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Literature Text
1. i still leave all the doors in my house open.
there’s not that many anyway, but i can’t bear
to hear them shut anymore. the draft is
killing me—i don’t remember the last
time i felt warm.
2. if time stopped when i was with you,
it is making up those seconds now because
i blink and the tea is no longer steaming
and it is no longer night and i am still
writing this poem, trying to convince myself
that i am not waiting for you to call.
3. surely the butterflies i got when i first
saw you created hurricanes on the other side of
the world. whenever it rains, i still think of you.
4. my keyboard is growing anxious. i keep typing
out the same letters, but i never hit send. the tea
has probably grown cold by now. it is, probably,
time to delete your number.
5. tonight, i close my bedroom door by accident.
the click is so loud that i think the whole world can hear it.
i think that they all stop for a couple of
seconds, listening to that resounding finality bang
off the walls in their heads, even if
they don’t understand it.
somewhere, some place, you begin to miss me.
there’s not that many anyway, but i can’t bear
to hear them shut anymore. the draft is
killing me—i don’t remember the last
time i felt warm.
2. if time stopped when i was with you,
it is making up those seconds now because
i blink and the tea is no longer steaming
and it is no longer night and i am still
writing this poem, trying to convince myself
that i am not waiting for you to call.
3. surely the butterflies i got when i first
saw you created hurricanes on the other side of
the world. whenever it rains, i still think of you.
4. my keyboard is growing anxious. i keep typing
out the same letters, but i never hit send. the tea
has probably grown cold by now. it is, probably,
time to delete your number.
5. tonight, i close my bedroom door by accident.
the click is so loud that i think the whole world can hear it.
i think that they all stop for a couple of
seconds, listening to that resounding finality bang
off the walls in their heads, even if
they don’t understand it.
somewhere, some place, you begin to miss me.
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Literature
an infinitesimal sibilance
a wisp of a whisper
remains in possessions
long after we're gone
perhaps forever
things we create
or build
or just treasure
faint echoes of others
faint echoes of us
still here
llp - dA - oct2013
DD - jun03/2015
Literature
.
whispered goodbyes and sepia summer dreams-
their neverlasting brilliance is
more beautiful than
a million everlasting stars,
(because he loves in f ra gme nts,
and she hopes in sha
rds)
Literature
Longing
Missing you
is forsaking
the cooler side of the pillow
for the side that remembers
the impression of your cheek
and the soft smell of your hair.
It's reveling
in the butterfly thrill
of your gentle embrace,
but aching to close
the Rubin-vase distance
that separates us.
It's the difference between
the sound of your silver Corolla
as you pull to a stop
in my cul-de-sac
and the way it sounds
when you leave.
It's weaving "I love you"
into every word,
every touch,
every song,
short of actually saying it.
But the thing is,
I don't know
how much longer I can go
without saying it.
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a double hitter--this poem is a sequel/companion piece to the poem i posted yesterday, "five steps to stitching together a wound that never bled". so lots of the same imagery is used (for example, butterflies, the word 'finality' and then the 5 numbered stanzas)
i like the idea that break ups are, you know, two-sided. like, idk whats that Script song? "Breakeven"? break ups and emotional situations are never just 'he broke up with me and im wounded forever'. the guy always has a reason, an excuse, a story. like, people are hardly ever dicks just to be dicks. this doesn't make sense.
i think it's very common in our society to hear about a break up and focus on the most interesting side of the story. we relate more to the girl/boy/non-gendered individual who cries and says things like, 'i've been left here to die, they were the light of my life, i can't breathe without them', etc. etc. that's interesting. we want to hear more of that. so that's what this poem is about. the narrator of this poem is the one who kind of got the short of the stick with the relationship. he/she/they still loves the person who left them, and so it kind of follows his/her/their recovery and moving on. it's painful, but (cleverly slipping in the meaning of the titles lol) the wound gets cauterized (burning the skin or flesh of a wound to stop bleeding, btw) and the person, you know, ends up being alright.
on the kind of flip side of that coin, "five steps to stitching together a wound that never bled", the narrator just kind of wakes up one day and is like 'oh man i don't love that person anymore'. and that's not something we really focus on in literature or even in life. in that poem, the kid's moved on before he/she/they even realize they've moved on.
so lol yeah, paired poems wow look at me growing up and trying to think of a reason to give you another numbered poem lol
(ps it's the opening night of my friends' play so wish em luck)
i like the idea that break ups are, you know, two-sided. like, idk whats that Script song? "Breakeven"? break ups and emotional situations are never just 'he broke up with me and im wounded forever'. the guy always has a reason, an excuse, a story. like, people are hardly ever dicks just to be dicks. this doesn't make sense.
i think it's very common in our society to hear about a break up and focus on the most interesting side of the story. we relate more to the girl/boy/non-gendered individual who cries and says things like, 'i've been left here to die, they were the light of my life, i can't breathe without them', etc. etc. that's interesting. we want to hear more of that. so that's what this poem is about. the narrator of this poem is the one who kind of got the short of the stick with the relationship. he/she/they still loves the person who left them, and so it kind of follows his/her/their recovery and moving on. it's painful, but (cleverly slipping in the meaning of the titles lol) the wound gets cauterized (burning the skin or flesh of a wound to stop bleeding, btw) and the person, you know, ends up being alright.
on the kind of flip side of that coin, "five steps to stitching together a wound that never bled", the narrator just kind of wakes up one day and is like 'oh man i don't love that person anymore'. and that's not something we really focus on in literature or even in life. in that poem, the kid's moved on before he/she/they even realize they've moved on.
so lol yeah, paired poems wow look at me growing up and trying to think of a reason to give you another numbered poem lol
(ps it's the opening night of my friends' play so wish em luck)
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When I first read your poem "five steps to stitching together a wound that never bled", it made me think of the proverbial double sided coin-- and Breakeven too (!). I think that's a testament to your writing skill-- that it was in my head just from the first poem.
It's also lovely to understand the pairing of the poems. It adds to them both... Thank you for sharing
It's also lovely to understand the pairing of the poems. It adds to them both... Thank you for sharing