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Literature Text
We take shots of honey
& make pinky promises
with the moon.
(She loves the sun
but we vowed we wouldn't
tell him)
Trace constellations into the grass
because there's nothing else we want
to do except count the minutes together.
& make pinky promises
with the moon.
(She loves the sun
but we vowed we wouldn't
tell him)
Trace constellations into the grass
because there's nothing else we want
to do except count the minutes together.
Literature
windowpain
sometimes, the ache's a nighttime thing, a lonely thing,
a window-cracked-to-hear-the-rain thing.
sometimes, all you can do is wait for the morning.
i know you feel like you gotta fix what's broken but
some things are better left unspoken
until you can see the light on his face.
sweetheart, you're a delicate thing, a tear-stained thing,
a fall-fast, fall-hard, fall-in-love thing.
i know you feel like you're walking on glass but
sometimes you have to wait for this to pass
& try again tomorrow.
Literature
XIX.
he called me
saint, saviour, holy,
kissed my knucklebones
to skip
purgatory; get
to Hell quicker
since he
was going there anyway
or maybe he
just liked worshipping
devils.
(should have worshipped himself)
Literature
i damper
i walk with my
head hung low and i
scuff my feet on purpose,
because i don't want them to meet my eyes but
i want someone to know i
exist.
hey, they say and
try to tell me
this is okay, that
feeling like this is okay,
but it's not -
(even if i'm allowed to be sad,
that doesn't make it okay i'm not
okay
with this, i'm not . )
"maybe you should call the hotline,"
he said. i told him i was
scared, that i can't talk about things,
that this was hard even though
i trust him, that
what if it doesn't help.
i spent an awful lot of time watching
the sky bleed lilac and
fuchsia from beside my window until
all the colors ran together like the
stains o
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I love love poems like this, pardon the pleonasm.