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Literature Text
Forgotten muse,
drowned in the still water by the train track.
No memories.
No feelings.
Hey, Muse, it seems like you and I have lots to talk about,
like how my bruises never seem to heal
and your words open new wounds on my chest
every single time you open your mouth to utter nonsense
that we call poetry.
Once upon a time,
I told you to shut up.
(Yes, I always was an ungrateful little brat that would forget about blessings and only remember the curses)
I never wanted to be a princess,
Don't want to be rescued, because there's something in me
not even the bravest knight can defeat.
(My monsters are mine to kill, anyway)
drowned in the still water by the train track.
No memories.
No feelings.
Hey, Muse, it seems like you and I have lots to talk about,
like how my bruises never seem to heal
and your words open new wounds on my chest
every single time you open your mouth to utter nonsense
that we call poetry.
Once upon a time,
I told you to shut up.
(Yes, I always was an ungrateful little brat that would forget about blessings and only remember the curses)
I never wanted to be a princess,
Don't want to be rescued, because there's something in me
not even the bravest knight can defeat.
(My monsters are mine to kill, anyway)
Literature
Her Life
I saw her life in those eyes
with cut-throat stares
and withered looks of daze,
each lid half open
and their cores darted where
they thought it was safe.
Her pupils swirled as hurricanes
with streaks of rain
maroon across a razor blade.
Sharing what words can't speak
and luring in the
sting of the day.
I saw her life in that skin,
painted with a tiny needle that could
delve deeper in what she knew
and who she was, then what.
Like an apple tossed aside to rot
darted across were plum-hue stains
and beautiful scars, an abstract dance of
healing and hurt.
Covered in what she screamed,
her body was masked in poetry,
long-tol
Literature
Until I Collapse
“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”
- “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost
Some might say that following your heart is foolish. Planning. Critical thinking. Weighing your options. These are the things they drill in your head at their earliest convenience. While it may be a well and good strategy for some people, other people not so much. I was one of those people.
I grew up programmed to act a certain way. I was born nine years apart from my youngest sibling. At some point in my life I started feeling more like a science experi
Literature
Weavers, A Short Poem
If I should find that fate
Has tangled me in its strings
Then I shall simply create
A blade that can cut such things
And the severed strings I'll remake
Into thread with which I'll weave
The new path that I shall take
To the future I conceive
A weaver's work can never end
For to try to remake fate
One must travel through each twist and bend
At such a dizzying rate
And when the path is woven
The weaver can now rest
Knowing the path that they have chosen
Was a life lived at its best
So be a weaver all your life
For there's beauty in such things
To start just simply take the knife
And sever fate's cruel strings
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Poetry hurts more than you can imagine.
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