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Literature Text
i.
she thinks that if her heart
were any bigger, all her blood would pool
at the bottom and drown out the pictures
of Mark
she's been too
and she thinks that maybe then when she makes
pretty words in her skin,
it'd make the mess a lot easier to clean up.
she's practical like that.
ii.
sometimes she gets lost in the sky
and calls it the ocean, because whenever
she looks at the clouds, she always sees
seahorses and pollution.
if she wishes any harder, her star will implode
please god, make me beautiful.
iii.
when she was young, she ued to think that
infinity was eight years, because if she turned her head
it looked kind of like a lazy eight.
once, a boy told her that he'd love her.
when she asked him how long,
he said infinity.
turns out, infinity is seven months,
seventeen days
and ten minutes.
iv.
if you ask a kindergartan boy what
he wants to be when he grows up,
he'll say president.
ask a kindergarten girl what
she wants to be when she grows up,
and she'll say ballerina.
ask a boy with cancer what he
wants to be when he grows up,
and he'll say
alive.
v.
some nights when she can't sleep, she lays her hand
against her chest, and wishes for a bigger heart
so she can feel the thump-thump-thump of being alive.
but i guess she knows that a smaller heart
is better than no heart at all,
and she's always made a better cowardly lion than
she has tinman.
vi.
please god, make me something worth living for.
Literature
Growing Up
it seems that by now I’ve been diagnosed
with a mild case of weightlessness, mindless
drifting past empty homes and the emptier people
that purchased them. I remember conversations
with you about existentialism
and the almost intricate fabric of my mind and
everything in between, and you-- the way you
paused before making a point as
the words defined themselves in your head:
I remember the day I told you I was God.
Creator of all things unimportant, trapped
in the body of a girl with nothing left to give, you
believed me
it must be a beautiful place
inside your head, with a world
that revolves around hope and expectations
the way
Literature
Thirty Three Percent
"What are you doing?"
"I think
I finally figured out percentages."
"We learnt those in the third grade."
"Yeah, but we always complained that we'd never use them in real life."
"And you know how to use them in real life now?"
"Eighty four percent."
"What's that?"
"That's the percentage of how many basketball matches you lost to me when we were kids."
"That's not fair! You're taller than me!"
"Fifty two percent."
"Is that how much taller than me you are?"
"No. That's the percentage of times you speak out of turn and get into trouble for it."
"Very funny."
"Twenty three percent."
"Let me guess, that's how much I annoy you?"
Literature
Note To Self
Truth is, I don't know anymore.
Every string, unwinding, unweaving.
The unlikely demise of a tapestry.
The tapestry.
My tapestry.
I'd like to remind you of… well, a lot of things.
Everything.
Everyone.
And I'm sorry, but there's no theme.
No message to be had.
These are just words.
I am just words.
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when you grow taller, you start expecting less and less from the world.
© 2012 - 2024 MisfitableGrae
Comments7
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I like this very much and love all the different perspectives and what they/she want.