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Literature Text
i want to stop thinking of you when i'm alone at home watching t.v and wishing you'd be the one to continuously flick through the channels.
the one i'd throw the remaining half of my chocolate muffin at.
the one who'd complain what a waste of food that was and finish it.
the one who hogs the blankets. the one i miss, a lot but really not enough.
it's like asking a question because you like how the answer rings in your ears.
it's like asking just to see his lips quiver and him grovel.
it's like this is how i am and this is how you'll be.
it's like why are you letting me change you.
and you saying, 'it's better than what i've been.'
it's like not having a favorite colour but pretending you do, matching it with his.
it's just like not giving a damn anymore and saying what you've always wanted to.
it's like streaking for the old couple next door and laughing at their sour expression.
it's like exchanging tops, saying 'fine. top on, pants off.'
it's just like inhaling a new kinda air with side effects.
and all you want is to scream, 'just fucking smile a little.'
like, introducing yourself and inviting others.
like starting anew, afresh and completely off your face.
it's just like tumbling down stairs, the bruises for tomorrows worry.
it's like falling down and standing taller.
and he say's how can you even begin to find yourself if you've never lost yourself in the first place. and her replying. i walked into love knowing what it leaves behind
and look, i'm still alright.
the one i'd throw the remaining half of my chocolate muffin at.
the one who'd complain what a waste of food that was and finish it.
the one who hogs the blankets. the one i miss, a lot but really not enough.
it's like asking a question because you like how the answer rings in your ears.
it's like asking just to see his lips quiver and him grovel.
it's like this is how i am and this is how you'll be.
it's like why are you letting me change you.
and you saying, 'it's better than what i've been.'
it's like not having a favorite colour but pretending you do, matching it with his.
it's just like not giving a damn anymore and saying what you've always wanted to.
it's like streaking for the old couple next door and laughing at their sour expression.
it's like exchanging tops, saying 'fine. top on, pants off.'
it's just like inhaling a new kinda air with side effects.
and all you want is to scream, 'just fucking smile a little.'
like, introducing yourself and inviting others.
like starting anew, afresh and completely off your face.
it's just like tumbling down stairs, the bruises for tomorrows worry.
it's like falling down and standing taller.
and he say's how can you even begin to find yourself if you've never lost yourself in the first place. and her replying. i walked into love knowing what it leaves behind
and look, i'm still alright.
Literature
realized I was not a masochist
as I stand here, suffocating, I wonder whats next.
will I make it out alive?
what do I look like?
are my lips swollen?
do I still have lips?
what are lips?
-
I am leaking raindrops and dripping tonights dinner into the living room below me. I am bleeding tears out of my mouth and puke from my eyes. I swear, I cant stop bleeding, but Im not bleeding blood- Im bleeding purple pigments- Im bleeding bags under my eyes; Im holding these bags so tightly in my hands that Im bruising sunsets under my eyes, and he just watches me in the sky.
I tell myself to set. just set like a sunset; just fall
Literature
disillusioned.
it's not fair
that he's smiling with
his eyes closed
and his mouth half open
to catch dreams in;
not when she sits there
in the dark and
tries to remember
her name.
and all those candles she lit
blew out in the wind,
and all the dreams she had
got lost in other people's hands.
and she says, "love is
like a staircase,"
but she'll never reach
the top,
just float between
two steps
never resting.
and maybe she could be beautiful
if someone would teach her to
cup both hands
around her dreams
and not let go.
Literature
You and I,
we're a stunted little paragraph blowing in the wind,
full of maybes and we could have beens.
We're winter nights dancing through the sky,
dreaming of warmth and summer, burntskin sunscreen.
We're fruits hanging from a tree,
ripe with promise and fearing bitter seeds.
We're dripping photographs in darkrooms waiting to become something beautiful.
You and I, we're not fancy like fireworks. Sparks
are the little lights that dance between us when we smile.
Sparks are private things and they shine more prettily
when no one else can see them except you and me.
So when I write poetry about us,
it won't be about mountains and kisses
and
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you really make me better.
because i missed my old stuff.
[:
don't ask why i categorize so terribly.
because i missed my old stuff.
[:
don't ask why i categorize so terribly.
© 2009 - 2024 crashcoursewomb
Comments17
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my gosh i love this. i think, more than i love life