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Literature Text
Oh,
little godless girl
you talk like
the roots
of your powerhouse
are showing through
your teeth—
you’re no nymph,
or autotroph
breathing &
surviving off
your own carbon
dioxide.
It’s been 64 hours
50 minutes, &
33 seconds
since this whole thing
started
& you’re already falling
apart.
You left your skilless
tongue
in the waste basket
by the bed,
your limbs
spread &
weeping
in the alley.
You are your own
flailing masterpiece
& by definition
your work deserves
no title.
little godless girl
you talk like
the roots
of your powerhouse
are showing through
your teeth—
you’re no nymph,
or autotroph
breathing &
surviving off
your own carbon
dioxide.
It’s been 64 hours
50 minutes, &
33 seconds
since this whole thing
started
& you’re already falling
apart.
You left your skilless
tongue
in the waste basket
by the bed,
your limbs
spread &
weeping
in the alley.
You are your own
flailing masterpiece
& by definition
your work deserves
no title.
Literature
Two Years Later
She asked him gently, “Do you love me?”
In his long silence, she found closure,
And left her love under a willow tree.
Literature
Lost November
I am lost November,
with the breath of winter
at the hairline of its neck.
I am the blood orange that
sours a little too soon.
A thirty day intuition
to a season of good will.
A blip on the side of
the road that melts easily
out of sight, out of mind.
An unremembered instance
on a torn index page
of a forgotten, spineless book.
I am lost November.
Remember me the instance
when you feel unremembered too.
Literature
you have seven days to live.
1.the news doesn't hurt:
it's his eyes that hurt you,
the glimmer of his past
creeping in just like
his father used to creep in
at three a.m.
with a sin on his mind
and rage on his hands.
he waits for you to react,
but you don't
because he's suddenly seven again,
hiding bruises
while mommy cries
in a ball on the couch.
2.you think time
is a funny thing.
people talk about it
like it is an object:
"I need more time," they say,
like they will go to the store later
and buy more.
but you know that time
is more like an ocean wave,
with an endless
pounding that continues
long after we greet the dirt,
and we want more time,
but time doesn't want
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Comments38
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Wow, brutal.
'& by definition your work deserves no title'
But yet I fight it all
To keep myself here
For all I hold dear
I have no idea where that came from.
'& by definition your work deserves no title'
But yet I fight it all
To keep myself here
For all I hold dear
I have no idea where that came from.