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Literature Text
i am not a poet i am
falling with leaves from boughs
from trees fluttering with
pocahontas' hair, singing with
the wind and every colour i can see i am
making my escape with
words that are made up of such restrictions
i am chained, forced into syllables and
rhythms when i want to flow with
the tide, the sea, the path of the moon
i will flow into the sea and fly with
manta rays who skim reflecting
clouds, flocking free from india
to the heart of the pacific
free for so many thousands of miles
until atlantis calls them home and
i will follow them there,
committing dead language to numb
tongue, collecting seashells and
an eskimo's million new ways
to explain the way the light plays on the water
breaking the surface, breaching
with whales and i will suck in starshine
and nebulous gases so i swim through
aurora australis, dressing skin
in children's prayers [see how brightly
they shine, pure and sweet], kissing
polar bear noses warm, hiding deep
in hollow-hair, i am not a poet
i am tying vowels to every fingertip
and falling short, stealing
sighs to inflate balloons
cornering nouns to trap them
in the folds of origami cranes so
they can burst free with every
curious desire to see how
lines fit together, knowing
full well that inquisitive interest
is as destructive as kali ma,
skull necklace and soulful[led]
eyes she is watching as i watch,
pacing tiger-step to pulse
slinking through shadows, forests,
stomach sinking to cool earth
soft beneath padded paws, beneath
damp and dirt, bones of beasts
broken free from pangea frost,
painful crystal gaping maws
beg for freedom, to be forgotten,
i curl within a femur, sleep-knocking
at heavy lids i am not a poet,
collecting exotic-flavoured
synonyms to sprinkle on strawberries
still warm from sunshine
wrapping red ribbons around
curtains to let the light tumble,
landing broken into 'bows on
stained wood floor and scrabble
pieces, discarded ideas
languishing on the crest of
enamel of teeth, crushed to
bite-size bursts of inspiration
which lose flavour much
too quickly to ever be useful.
falling with leaves from boughs
from trees fluttering with
pocahontas' hair, singing with
the wind and every colour i can see i am
making my escape with
words that are made up of such restrictions
i am chained, forced into syllables and
rhythms when i want to flow with
the tide, the sea, the path of the moon
i will flow into the sea and fly with
manta rays who skim reflecting
clouds, flocking free from india
to the heart of the pacific
free for so many thousands of miles
until atlantis calls them home and
i will follow them there,
committing dead language to numb
tongue, collecting seashells and
an eskimo's million new ways
to explain the way the light plays on the water
breaking the surface, breaching
with whales and i will suck in starshine
and nebulous gases so i swim through
aurora australis, dressing skin
in children's prayers [see how brightly
they shine, pure and sweet], kissing
polar bear noses warm, hiding deep
in hollow-hair, i am not a poet
i am tying vowels to every fingertip
and falling short, stealing
sighs to inflate balloons
cornering nouns to trap them
in the folds of origami cranes so
they can burst free with every
curious desire to see how
lines fit together, knowing
full well that inquisitive interest
is as destructive as kali ma,
skull necklace and soulful[led]
eyes she is watching as i watch,
pacing tiger-step to pulse
slinking through shadows, forests,
stomach sinking to cool earth
soft beneath padded paws, beneath
damp and dirt, bones of beasts
broken free from pangea frost,
painful crystal gaping maws
beg for freedom, to be forgotten,
i curl within a femur, sleep-knocking
at heavy lids i am not a poet,
collecting exotic-flavoured
synonyms to sprinkle on strawberries
still warm from sunshine
wrapping red ribbons around
curtains to let the light tumble,
landing broken into 'bows on
stained wood floor and scrabble
pieces, discarded ideas
languishing on the crest of
enamel of teeth, crushed to
bite-size bursts of inspiration
which lose flavour much
too quickly to ever be useful.
Literature
my five year plan
day one
at least once a day, I mistake a boy for a girl. the truth could take five years to write, and I think it probably will. at least once a month, you mistake my "i'm okay"s for "okay, I'm not doing so good"s. this is a matching test. this is a matching test without a word bank. this is sucks-to-be-you-because-you-didn't-study-you-spent-your-night-being-a-manwhore-again. let me know if you're really satisfied with fractions of many girls as opposed to the entirety of me that I'm offering to you.
month three, week two
I'm unsatisfied with my eyebrow arches, my jaw line, my cheekbones, and having someone care so much one minute and comp
Literature
thoughts of you
i would like to remember you by your silences, by the tiny nuances and way you wrote your words slanted. i hold onto the moments at night when i am neither sad nor lonely without you, and i always wish they would stay a bit longer. you were like my favourite ring that i wore everyday, and then suddenly one day you were gone; lost to a sink or a street sewer.
i will always think of you as a piece of art-strokes of colour and longing and mess all balled up into one tiny portrait. you are a thought in my heart that is always warm with remembrance and peace. sometimes i wonder if you think of me at night, if in your heart you remember me as a so
Literature
stranger
you came clinging to the grace of a summer storm's
underbreath, came cold hands and tired eyes
and a bruised lip i'd longed to kiss
when you stumbled on night listing
too far to the left
cross my thistledown garden by old dusks
that wilt between, i'll keep my door open:
your lady in sepia doesn't live here, only
the ghosts and i -- and Grandmother,
in the far-between wanders when she can
remember --
but i've a place where you can
lay your wayworn bones to dry, and
if morning should come calling, i'll not
tell her where you sleep. and stayed awhile.
Suggested Collections
i just wanted to see how long i could spin out the idea.
a note to not-self: hey, you? yeah, you. don't be intimidated. they're only words. all i do is arrange them. you do that too, you just don't feel so passionate about it as i do. now quit it.
mmmhmmm.
fitted some of my favourite things in here. like kali ma and manta rays.
a note to not-self: hey, you? yeah, you. don't be intimidated. they're only words. all i do is arrange them. you do that too, you just don't feel so passionate about it as i do. now quit it.
mmmhmmm.
fitted some of my favourite things in here. like kali ma and manta rays.
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Thank you for writing so beautifully and make sure to check out the other people's work!
Thank you for writing so beautifully and make sure to check out the other people's work!