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Literature Text
she started with the universe.
and so it began:
words fell out of her ears like bass
drums,
ba doom
and she crashed.
she was only trying to balance the
planets on her shoulders,
only trying to line them
up like mountain ridges along
the backs of her arms
she threw moons out of orbit and
strode right through jupiter,
she grabbed andromeda by the
hand and she kissed him on
the cheek,
she played football with the
black hole in the middle of the
milky way and laughed as her foot
got stuck when time slowed down.
it was only when she'd held the last
of all the stars in her hands,
only when she'd blown away all the nebulae
like birthday candles
that the cosmos
was plunged into
deep
dark
nothing
and she didn't know,
but for millennia afterwards,
the intangible and invisible universe
that was running parallel right next to her
told endless and infinite stories
about the girl who cried
- even when time had ceased
to exist.
Literature
Growing Up
it seems that by now I’ve been diagnosed
with a mild case of weightlessness, mindless
drifting past empty homes and the emptier people
that purchased them. I remember conversations
with you about existentialism
and the almost intricate fabric of my mind and
everything in between, and you-- the way you
paused before making a point as
the words defined themselves in your head:
I remember the day I told you I was God.
Creator of all things unimportant, trapped
in the body of a girl with nothing left to give, you
believed me
it must be a beautiful place
inside your head, with a world
that revolves around hope and expectations
the way
Literature
Why I Can't Love a Poet
He said you're beautiful like
black birds on a gray sky or
a tree that's recently died but
holds its last green leaves until
they wither and crack, swept away
by a northern wind bearing his name.
Literature
what to do when he doesn't say it back
a)
you will give all of yourself to a boy who won't know you at all.
he will recycle your parts, make you stationary, bind you into
paper that he will gift back so you can write poetry about him.
you, too, say i love you quickly.
when he doesn't say it back, evaporate.
b)
he will kiss you in places you didn't know existed.
until him, you were a peasant in your body's palace.
he crowned you princess, broke the lock of your castle's gates.
when he doesn't say it back, load your cannons.
c)
you are a fountain pen.
look him in the eye when you write him letters on your skin.
when he asks to read them, surrender.
you have always be
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disclaimer: the first line is taken from the first line of a book called counting stars by david almond. i've never actually read it, but i heard the first line of it once and haven't been able to get it out of my head.
i have to stop writing about astronomy
© 2013 - 2024 anobrain
Comments31
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Ok...I think my brain needs time to reboot, since the power of this poetic piece just about fried my mental circuitry.