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Literature Text
Ask me to write a poem
about kissing witches in my sleep.
Ask me to write a poem
about the bump on my middle finger
from forcing pen to paper.
Ask me to write a poem
about the discolored bruises on my knees
the poetry written in ink upon my flesh—
the love in a foreign tongue on my wrist.
Ask me to write a poem
about Boyfriend,
my possessive Siamese,
about my rose thorn teeth,
and the battle scars I wear like trophies.
Ask me to write a poem
about how my own words make me sick,
about how I swear I'll die by the pen.
Ask me to write a poem
about boys and peaches
and how I wish they tasted just as sweet,
about how I sanded away layer, after layer
after layer—just to see if I really bleed ink.
Ask me to write a poem.
about kissing witches in my sleep.
Ask me to write a poem
about the bump on my middle finger
from forcing pen to paper.
Ask me to write a poem
about the discolored bruises on my knees
the poetry written in ink upon my flesh—
the love in a foreign tongue on my wrist.
Ask me to write a poem
about Boyfriend,
my possessive Siamese,
about my rose thorn teeth,
and the battle scars I wear like trophies.
Ask me to write a poem
about how my own words make me sick,
about how I swear I'll die by the pen.
Ask me to write a poem
about boys and peaches
and how I wish they tasted just as sweet,
about how I sanded away layer, after layer
after layer—just to see if I really bleed ink.
Ask me to write a poem.
Literature
Wish for Privacy
I live behind a locked door,
And no one has the key.
It has been years, maybe more
Since someone talked to me.
The solitude was nice at first,
The quiet let me think.
But soon it took a turn for worse
Now all I do is blink.
So be careful, my dear friends,
When you wish for privacy.
Count to 5 when patience bends
Or you'll end up just like me.
Literature
love poem for a poet
and if you ever complain
of writer's block
I will hold you
your chest pressed to mine
close and warm and quiet
and trace every word
that's been eluding you
onto the blank page
of your back
Literature
The Past, The Future
Do you remember when you were little and your best friend told you she didn't want to be friends anymore? It hurts like something was nesting on your heart and had clawed its way into your soul. There is an childish elegance to the sadness that you assumed only existed for grown ups when they talk about grown up things. In the glorious contant of humanity, the existence of her will corrode and become a faded memory that you will only remember when you hurt again.
And then you will lose your dog, your best friend, your confidant. It will happen suddenly and you will be left with nothing but the hole in your heart of a lost companion who you a
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This pieces was inspired by this one: [link]
Go check it out!
I just fell in love with it, so I had to write my own!
Enjoy.
Go check it out!
I just fell in love with it, so I had to write my own!
Enjoy.
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Comments59
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Love it! And the bump on my middle finger is swelling. Apparently no one else on my my family holds a pen "the right way".