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Literature Text
There is a noise through the static, definite.
Pillow agrees, shoves me up to look.
I tippytoe to the sill
Peer.
There are shadows, definite.
"I thought of you today," I whisper.
I know he will not.
Literature
Probably a Warning Sign
I have a misspent youth:
Days of endless wandering spent in gardens
Crushing daisies beneath my clumsy feet;
Begging for mummy to call in sick for me
Because I didn't care for the shape of the lectern;
Changing beneath tables and flattening my hair
For the occasional run in with a familiar face.
I was a cynical child:
A realist about pessimism and a pessimist about life;
An ingrained sense of right(eousness)
With the final word -
Scorn, if I could choose but one.
Seventeen years has left me a shell
With flesh lined with a thousand 'realist' eyes;
Skin too tight for my ego and too saggy for me to like;
A resting face of 'unwelcome'
(Unapproach
Literature
if i could invent words
i would like to create a word
for what one feels
when they realize:
if we were birds, the only cage
we would be in
are the ones
we create ourselves. how many times
have our wings
been clipped
by our own hands
alone. christ, i'm sorry.
dear past self:
i apologize
for trying to define you;
for definition
is the metaphorical cage
to change. the only limit
the sky has
is how far
we can see.
Literature
Everything I Can Never Say
I open my mouth to tell you;
close it.
Open. Close. Open. Close.
I'm faced with a challenging problem,
can't even begin to tell you--
And I know, baby, that I can tell you anything--
something that cannot be said
in three words?
I struggle with this everyday;
Telling you my heart is afloat,
in boats, on oceans, through turbulent storms
(Not really, but the feeling is indescribable).
You see,
I feel like I've known you for years;
being with you is like coming home.
The feeling of slipping my fingers into yours
Isn't anything new.
no- it's a rejoining of self;
My soul finding it's mate, in
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Long time, no post. Still alive.
© 2013 - 2024 bitybaby45
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