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Literature Text
Words have become
tasteless to me,
I'm afraid—
like rotten apples
fit for the worms.
Quite frankly,
it feels as
though I am
dancing without
glass slippers;
pirouetting my way through
a ballroom full of
tongues made for poetry.
Where's a
wicked witch when
you need one?
All I seem to do is
dream while I'm awake and,
if we're being honest,
I was never much of an alluring tale
in the first place.
tasteless to me,
I'm afraid—
like rotten apples
fit for the worms.
Quite frankly,
it feels as
though I am
dancing without
glass slippers;
pirouetting my way through
a ballroom full of
tongues made for poetry.
Where's a
wicked witch when
you need one?
All I seem to do is
dream while I'm awake and,
if we're being honest,
I was never much of an alluring tale
in the first place.
Literature
hometown blues
they say home is where the heart is,
but they never claimed it had to be beating.
if this town is all there is to living,
then I'm dead,
and these dusty dirt roads
are my sad little gravestones.
there's a harsh winter wind.
I'm breathing,
but it's the same air I've inhaled
since I first opened my
surgical steel eye to the world.
remember the pale pink dress
I wore to our senior prom?
you held me
under the fuzzy yellow confetti light.
I loved you because you were so gentle,
and when I fell apart,
you were the only person who knew
I could fix myself on my own.
you twirled me like I mattered,
because you knew that one day I would die.
you for
Literature
To be a writer
You taste like decaying leaves
and October's bad habits-
when it’s halfway through February
that still haunts these bones.
I have allowed you to
claw your love
into my arms
and chant into my
uninterested ears
for much too long.
I wish I was one of those girls
who could say wild flowers
grow up through my nooks
and my crannies just to tear
through my skin, screaming.
I’m just that dead eyed deer
on the side of the road dreaming
of shoving a pen down my throat
and writing these verses inside out.
I am no scribe, prophet, or spell caster.
I know it.
My skin knows it.
My pen knows it too.
Years and years
from now
my mind will d
Literature
All Her Little Things
Stop hating her for the littlest things.
The things she can't prevent,
The things she can't save herself from..
Stop demanding her to do things,
Things she can't accomplish,
Things she can't imagine being done...
Stop lying to her,
Telling her you love her,
Want her, need her...
When all you've ever done is make her want to
Die.
Stop hating her for the littlest things.
The things she can't prevent,
The things she can't save herself from...
Because,
When those little things you've done
Take her down...
The little things won't matter anymore.
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So basically I've been spending way too much time watching Once Upon a Time videos and I felt like actually trying to write and this piece of crap came out but it's better than nothing so have a poem about writer's block and fairytales alluding to one another.
© 2013 - 2024 lupus-astra
Comments36
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Oooh, Once Upon A Time~? I've started watching that recently!
This is very nice!