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Literature Text
Some scars show how we can heal after every cut,
silver-linings gouged into the sky;
indenting beauty beyond belief
and greater than the world we live in.
I notice that the dark canvas shows no stitches -
likewise, the tears fall from the clouds only when the sun inflicts its pain.
[Kindness is more than merely an act of giving:
to think that death may be worse than the life you've been living].
silver-linings gouged into the sky;
indenting beauty beyond belief
and greater than the world we live in.
I notice that the dark canvas shows no stitches -
likewise, the tears fall from the clouds only when the sun inflicts its pain.
[Kindness is more than merely an act of giving:
to think that death may be worse than the life you've been living].
Literature
unarticulated
tonight I ask myself:
where are you going with all these names
in your pockets? syllables that taste
unauthentic in the desperate American
mouth.
repression is a series of images
golden streetlights
blinking
pedantically
earthbound angels breathing
flame, starving hands speaking
in tongues, glazed eyes
asking are you fucking okay
pale skin becoming moonlight,
reflecting and refracting and
the quiet understatement
of listless
lips.
mutual poison.
Literature
negative space
there are bruises on my skin
like fairy dust, (i wish i could
fly away)
it’s late and
night creatures are crawling between
anticipated gestures. my hands are
shaking but I am not scared. I am
an earthquake dressed in moonlight, I
am a natural disaster, I am an
apocalypse. he
is static and I can’t decipher my own
thoughts, he is
in my throat, crackling like a fire.
every word crumbles before it stands tall. he
is the future come back
to warn me. he
is somewhere different.
Literature
plague-bodied
i am a body of rat bones,
a post-panic attack,
(muscle) memory to
fester - the travesty
& specter, spectacle
in gold boots, bloody nose,
cut-throat.
& don't you
dare touch me;
i am eight months into dying.
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Comments44
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"the dark canvas shows no stitches"
rain in the dark still happens though.
That was my favorite line.
I fail to see what the last part means though or has to do with the poem. The Sun will still shine weather or not we want or enjoy it.
It's a whole lot like the Love of the Father.
True and unconditional.