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Literature Text
most nights,
it takes a war to close
my eyes, & even then i
still see monsters.
my mind is a cemetery
full of whispers
best not mentioned
(because you'd never
believe me if i told you).
i just want to be free.
to wake up with a
craving for sunshine &
supernovas nestled in my
rib cage, instead of thorns
beneath my skin & bones
between my teeth.
Literature
Star-crossed
You woke up on
the wrong side of
a cosmic bed
A pillow of
nebulae,
crushed
under your head
Meteorites
are all the tears
which you have shed
Your ring finger
is Saturn,
yet
remains unwed
Forever lost
in outer space
among a dreamed
starry array
Your light shines bright
lightyears away
but not enough
to seize the day
Star-crossed
and vaccum-cleaned,
sleep-tossed
and solar-weaned
Let your love be
a tesseract-
then I'll wish to
become Titan.
Literature
dear,
when i first met you,
terror chilled down
the heat
of my
louisiana
spine.
i shivered
& my heart
began to build
walls over walls
over walls-
beating:
fuck this,
i won’t let them
hurt you, again.
i have a tendency
to get knocked
off my feet
& not know
how to get back up.
i’m still crawling around,
searching for your heart
beats under my bed
& between my tangled
sheets.
i am pathetic.
but,
you were all crooked,
misshapen insecurities
& nights of forgetting
to take your zoloft.
i didn’t think I would miss that.
i didn’t think I would miss you.
you fell like a meteor
for him, hours after
you demolished me.
& i ca
Literature
Missing Pieces.
I am a missing piece. Something that someone needs.
But at the same time, I feel so incomplete.
I’ve wandered way too far, wondered for far too long
Am I a missing piece? Or a piece that won’t belong?
Is it possible I’m damaged and not missing at all?
That I’m just as dysfunctional as everybody else?
Pretending to be perfect never softened a single fall.
But neither did admitting that you’re broken and flawed.
A broken missing piece. Is that all I’m meant to be?
There is no master plan that includes the likes of me.
Being all alone, it’s a hurt that will not cease.
A hundred thousand years from now
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also known as nightmares.
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Comments32
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Oh that first stanza.