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Literature Text
Kiss me
No, harder
Rid me of every scar
Suck the night-old whiskey away from all my black and blue
Touch me until I don't feel worthless
All these broken ribs
The fluttering lids of both black eyes
Pray away every awful thing I've done
And lick the salt away from broken skin
The exit wounds of bullets
The little lines of knife bites
Just love me until I'm mad
And kiss me until I'm whole again
No, harder
Rid me of every scar
Suck the night-old whiskey away from all my black and blue
Touch me until I don't feel worthless
All these broken ribs
The fluttering lids of both black eyes
Pray away every awful thing I've done
And lick the salt away from broken skin
The exit wounds of bullets
The little lines of knife bites
Just love me until I'm mad
And kiss me until I'm whole again
Literature
The Torturing Dream
Soft... her skin. He knew it would be before he even knew her name.
Silent... the breath he can't catch after his gasp when she said 'Hello gorgeous. Let's go make some trouble.'
Soft... the sheets on the bed in a room he'd never seen, but was happy to be inhabiting.
Silent... the arch of her back and the tears on her face, oxytocin induced...
Hard... the concrete he sees when he awakes from the dream
Cold... the skin on his chest where she laid her head seconds before
Hard... the sound of him lighting a cigarette in the quiet room
Cold... his breath when he exhales the first drag of another day
Literature
lessons in surrender
i.
She wished to be dressed in poetry
but she didn’t understand that
imagery fades and that metaphors
are too easily forgotten.
ii.
She asked why I didn’t utilize my
alliteration eyes—why I hid the tag
‘ hello my name is: writer ’
beneath San Francisco bays
and rotting ink grenades,
still in dead crusade.
iii.
I broke pencil shavings in
skybound veins, just to taste
the words
and I bled like a sinner
for mere dreams of some redemption.
“I’m only a poet of capitulation”
Literature
i wish i was special
I.
ever since i can remember, my heart has been stolen by a big, bad wolf-boy. i had fallen prey to his big, brown puppy-dog eyes. i thought myself in a fairy tale or at least under a spell- his spell, as he could make me feel as weightless as a feather and as bright as the bluest of sunny skies. he always had me believing, day-dreaming that by the end of the dusty road, he would either transform in appearance or deed. sadly no dwarfs neither fairy godmothers nor glass or ruby slippers could be found by my side at the grand finale. there is only me left, teetering on the edge of a highway railing, acting oblivious to my own complete breakdow
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Just a short lil' piece of sweetness. I'm not uploading as much. Trying to expand what I write about. Exploring story telling poetry, but for now I'm working on this style. It's more wordy than how I write normally.
Thoughts on this new style?
-G.
Thoughts on this new style?
-G.
Comments32
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Very nicely written.