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A-Lovely-Anxiety

Published: Sep 14, 2014

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Literature Text

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Literature

in perfect divinity, we became

i made a shrine for you out of my orgasms, dedicated to the pleasure you reminded my body of. i glued the pieces of paper made out of your mother’s abhorrence into a papier-mâché model that looks like the contempt that crawls out of the crevices in my mouth made from the jagged bones of my broken jaw. when you built me a temple, i refused to climb the steps hand-carved of young jade. “are you afraid of heights or afraid of falling?” you asked me until I became a ghost of my past. instead, I found comfort in my cage, teething at the gold-plated bars that threatened to asphyxiate me until I peaked— gnashing and grinding my rotting gums with every feeble, half-assed, inconsequential apology that oozed from between my thighs where your head lay, the culprit. i wrote novels about the way you clawed my chest open to pump my heart beating until it remembered the taste of its blood again but none of the words sounded fair when my lips molded around them to speak your love of me into

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Caliginosity

Caliginosity I tried to write for you again, Titled the piece “Pour The Ink,” Playing with metaphor of a broken pen And the cliché of a broken heart. I wrote again. The other dubbed, “Tornado,” Scribbled on it blindly, All of my blinding emotions and pain, But of course, I threw that one away, Because I’m indecisive, But more than that? It’s truly poetic And fit to form ‘Cause I liked that piece-- No, I loved it. But it was too painful to read, ‘Cause mentally I’m still not where I need to be, Because you’re not here with me. You’re not here with me, And that sti

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under the unders

lately i’ve been under the unders, which is to say lately i’ve been hosting the ghosts of everything i’ve ever loved and that silence gets to you, you know, it tears you like the idea of something horrific and before you know it, your entire existence is a fresco of maybes and apologies and snapped skulls and by snapped skulls, i am alluding to the notion that this sterile noise, this silence, drives you crazy. once, a man told me that boredom has its holy uses and i laughed at him and the rush of nostalgia that immediately followed was the worst melancholy, let me tell you, it was like feeling each of your trillio

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napowrimo

1. i've stopped fearing my nightmares and when i dream about dying i just see your face and get your songs in my head and stuck in my throat and i understand you now i get it. i get it i get it. now stop. 2. this is the darkest timeline. this is everything that can go wrong going wrong. this is worse than you dying this is worse than the burning this is worse than you overstaying your welcome. i cant even talk to him anymore cause it just sounds like he's sticking his fingers in his ears and screaming how he's notlisteningnotlisteningnotlistening. which i should have done a long time ago. 3. i try to comprehend it sometimes cause i kn

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Tolerance

It is often said that tolerance is necessary in a free and democratic society, but there is considerable debate about what tolerance is. One standard is that tolerance means putting up with others and respecting their basic rights. Others regard this as insufficient, and consider almost any expression of negative attitudes on the basis of factors such as race or religion to be intolerant. The focus of this essay is religious tolerance. This is the form of tolerance that was most significant to the founders of the United States. It will become clear, however, that religious tolerance is not as special a case as it may at first seem. Religious

Literature

Untitled

Will you ever love me as much as I've loved you? We went through so much together. We beat the hard knocks together We laughed together We played together as kids We did so much for each other Why did you turn away? You stopped walking my way And went your own way Could this be heaven or hell I could never tell If you actually loved me Or I'm just another crash dummy.

Literature

all my friends are dead

When tension pulls my tight warcry loose and my Evergreen throat is strung up in your Dark chest where I ran the red light / I killed the girl / I put my shoes away Small things make me ache for you When you sit in the driver seat with the door open and I do not Take the space in your lap When you lean into my ocean and I Wash over you but That is all Your careful jaw and open wound mouth I could rest there I could rot you away I could wear out my comedown In the shadow of you loving me I could be born again Like any Used girl mountain passed between Any tree in Crucifix Valley could be you Any penance in tenderness Any doubt in b

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Guilt that eats

Maybe I should have questioned why your teeth always chattered like fingers clicking on a typewriter, and why your fingernails looked as though faint, blue ink had bled through but who questions anything but hair, makeup, and boys at the age of sixteen and maybe I should have noticed the lunches you spent doing homework, or listening to music, as you gave away your lunch, because you said you were not hungry- and I silently thought more for me and maybe I should have wondered why you walked through the hallways with pockets of graphite under your eyes, as your knees knocked together like keys on a lanyard: clink clink clank and maybe t

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Introvert

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You're Not?

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things I never told you.

some poems feel like water. this one is more like sand, and I'm suffocating in the maw of a desert that was better left rusting its clairvoyance. it started one night when I remembered that I've kept everything you've ever given me: roses, faces, promises. I never really understood how to let things go, and when the thought of turning the things you'd touched away from my doorstep choked the poetry from my throat, I realized why. I keep reminding myself that I should probably be nicer to you, but I think you already know that I'm only capable of being nice when I'm cornered and out of ideas. and despite what you claim, you've never been

Literature

give me a reason to stay

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Unfathomable

I have been told that my eyes are like someone bottled you up and poured your color into my irises. Sure, it’s a lovely compliment, but I am not you. You are a child playing dress-up with your sister’s coats and frocks because you want to be something bigger; and she’s sweltering with jealousy that you can wear those grays and blues better than she ever could. You are an angst-ridden teen who dyed and spiked her hair to hear her mother scream, and no matter how many times she tells you that your boyfriend is a washed up good-for-nothing, you keep coming back to kiss the shoreline because you think that his love feels right

Featured in Groups

BurdenedHearts

_{one, part two.

i wonder if i'm not telling this story right. if i should put more in than what i am. but at the same time, i know what i'm doing. its the rest of the world i'm worried about. i hope you guys catch the point.

i would love any and all feedback, of course.}

Mature

Comments17

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Eremitik

Oct 4, 2014

I cant say that I am getting the point you are intending but I am liking this series because of how it feels real.
With this one, there is a sort of quirkiness to the conversation that I find amusing and I think it also reveals personality aspects of both the relationship and each person.

I also like the minimalist approach you are taking. There is nothing extraneous to distract you like settings, just a straight forward conversation.

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