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Literature Text
your hands are too small.
they always slip through the cracks in your fingers,
the ones you love,
you just can't keep the together.
but your thighs are too wide,
spacious, filled with crevices that line
like roads on a map.
you are not able to part to let anyone in.
canyons.
sometimes you feel like empty space.
eyes like stars - dead but
still shining.
what if galaxies are just people
who couldn't find their dreams in the sea
of smoke; wow, that's a lot of
failures.
& other times you feel like streets,
worn away by the tires of people who just
don't give a shit about you.
they just run you over because it's easy &
they don't have time.
honest to god there are not enough people
to fill in all the pot holes.
so be empty or be full.
which one hurts less?
reach.
you have some sick fascination with the beach.
something about the waves rolling in
to wash away the shore - you can
relate.
the ocean just take, take, takes
& the sand gives.
every time the tide leaves it takes
a part of the shore along with it.
white dresses.
you wish he could scatter your particles the way
we scatter stars & displace
light because that's all we ever do.
we sit & stare & breathe in stardust -
& he has thunder in his heart, right,
the way
you have lightning in your eyes.
we sit & scatter light particles
like some kind of gods & for once you just wish
that someone could scatter your entire body.
blood stains.
but that's what we are,
aren't we?
you are stardust & too much love &
you pull the ugly out of people by your
bare hands.
something about the burns
that litter your fingers.
so you won't find someone completely
out of this world because if you judge like that,
we're all dead stars.
matter that cannot be created or destroyed.
planetarium.
you've transcended space & time like
some worn out cliche about love
but the truth is that love doesn't last
forever.
life is shit then you die. where does
your energy go?
somewhere in a long lost
fairy tale you're made into the stars
that he puts into the night sky.
no one lights up your world anymore.
but the reality is that when you die you
don't turn into anything.
when you die they stop caring &
stop remembering & they'll never make
any songs about you.
they don't make songs about nice
girls who just wanted to make everyone happy.
you'll turn into the same light
they displace every nanosecond,
into a different matter that doesn't matter.
you'll surround them like the rings around saturn.
you'll never turn, you'll never turn.
hold.
my hands are too small.
i'll always be too small to hold all
the ones i love, honestly.
this isn't a poem about you.
this is a memoir about me & how
i can't get people to stay.
they always slip through the cracks in your fingers,
the ones you love,
you just can't keep the together.
but your thighs are too wide,
spacious, filled with crevices that line
like roads on a map.
you are not able to part to let anyone in.
canyons.
sometimes you feel like empty space.
eyes like stars - dead but
still shining.
what if galaxies are just people
who couldn't find their dreams in the sea
of smoke; wow, that's a lot of
failures.
& other times you feel like streets,
worn away by the tires of people who just
don't give a shit about you.
they just run you over because it's easy &
they don't have time.
honest to god there are not enough people
to fill in all the pot holes.
so be empty or be full.
which one hurts less?
reach.
you have some sick fascination with the beach.
something about the waves rolling in
to wash away the shore - you can
relate.
the ocean just take, take, takes
& the sand gives.
every time the tide leaves it takes
a part of the shore along with it.
white dresses.
you wish he could scatter your particles the way
we scatter stars & displace
light because that's all we ever do.
we sit & stare & breathe in stardust -
& he has thunder in his heart, right,
the way
you have lightning in your eyes.
we sit & scatter light particles
like some kind of gods & for once you just wish
that someone could scatter your entire body.
blood stains.
but that's what we are,
aren't we?
you are stardust & too much love &
you pull the ugly out of people by your
bare hands.
something about the burns
that litter your fingers.
so you won't find someone completely
out of this world because if you judge like that,
we're all dead stars.
matter that cannot be created or destroyed.
planetarium.
you've transcended space & time like
some worn out cliche about love
but the truth is that love doesn't last
forever.
life is shit then you die. where does
your energy go?
somewhere in a long lost
fairy tale you're made into the stars
that he puts into the night sky.
no one lights up your world anymore.
but the reality is that when you die you
don't turn into anything.
when you die they stop caring &
stop remembering & they'll never make
any songs about you.
they don't make songs about nice
girls who just wanted to make everyone happy.
you'll turn into the same light
they displace every nanosecond,
into a different matter that doesn't matter.
you'll surround them like the rings around saturn.
you'll never turn, you'll never turn.
hold.
my hands are too small.
i'll always be too small to hold all
the ones i love, honestly.
this isn't a poem about you.
this is a memoir about me & how
i can't get people to stay.
Literature
starting over.
i want
to cup my hands and catch
honey dripping from every
sunrise;
feed new days to the soil
and watch empires bloom,
coated sticky-sweet in
sunshine and
second chances.
Literature
you talk like a travesty
oh, mercury boy, you can't
write your way out of this
body or out of this mind;
you can pray like it's high-fashion,
insist you're only burning yourself out
(but tell me - do you feel like a god yet?)
if only for murky mirrors &
silver cicadas caught
in your ribcage, you've
got a knack for decaying
Literature
butterflied
it is a snake
coiled in my stomach,
the urge to vomit
everything inside of me, to purge
all the toxic not-
good-enoughs. to retell
the same story and expect
a different ending is
the dysfunction that landed
us in here. I'm sorry
I don't follow you into
your dreams at night. I'm sorry
my smile is not the moon,
I'm sorry I did anything
to make you notice
me at all. no finger
down the throat could ever
take that
away.
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to be discontinued, an anecdote about the shitty places in life my selflessness gets me, being, nowhere but back at square one, without you.
this is our magnum opus.
this is our magnum opus.
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Comments15
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i really related to this one
you did an amazing job
you did an amazing job