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Literature Text
i think i’ve figured out the reason you’re sad all the time.
it has something to do with your mess of a tongue, bitten through
and scarred from the times you’ve tried to hold your words inside.
stop doing that. let them out,
they’re not worth the blood in your mouth.
neither is your parents. and i’m not going to try
and tell you that they’ll understand one day
because some moms and dads never will.
but you’re always gonna have a skyline, you’re
always gonna have something to look forward to.
believe me, the world never ends.
not even on the days you want it to.
not even on the days when you’re looking
for gods in the weirdest places, like the broken
spine of the book you’ve read thirty-four times,
the front seat of your brother’s truck, the gap growing
between your niece’s front teeth, and all the other things
you find holy.
the world doesn’t end; and for that matter, neither do you.
the only thing i learned in my freshman year physics class
is that energy cannot be created and it cannot be destroyed,
and i think that’s a good way to think about yourself, because
i know it’s easy to forget that a failed class doesn’t destroy you
but at the same time, a college diploma doesn’t create you.
you are more than your accomplishments and your failures.
you are bound for greater things than a handful of useless acronyms
and an assortment of random letters. and i’m not talking about
the sky, i’m talking beyond that, you are bound for a place we
cannot even fathom yet.
so on the days when you talk of autumn like the season of death
is all you can bring yourself to live for, take your medication.
it helps. listen to your favorite record. arguably, that helps more.
and on the days you are too sad and grounded to reread Lewis Carroll,
read this poem instead and know
that someone has written it with you in mind.
it has something to do with your mess of a tongue, bitten through
and scarred from the times you’ve tried to hold your words inside.
stop doing that. let them out,
they’re not worth the blood in your mouth.
neither is your parents. and i’m not going to try
and tell you that they’ll understand one day
because some moms and dads never will.
but you’re always gonna have a skyline, you’re
always gonna have something to look forward to.
believe me, the world never ends.
not even on the days you want it to.
not even on the days when you’re looking
for gods in the weirdest places, like the broken
spine of the book you’ve read thirty-four times,
the front seat of your brother’s truck, the gap growing
between your niece’s front teeth, and all the other things
you find holy.
the world doesn’t end; and for that matter, neither do you.
the only thing i learned in my freshman year physics class
is that energy cannot be created and it cannot be destroyed,
and i think that’s a good way to think about yourself, because
i know it’s easy to forget that a failed class doesn’t destroy you
but at the same time, a college diploma doesn’t create you.
you are more than your accomplishments and your failures.
you are bound for greater things than a handful of useless acronyms
and an assortment of random letters. and i’m not talking about
the sky, i’m talking beyond that, you are bound for a place we
cannot even fathom yet.
so on the days when you talk of autumn like the season of death
is all you can bring yourself to live for, take your medication.
it helps. listen to your favorite record. arguably, that helps more.
and on the days you are too sad and grounded to reread Lewis Carroll,
read this poem instead and know
that someone has written it with you in mind.
Literature
One.
I want to stare the storm in the eye
and dare it not to be calm
around me.
Literature
butterflied
it is a snake
coiled in my stomach,
the urge to vomit
everything inside of me, to purge
all the toxic not-
good-enoughs. to retell
the same story and expect
a different ending is
the dysfunction that landed
us in here. I'm sorry
I don't follow you into
your dreams at night. I'm sorry
my smile is not the moon,
I'm sorry I did anything
to make you notice
me at all. no finger
down the throat could ever
take that
away.
Literature
The human condition of wanting to be everything
I feel as though I am exhausting
The excess skin around
My eyes
They
h
a
n
g
in loose shadows
Across my cheekbones like
A wreath.
And whilst I find myself
unable
To draw open the blinds
Because the light
is too bright
And I really can’t handle
The pane of the sky
With its obnoxious
Blue
glaring at me
With such a joyful expression
I know that lately
I am burning myself out
That I consume one too many
Cans of soda and energy drinks
At 2.45 AM
When the rest of the world
Is static in a hushed
Comatose state
Whilst I frantically try
To achieve something
Because being
Average
Ordinary
Mundane
Is too
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1. her name is not actually magdalene.
2. not all of this poem matches this girl perfectly
3. i like to think that she will not mind.
2. not all of this poem matches this girl perfectly
3. i like to think that she will not mind.
© 2014 - 2024 MisfitableGrae
Comments5
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This is beautiful <3