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Literature Text
i used to stay up till 4am crying,
because i was so worried that you'd die.
and because i'd promised that if anyone dared to call you names
i would knock their front teeth out.
sometimes you can't keep promises as well as you can teeth.
i should have a box with twenty something peoples incisors in it.
but i don't.
i have a necklace with a sharks tooth on it that my dad gave me,
it reminds me that i need to stay up and cry.
(and shark teeth grow back anyway,
so some things are just totally fucking pointless.)
because i was so worried that you'd die.
and because i'd promised that if anyone dared to call you names
i would knock their front teeth out.
sometimes you can't keep promises as well as you can teeth.
i should have a box with twenty something peoples incisors in it.
but i don't.
i have a necklace with a sharks tooth on it that my dad gave me,
it reminds me that i need to stay up and cry.
(and shark teeth grow back anyway,
so some things are just totally fucking pointless.)
Literature
Mask
A smile conceals the wounds so deep,
Outside you laugh, inside you weep,
At night you cry yourself to sleep,
Upon a bed of broken dreams.
A tainted world of hate and lies,
Where love is gone, and laughter dies,
This rotten world before your eyes,
Is it as bad as what it seems?
Beneath the mask, it's black like sin,
But if we dig down deep within,
A beam of light, though weak and thin,
A ray of hope through darkness gleams.
Literature
February 2009 Haiku-Wrimo
1.
winter rain-
an old pot fills
with moonlight
2.
sunrise...
birdsong falling
from the mountain
3.
just in time
for the newborn-
snow flurries!
4.
gang signs
on the old church door...
winter deepens
5.
stillness...
a cloud
of white breath
6.
deep
in the raven's cry-
southern drawl
7.
midnight walk-
between each star
the cosmos
8.
resting awhile
on Issa's death poem-
the fly
9.
morning thaw-
the bulldog's growl
softens
10.
loneliness...
leek soup cold
in the crock pot
11.
crows
becoming
dusk
12.
one cloud
the shade of mango-
winter's end?
13.
begging
in her
Literature
So I write
God,
I can barely remember
when we were strangers
and all I knew was your name.
And I could sit next to you,
and not feel a thing.
I could look in your eyes
and not know exactly what you were thinking.
I wish I could draw out my feelings.
But all I would get
is a mess of paper and pencil
and some scrambled up picture
of demented people
with missing heads and limbs.
Or no faces.
So I write.
Because theres something so methodic
about the rolling of a ballpoint pen
running over college ruled paper.
Its an antidrug in itself-
rehab in every letter
and safety in every punctuation.
No, not like a cut.
Not like a s
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just shut up right?
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Comments13
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does anything have a point?
it's all what it means to the individual.
this means a lot.
it's all what it means to the individual.
this means a lot.