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Literature Text
Pink.
My father planted
cherry blossom seeds
into my arms when I was young.
My mother taught me to hide them
so I kept quiet about the tiny flowers
growing down my sides.
I pinned prayers to the walls
of my room.
Blue.
I can still taste the
sting of veins
against my cheek.
Salt and blood.
I choke on the sound.
Green.
What was the colour
of his eyes again?
I don't want to remember.
Yellow.
Morning.
The sun hides behind my curtains
and I pull the blanket over my head.
The screaming suddenly stops
and so does my breathing.
Red.
Salvation in blood.
I grew up with it splattered
against my skin, is it any surprise
I fell in love with the colour?
"You don't really talk about your childhood."
"Honestly? I don't remember much. I don't want to."
My father planted
cherry blossom seeds
into my arms when I was young.
My mother taught me to hide them
so I kept quiet about the tiny flowers
growing down my sides.
I pinned prayers to the walls
of my room.
Blue.
I can still taste the
sting of veins
against my cheek.
Salt and blood.
I choke on the sound.
Green.
What was the colour
of his eyes again?
I don't want to remember.
Yellow.
Morning.
The sun hides behind my curtains
and I pull the blanket over my head.
The screaming suddenly stops
and so does my breathing.
Red.
Salvation in blood.
I grew up with it splattered
against my skin, is it any surprise
I fell in love with the colour?
"You don't really talk about your childhood."
"Honestly? I don't remember much. I don't want to."
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Literature
rebels.
i.
you called me last night
a poem on the edges of your lips
something you wanted to press against me
like an imprint.
it was a poem
about a monster
and a small girl screaming for help
but no-one knew
whether she was calling
to
on the behalf
or because of
the monster.
you said, softly and solemnly
that you'd never considered
so many possibilities.
i laughed and said i believed in all three
isn't that a contradiction, you asked,
and i just held the phone
silently
wanting to scream out a no
but not daring.
ii.
the next day my parents sit me down
at the dinner table
to discuss my future.
do i want to be a mathematician
or a poet?
they leave t
Literature
4.13.18
i lie awake & i listen to the rain & i think that if i could choose one person to be here right now i'd still pick you.
i tell myself, you're allowed to miss people.
and i ask, even people who hurt me so badly i couldn't breathe right for six months?
i don't have an answer; i just have the flicker in my heartbeat that murmurs i miss you. i miss you. i miss you.
time blends together & it gets harder to understand if i miss you or if i miss me or if i miss the way you & me loved the other like a soulmate from the stars.
i've heard more rain tonight than i've ever heard truth from your lips, but i guess in the end all that means is that i truly
Literature
One Last Breath
One last breath
Before returning home
I’ll miss you dearly
But know it’s for the best
Tears run free as I remember why
I love you too much to extend this lie.
I kiss your head, stroke your hair,
Remembering when you were there.
A long life blessed with love
And hope. Friendship found
When we were both so low.
Buoyed up, the best years gone,
Arthritis settles into bones.
One last breath
Before returning home
I’ll miss you dearly
But know it’s for the best
The call was made; No regrets to list
Save that it must be your last breath.
It’s hard to know, looking forward,
How life will be now you’re gone.
Ev
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Dude. This is amazing