature
A Snowfall Candlelit
My version of winter has always been flawed. It is controlled by the fall of snow and the exact amount of the ground it covers. It never ever covers the tiny little patch in the garden, right near the broken tin roofed shed. I suppose that is why I just like the idea of snow. But I do not love it.
(Realisation: I suppose that little corner represents the only part of me that even I cannot love.)
I met a man with candle lit wolf eyes and a strong, warm lion heart, who tells me Sea God stories before disappearing into a cold, cold winter's morning, fog cloaking his very essence.
(Addendum: Sometimes I think of five a.m. coffee, and wonder if
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I swear I wasn't going to write anything about space. But then I started thinking about Neil Armstrong, and feelings happened.
Oh well, enjoy.
Oh well, enjoy.
© 2012 - 2024 DearPoetry
Comments56
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Overall Vision Originality
Technique Impactwow, you impressed me again! I really love the IV part. I like the deep feeling in the whole poem, the transition between the first part (depression) and the last one (resignation).
It's really beautiful.
Maybe I would like the poem even more if each part had a different number of sentences, and I even thought it went like that, but the III part doesn't fit. That's only my opinion, about the number,
I will keep an eye on your literature, you're improving everytime I see your gallery.
You must keep on writing, you're very good! <img src="e.deviantart.net/emoticons/s/s…" width="15" height="15" alt="
" title=" (Smile)"/>And maybe we'll see you in the shops one day. Only if you want so.