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Literature Text
She is dream dust,
too bitter or wise
for her own good.
A timeless dragon's soul
somewhere inside a
scaled shell, burning
the silence in her bones
alive, honeysuckle sweet.
She collects fireflies only to
set them free at 3am,
crying to an uncaring moon.
& she's begging for the stars
to take her away,
make this house a home
rigged in the sky.
To me,
She is already naked fever
swimming through the cosmos
& I orbit her.
too bitter or wise
for her own good.
A timeless dragon's soul
somewhere inside a
scaled shell, burning
the silence in her bones
alive, honeysuckle sweet.
She collects fireflies only to
set them free at 3am,
crying to an uncaring moon.
& she's begging for the stars
to take her away,
make this house a home
rigged in the sky.
To me,
She is already naked fever
swimming through the cosmos
& I orbit her.
Literature
Beyond The Horizon
We ran out of our homes
And our dream quelling streets
Until mud under foot
Had replaced the concrete
From suburb to city
On to the countryside
We were running away
But not trying to hide
The world was still spinning
Faster than we could move
Though our hearts were breaking
Our poets' words would sooth
We left a cloud grey town
And in time reached the sea
Our home for so long
Evolution tells me
To the deepest warm blue
From the coolest pitch black
Shackles fell with each stroke
With our dreams still intact
Surrounded by fishes
Guiding us from the deep
Every league of ascent
Reinforced our belief
That it's the world,
Literature
Second Sphere
I found part of me by accident
in a Parisian cardboard box
with satin rags; purple ink
depicting people and clouds.
Tungsten from the wires
of lightbulb husks.
He kicked my hand when I pulled him out,
my fingers caught up in the blonde.
Here there are boys who count
the golden rings of Saturn,
and retinas that lick up the sunset.
Pictures of Japanese lanterns on the sea-crest
and swarms of orange fireflies.
Girls who do not dot
their I's with hearts,
and wait for iodine skies
with slow, dripping
thunder.
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
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I didn't like this piece at first, and then I did.
Now I don't even know any more.
Thoughts?
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Now I don't even know any more.
Thoughts?
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somehow emotionally I feel tied to it.