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Literature Text
i can help i can see -
that the children of forgotten bogs may simmer beneath your skin
that the splendor may burn thorough your marrow.
brush the brooks aside with urgent palm;
perhaps the sky might rain upon your blisters.
i think your smile is scared like there are wolves beneath your stairs and
your eyes search me out,
restless lanterns in the night that will not darken
they do not close.
i think,
you are a pumpkin carved in the shape of a boy
and no one dare set a candle inside you.
that the children of forgotten bogs may simmer beneath your skin
that the splendor may burn thorough your marrow.
brush the brooks aside with urgent palm;
perhaps the sky might rain upon your blisters.
i think your smile is scared like there are wolves beneath your stairs and
your eyes search me out,
restless lanterns in the night that will not darken
they do not close.
i think,
you are a pumpkin carved in the shape of a boy
and no one dare set a candle inside you.
Literature
no wonder it took him 1455 pages
when i was seven years old, a group of kids in my grade threw rocks at me for liking neopets more than webkinz. from then on, i was convinced i knew what hatred meant. but i don’t know how to describe it to the little girl who sits in the corner of my womb and in ten years might call me mommy and ask for help on dividing the world into black and white.
would i point to the churches with their bigotry? to the cotton fields of the south in the 1800s? to the classrooms of modern day america? would i tell her about how the jews stood in straight lines, waiting to die, with fear in their eyes and faith in their hearts? or would i try and de
Literature
Shadows of Whales
What I wanted to say was that I remembered the clouds,
that I watched them paint shadows across the ground,
giant birds of prey gliding across the aether - whales,
lost in a different sea, to float
white and pregnant
with all the sounds of things; thundering out
threats of the sky, sounds full of fury
and the disease that catches you off guard
"Open your door. I must come in."
what I wanted to say was that the echoes are the same
that the pulses of sound are just pieces of the original
instead of slightly dimmer copies
every one a herald
of the silence, soon to come.
I wanted to say things that, maybe, you'd listen to -
that sort of alab
Literature
Whale Songs of the Pacific
Listen, the girls swallowed by whales are the ones that grow up lucky.
Listen, no one will warn you about the little boys with the magpie eyes and the fists swinging splinters of glass. No one will warn you that their smiles are sweeter than their words are sweeter than their souls are sweeter than their intentions. No one will warn you of the sheer weight of the world.
Listen, sometimes girls are fragile. Sometimes girls are frothy. Sometimes girls let boys nuzzle "I love you"s into their necks and sometimes girls drink the wine of believing them.
Listen, sometimes the boys really are sweet, and little girls' tart puckered mouths can't ta
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This is absolutely beautiful. <3