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Literature Text
It seems like everybody writes about romance,
the murmurs left behind,
the lonely strength of men,
the evolution of goodbye.
There will be times when I tell you I can't
be a number on a list.
I was what you are, once--
the dying star of a memory--
but you must have mistaken me
for hindsight.
I can bring your candle to glitter again,
but I can't be your oxygen.
Yes, my bed's a single--
where did you sleep last night?
the murmurs left behind,
the lonely strength of men,
the evolution of goodbye.
There will be times when I tell you I can't
be a number on a list.
I was what you are, once--
the dying star of a memory--
but you must have mistaken me
for hindsight.
I can bring your candle to glitter again,
but I can't be your oxygen.
Yes, my bed's a single--
where did you sleep last night?
Literature
on yearning to be something I'm not.
I think in a previous life,
I must have been a coyote.
An ugly beast with an
ugly heart, with howls
echoing across ten thousand
canyons.
"Please, give me the moon;
I can no longer stand the heat of
the sun."
This world mocks me.
More love for a
night alone in
a winter's forest than
the lonesome aching in
my heart, I only
want to run with the
wolves; always.
But,
I fear,
this desert-weary soul is
merely chasing rabbits across
empty highways. A coyote only
deserves putrid carrion and
not the thrill of the hunt—I am but a
song dog keening into the night for
the fangs of wolves to keep me cold.
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
Literature
I can't write poetry for dead girls.
there are too
many pills in this
world and too
much misery in
the human heart
but that didn't mean
that you could just
up and leave when
we both know it
could have gotten better
and i miss you like
a wolf misses her pack
or a goddamn dragon misses
her fire and i'm sorry
that i can't give you
a bouquet of jasmines
(they were your
favorite, after all,
because that was
the only princess
with a pet tiger)
because poppies are
too cliche and i'm
sorry i wasn't there
when all you needed
was a hug and for someone
to whisper "it's okay,
you're perfect enough
for me, don't listen
to that junkie bitch
who just happened to
give birth to you" and did
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Day yay a poem!
Day 1
-- A titles as art pieceI used the following lovely titles:
It Seems Like Everybody Writes About Romance
The Murmurs Left Behind
The Lonely Strength of Men
the evolution of goodbye
There will be times, when I tell you I can't.
[Being a number on a list]
I Was What You Are...
the dying star of your memory
You Must Have Mistaken Me
Hindsight
Bring your candle to glitter again
I can't be your oxygen
yes, my bed's a single
Where Did You Sleep Last Night
April 1st, 2014
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Comments40
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This is great! I love how you made all the titles work together. 