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Literature Text
cold seasons always make me especially aware
of the gaps between my fingers where yours should be.
i remember this time last year i was trying more and more desperately,
to clasp hold of your love and feel it’s warmth
as though I were a shivering child clutching a hot water bottle
even closer to her paper chest as the hours passed and the water cooled.
why is it that the burning heat of your love
threatened to scold me
but your cold apathy
made me reach out frantically in the night?
of the gaps between my fingers where yours should be.
i remember this time last year i was trying more and more desperately,
to clasp hold of your love and feel it’s warmth
as though I were a shivering child clutching a hot water bottle
even closer to her paper chest as the hours passed and the water cooled.
why is it that the burning heat of your love
threatened to scold me
but your cold apathy
made me reach out frantically in the night?
Literature
red decisions
being fifteen is
a lot like being stuck
at a red with no one
at the intersection
except for you.
you know that if you
apply enough pressure
to the pedal underfoot,
you will propel
across the intersection
and carry onwards
uninhibited,
but all your life,
(the brief flicker it has been)
they have told you
red means stop,
green means go, and you
need to wait your turn
like everyone else,
it is the way things work,
and you shouldn’t ask why.
still,
you fear that,
when the light finally
switches over to green,
it will be too late
to do all of the things
you were waiting for
in the first place.
Literature
Her reply to my scars
“You’ve been to hell and back,”
she said, as her fingers
traced the civil war grounds
of my shoulders.
“And you’re still here,”
she continued, as her eyes
found mine,
filled with understanding.
“I don’t see how that makes you crazy,”
she finished,
with a smile
on her ruby lips.
“I love you,”
was all I could reply,
unsure of this tenderness
concerning my scar covered skin.
“Just don’t cut yourself anymore?”
she asked, right before her mouth met mine.
"I wish you saw what I see in you.”
Literature
October's Turn
part of me
lives permanently
within october's turn,
where neither baptism
nor drowning
can reach, wash away
the predictable chaos,
cultivated
under dying leaves, there
a season's worst-case
spins its past and
future memories
into the motor windings
of autumn's mechanical angel
its secrets released
from the unsafe, opened
not by the turns of a dial,
but a turn of things
for the worse,
a turn taken
in costume,
taken tangled, barefoot
and slick with storm
into silence, packaged
damp and tightly,
into a moonless night's
electric dark
and i'm wading its river
on skeleton legs,
waiting for daybreak-
for october's hills
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Comments6
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Beautiful and emotional. A well-written piece.