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Literature Text
You touch me like
I'm delicate
like I'm worth caring for
make me feel beautiful, like everything I am
in summary
might be good enough
and you whisper sweet nothings to me
holding me close
thoughts are overrated
all I need is this
that you know me well enough
to love me
as I know you, enough to adore
all of you
all of you
all of you...
I sigh, as I'm lucky no one else knows what I'm thinking
right now
you are addictive
I feel as though an energy current pulls me
to you, and I can't fight it
I can hear the sounds in your throat
feel your tremors,
and I want to show you, not tell you how I feel
as we are so close, so close...
I cannot breathe, but I sigh
shivers through me
I don't want to know
where you end, and I begin.
I'm delicate
like I'm worth caring for
make me feel beautiful, like everything I am
in summary
might be good enough
and you whisper sweet nothings to me
holding me close
thoughts are overrated
all I need is this
that you know me well enough
to love me
as I know you, enough to adore
all of you
all of you
all of you...
I sigh, as I'm lucky no one else knows what I'm thinking
right now
you are addictive
I feel as though an energy current pulls me
to you, and I can't fight it
I can hear the sounds in your throat
feel your tremors,
and I want to show you, not tell you how I feel
as we are so close, so close...
I cannot breathe, but I sigh
shivers through me
I don't want to know
where you end, and I begin.
Literature
Dear Poetry,
I am trying to cover my sadness with words.
Tape them against my scars
& wear them like worthy paper cuts.
My tears are alcohol swabs, burning & cleansing
wounds of my own making. Sometimes,
I wish I could hide behind them forever.
But not even this journeyed flesh can stand
castle strong against speechless ink stains.
I know the code. This body does not deserve
a warriors death. & poetry, you're a monster
a creative monster, but evil nonetheless.
I wish to string you into knots, force feed you
down the throats of others. De-format you
& leave you empty; freeversed-
to hang loosely along the heartstrings
of strangers
Literature
Wish for Privacy
I live behind a locked door,
And no one has the key.
It has been years, maybe more
Since someone talked to me.
The solitude was nice at first,
The quiet let me think.
But soon it took a turn for worse
Now all I do is blink.
So be careful, my dear friends,
When you wish for privacy.
Count to 5 when patience bends
Or you'll end up just like me.
Literature
Hemingway Would Hate This
The trouble with the Boy was that he didn't have the heart of Shakespeare, the voice of Poe, nor the soul of Wordsworth, nor the knowledge of Rembrandt in his darkest days. He didn't have a trace of Michaelangelo's spirit nor the angst of Carvaggio and this on its own was enough to dissuade him from understanding that technique was far better than solidarity and possession far more ageless than youth.
He didn't have any of this knowledge because his father hadn't had the courage to tell him that he needed all the qualities of these great men, to win over the heart of a woman who had the dreams of Austen, the ideas of Da Vinci and the scent o
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Comments21
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Wow. Intense and beautiful. And I am entwined in your words.