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Literature Text
There
is a storm inside her
chest; a miasma of
thundering insecurities and
flashes of despair. The irony
is, she has
astraphobia—but inside her
mismatched veins there lies a
tempest awaiting to be
set free. The most beautiful
people have the ugliest of
scars,
and hers just happen to be a
hurricane of chaotic
doubt marring the insides of her
soul.
is a storm inside her
chest; a miasma of
thundering insecurities and
flashes of despair. The irony
is, she has
astraphobia—but inside her
mismatched veins there lies a
tempest awaiting to be
set free. The most beautiful
people have the ugliest of
scars,
and hers just happen to be a
hurricane of chaotic
doubt marring the insides of her
soul.
Literature
i am a magenta february.
Winter
is still clinging
to my skin,
with Autumn
sleeping within the tangles
of my night witch hair.
65 days to learn
how to
fall,
& Icarus, with his
sun kissed fingers
wrapped around
my throat, giggles
knowingly in my ear.
I have misplaced my
reckless disaster
of a heart
so many times,
I’m not even sure
it ever existed
at all.
But knuckles,
they never lie-
pressed flowers,
lipstick stained
against my
uprooted spine.
Covered in frost
& silence
I am a magenta
February-
the imprint of teeth
that bruised centuries
between me
& bed sheets.
Literature
Growing Up
it seems that by now I’ve been diagnosed
with a mild case of weightlessness, mindless
drifting past empty homes and the emptier people
that purchased them. I remember conversations
with you about existentialism
and the almost intricate fabric of my mind and
everything in between, and you-- the way you
paused before making a point as
the words defined themselves in your head:
I remember the day I told you I was God.
Creator of all things unimportant, trapped
in the body of a girl with nothing left to give, you
believed me
it must be a beautiful place
inside your head, with a world
that revolves around hope and expectations
the way
Literature
Bones mend, but tell no lies.
You have cataloged your scars
like your body is a library-
to be read through &
learned from.
You think of
all the little boys
whose greedy fingers
graced
your pages.
You are angry-
none
cared for you
properly:
folding
creasing
& breaking
your spine.
They left you
on a shelf
to gather dust.
& why
should you ever
forget that?
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"Astraphobia - the fear of storms."
It hasn't been a good couple of days and I needed to vent.
I'm sorry.
It hasn't been a good couple of days and I needed to vent.
I'm sorry.
© 2013 - 2024 lupus-astra
Comments40
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The most beautiful pieces are the most honest, and the fact that your willing to share your emotions with is an honor.
I'm sorry for the turbulence, however 