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Literature Text
I may not get to see the end of time,
but the simple fact that I’m living
for a span of forever
makes me feel infinite-
where every breath is a pulse,
every thought, a dream,
and every second, a risk.
And maybe that’s all I can hope for,
and all I ever really want.
Literature
in the box
is a brain, removed from shell
disconnected
from signal wires. still viable (?)
maybe.
blue teeth and instant grams
and gallons of conceit;
our granular portrait no longer flatters
unless dull spots and imperfections are rendered
out in the wash--
we mask and filter, ask and answer,
bask in banter
understanding no one ever even thinks
to change the thought they've already had.
old news, rotten
if revisited. inquisitive
minds have nothing better to do
but second guess assumptions,
better than first-blush conundrums
that don't fit the formula we've written
for how the world works;
it's absurd to think
this is where our
Literature
Invisible spark
Like a sun resting on a stormy cloud,
My thoughts are screaming, but maybe too loud.
Like these eyes of lasers burning me whole,
When I am by myself, they take a toll.
Am I too timid? I was once alone.
Watching cliques that mold me into thick stone.
Like a volcano wants to pour lava,
When I speak, words twirl like rotten guava.
Why cannot I be me? Why must I bleed?
Like a sun resting on a stormy cloud,
My thoughts are screaming, but maybe too loud.
Literature
cycle.
(birth.)
i walk home, crisp shoelaces, bloodied nose
middle of autumn, frothing at the mouth
kids took summer skin too far, brought on apocalypse
i tell myself it will be over soon, wintertime freckles
will be here
incensed
(childhood.)
stove milk and delicate murmurs
the technicolor alphabet teaches itself
purple bowls with animal faces
hospital bracelets around tiny wrists
won’t come loose
mama
(adolescence.)
the clouds are gasoline, wisps of gin, addicted
there is vomit on the floor, new candy sores
sky is burning, orange with hungry flame, vying
i don’t know who to talk to, crying
let me go
alive
(adulthood.)
doctor
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Inspired by reading poetry here in DA.
I've been gone for too long, but hell, feels good to be back.
© 2016 - 2024 DSteffi
Comments3
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I struggle with mental disorders that mess with my sense of time, on top of other things, so this poem sparks a bit of life back into that, that i matter, that time isn't lost, there's just more to be made of it. Thank you <3