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Literature Text
You told me
I was November’s ambrosia
sweet on your tongue.
But now all I feel
is discord, sieging
and overthrowing
the 3,000 year old tree
inside of me.-
Centuries to grow so tall
and strong-
9 mere minutes to
fall.
You no longer smile anymore.
And I am here,
silent as stone-
the carcass of a dead...
wild thing
hoping you don't leave me
on the side of the road.
I was November’s ambrosia
sweet on your tongue.
But now all I feel
is discord, sieging
and overthrowing
the 3,000 year old tree
inside of me.-
Centuries to grow so tall
and strong-
9 mere minutes to
fall.
You no longer smile anymore.
And I am here,
silent as stone-
the carcass of a dead...
wild thing
hoping you don't leave me
on the side of the road.
Literature
or maybe it actually is.
this
is not
a love poem:
this is not about
me and how i hate
the way realism tastes.
this is about you.
this is about how you
are one too many shades arrogant,
how nearly every night you
try to forget that time has
left you behind. this is
about your laugh and the way it
whispers "i can't remember
what i was like before i
became this." and,
if i'm being honest, this is about
how i will never see your too
cocky for your own damn good grin that
makes me go weak in the knees.
this is about you
and how you're not real and how i wish
to god that i wasn't either.
Literature
Do not be ashamed of who you are.
At one point in your life,
you didn't mind being a girl.
It was only after you met
her that you thought, "Maybe
this isn't the right fit." Because,
if you're being honest, she
deserves a knight in shining armor.
You are not Atlas, my dear.
Your shoulders do not
merit a world of troubles,
but instead love-lined clouds
that whisper, "Do not be
ashamed of who you are."
A woman can be a
champion whose heart burns
with more gold than a king's
castle holds. Perhaps if
you had more faith,
you might find that's just what
she needs.
Literature
Another Language called English
I took your adjectives for granted. There was something about the way you skipped over your 's'es and gleaned over your 'i's and 'e's, that never really made me want to kiss you. You'd sit there with your languid fingers clutching a book that was half finished, and read me words that were completely mispronounced. It would prickle me under my skin and I would grit my teeth, wondering when you would stop. I would never understand the english language you thought you spoke, and your confidence in your own words annoyed me.
It was comical when you spoke in front of our friends. Your mistaken pronunciation of the word 'pronunciation' in particul
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My first poem in months, trying to get back into the grove of writing and answering the buildup of secrets in my inbox.
The secret: He was happy before he started dating me…
The secret: He was happy before he started dating me…
Comments62
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This is very lovely. I've never thought of "the secret" in such a way and somehow I can relate to it.