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Literature Text
i saw your shadow on the wall and
thought you were out playing pictionary with ghosts
or looking for gold coins in dead grass,
and it reminded me of when we first met and i became
a spaceship that crashed on the way to the moon
and you were the asteroid that orbited my rib-cage.
i still remember the feeling of you carving
out my vertebrae and collecting them like stars,
but not before you had stitched ice in them
so that they wouldn’t burn so brightly.
do you still keep them in jars strung on fine string like how you
string your fresh corpses out on the clothesline to dry?
you once told me your favourite season was winter because
you liked how the frost covered everything and
forced things to change their colours;
i only liked it because the snow looked pretty sparkling in the sunlight,
and it frightened me to think that two people
could live the same thing so differently.
sometimes i wonder if there is a tear in the fabric of the world
and if you created it to find me.
it makes sense because i remember seeing you throw out
all of the thread and needles in my drawer
before telling me i wouldn’t need them now that you were here.
i can’t remember a day since where i haven’t wished that
i had enough money to buy a sewing machine.
thought you were out playing pictionary with ghosts
or looking for gold coins in dead grass,
and it reminded me of when we first met and i became
a spaceship that crashed on the way to the moon
and you were the asteroid that orbited my rib-cage.
i still remember the feeling of you carving
out my vertebrae and collecting them like stars,
but not before you had stitched ice in them
so that they wouldn’t burn so brightly.
do you still keep them in jars strung on fine string like how you
string your fresh corpses out on the clothesline to dry?
you once told me your favourite season was winter because
you liked how the frost covered everything and
forced things to change their colours;
i only liked it because the snow looked pretty sparkling in the sunlight,
and it frightened me to think that two people
could live the same thing so differently.
sometimes i wonder if there is a tear in the fabric of the world
and if you created it to find me.
it makes sense because i remember seeing you throw out
all of the thread and needles in my drawer
before telling me i wouldn’t need them now that you were here.
i can’t remember a day since where i haven’t wished that
i had enough money to buy a sewing machine.
Literature
consecrate
authenticity an arsenic
in morning coffee, in the smiles
pressed like ironed laundry,
because I feel like one wrong breath,
one wrong kiss between glossed lips and soft jaws
and I will be nailed to a cross
deception a shame rising like steam,
where teeth grind against each other
like clockwork gears, tick tick ticking
while the tongue kisses the roof of its cathedral
like a prayer to gods yet to be named
because her face is a mosaic window
shining the sin out of love
Literature
That word
One word.
That word.
You threw that word at me
Aimed with precision
To take full control.
You knew.
Which word.
Would vanquish my spirit,
Two syllables pierced
My worth and my whole.
Literature
Forging Foundations
there is part of me that knows these walls
in the same ways I know
unrequited was the dream I used to tie my strings to,
unrequited was the hope I used to fill myself up,
unrequited is just a word I used to be friends with
because you've crooked your fingers
into the hooks of my jeans
and you've hooked my heart,
dangling, a stranger to safety
learning how to let someone lead--
there is a piece of me that fears these feelings
like I fear insects that sting, like I fear wildfires that rage,
like I fear porcelain dolls
with cracked faces and scarred chests
because so far in this life,
all the beautiful things I've ever held
have come to me brok
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Comments13
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Those last two lines though.....
I love the sense of borderline fear that colors the descriptions of this “you.” It’s like the speaker has this mixture of wariness and adoration in their descriptions of “you,” but then at the end, there’s a certainty to their wish for a sewing machine instead of “you.”
Beautifully written
I love the sense of borderline fear that colors the descriptions of this “you.” It’s like the speaker has this mixture of wariness and adoration in their descriptions of “you,” but then at the end, there’s a certainty to their wish for a sewing machine instead of “you.”
Beautifully written