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Literature Text
You stuffed the pages
from your favorite books
into the cracks of your walls,
dialogues
and climaxes
and epilogues
beating back the chill
of a black-and-white world.
When I peeled back the paint,
fistfuls
of happily-ever-afters
and tragic goodbyes
fell into my lap,
a tidal wave of emotions
you strove to shed
from your fingertips
like poetry.
Literature
Application
I have good reading comprehension skills, am a fast
typist, can do the entire project in ten minutes under
the right pressure (that is, the last eleven minutes).
Familiar with Microsoft Word, PowerPoint, and the
basics of CSS code. Adaptable and quick to learn.
I’m good at editing fiction, critically but kindly
(thorns are dulled among good company).
I can blow up a balloon, but can’t tie it off.
I have a hat for every occasion, and a few
just for smiles. I can make forty-eight
cookies from a bag of mix meant to make only
twenty-four (math was never my best subject).
Your tea will be too sweet, but never too strong.
I will be to
Literature
Hyperaware
I know the thumping of blood in my fingers,
the twinge in my back,
the tension behind my calves far too well.
The bristle of cold is too much
but the silence without the fan is suffocating.
My blankets are too heavy,
settled over my torso like the rock in my chest
but I can’t sleep without the weight.
This awareness is a manifestation of my longing;
for your hands in my hair,
your warmth at my spine,
your shoes on my floor.
This is what I feel when I can’t feel you –
palpitations, vibrations,
fixations that drive me to insomnia.
Only the trains are any comfort,
plowing away into the night
screaming here I am; there I go
Literature
Metamorphosis
I wrote you a letter -
tried to phrase a suicide note,
but instead came out
with words that butterfly with hope
and blades that divide decisions
and not wrists. It spoke of love,
of that quiet desperation that I feel
when I am waiting for you to meet my glance,
your averted eyes poised with concentration. It spoke
of how long I waited to build a lifetime
with you, and how in many ways I still am.
It spoke of promises that balloon as uncontrollably
from my chest as panic sometimes drums from
my feet. But mostly,
it spoke of the destructive power of trust;
moment by moment, you destroy my barriers. I
mutilate beyond repair.
Suggested Collections
Still Day 28 (I've written...7 pieces today. That's a LOT, for me.)Alternate title: Out-Writing the Cold
January 28th, 2014
© 2014 - 2024 betwixtthepages
Comments20
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I love this; it's beautiful! Did you mean for the first few lines to be allusive to the Wailing Wall? It's located in Israel, but I originally learnt of it when reading the Secret Life of Bees. One of the characters, who is highly empathetic, copes with her intense feelings by creating her own wailing wall where she can go cry, pray, and hide little notes in between the cracks. I just found that possible link quite interesting.