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Literature Text
you are a bottle of liquor,
spilling out on the kitchen floor,
emptying quicker and quicker
until you can't take anymore.
and when i try to stem the flow,
to wipe your sorrow from the tile,
you try so hard to let it all go
when i just need you to stay awhile.
"i can't, i can't," you cried,
tears falling like rain from a cloud
"honey, you tried," i whispered, "you knew i'd
listen if you'd said your thoughts were this loud."
and i'll keep trying to understand you
even if your pain cannot be matched,
'cause darling, i know everything tastes new
without conscious thoughts attached.
spilling out on the kitchen floor,
emptying quicker and quicker
until you can't take anymore.
and when i try to stem the flow,
to wipe your sorrow from the tile,
you try so hard to let it all go
when i just need you to stay awhile.
"i can't, i can't," you cried,
tears falling like rain from a cloud
"honey, you tried," i whispered, "you knew i'd
listen if you'd said your thoughts were this loud."
and i'll keep trying to understand you
even if your pain cannot be matched,
'cause darling, i know everything tastes new
without conscious thoughts attached.
Literature
For every goodbye I ever gave,
there is a void that has yet to be filled.
You
probably don't remember when
we stayed up all night counting
stars or how this world
wasn't actually
real.
We were our own gods.
The day your faith died
was the day your mother whispered
"He's living with her now" and you
stopped
breathing
long enough to forget I was standing
there,
too.
Fast forward to
too many
years later,
we locked eyes in whitewashed
halls.
Amnesia was
written in the creases of
your skin like narcotic
borderlines between living and
acting and you could only
pretend like I wasn't
there—just a
whisper in the wind
that reminded you
of being human once upo
Literature
pretty little poet fingers
fabricated gods rest between the
languid crevices of
her fingertips, scribbling profanities
all over her skin.
she's just mismatched bones
& blue bruises, telling of forbidden
love through archaic letters.
a tongue made for
wanderlust, & eyes made
for the stars,
even the devil fears her.
Literature
How to pretend that you are a writer.
Act like you're not
okay when you are and
that you are when you're
not. Run barefoot in
the snow. Stand out
in the rain for an hour
and think about anything
and everything you can.
Fall in love with
riddles and things that
aren't real and the
way some stars
shine. Cry when
you realize that life is
just one big sham and write
one hundred cliché poems
about it, and then write one
that you actually mean.
Use profanity. Be the
one fucking introvert
in a room full of
extroverts and scream
shit just for the fun of
it. Swallow every goddamn
metaphor you ever dreamed
of and write them down
with your own blood.
Eulogize your own
misery. Put a
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sorry it's been so long since i posted anything, but i've had to write a ton of poems for school so i'll post some of them here soon.
pretty much my life has been consumed by nanowrimo. as of the time i'm posting this, i have 28,530 words. hoping for more soon, but i'm on track to win.
anyways, i'm turning this in for my writing class. the assignment was to write a 16 line poem with a rhyme scheme ( i used abab ) using as much figurative language as i could. well, i tried, and hopefully i did pretty good.
EDIT: this poem was included in my school's award-winning literary arts magazine.
EDIT: this poem was included in my school's award-winning literary arts magazine.
© 2013 - 2024 ghearradh
Comments14
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I think this works pretty well, and I love the final stanza and the final line in particular. The weakest stanza for me is the third one, because I think the flow isn't as good as in the others, and also the '-ied'/'I'd' sounds (tried, replied, I'd) tripped me up a bit. So if you ever revise this, I would suggest looking at the third stanza (maybe use a different word instead of 'replied', or find a different way to end that line?).
I hope you did well with this poem!