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Literature Text
I am the wayward child,
subliminal and defeathered—
almost perfect.
What's that in your heart?
Myths and the things that really matter
like wallflower clippings,
unfiltered and restless.
Don't forget to let me go;
the keepers of my heart
are undedicated,
sleeping behind the wheel.
subliminal and defeathered—
almost perfect.
What's that in your heart?
Myths and the things that really matter
like wallflower clippings,
unfiltered and restless.
Don't forget to let me go;
the keepers of my heart
are undedicated,
sleeping behind the wheel.
Literature
9729 kilometers away, to be exact.
i have these bones like flowers-
fragile and finely plucked,
these lily stargazers
are kissing ocean beds,
making love to sirens
while yearning
for a taste of her
wander(lust).
i want to tape maps to my limbs-
throw caution to the wind
as i gather up
every love letter receipt,
from every false attempt
i ever wrote her
& forget for just a moment
that even still
light-years away,
she does not love me.
Literature
dear,
when i first met you,
terror chilled down
the heat
of my
louisiana
spine.
i shivered
& my heart
began to build
walls over walls
over walls-
beating:
fuck this,
i won’t let them
hurt you, again.
i have a tendency
to get knocked
off my feet
& not know
how to get back up.
i’m still crawling around,
searching for your heart
beats under my bed
& between my tangled
sheets.
i am pathetic.
but,
you were all crooked,
misshapen insecurities
& nights of forgetting
to take your zoloft.
i didn’t think I would miss that.
i didn’t think I would miss you.
you fell like a meteor
for him, hours after
you demolished me.
& i ca
Literature
Before I Can Become a Writer
Develop insomnia. Develop
problems with substance abuse,
nothing serious, but enough
that I can say “write drunk,
edit sober” and mean it.
Drink tea. Write about drinking
tea. Take up smoking, ignore
the thoughts about it being
a slower suicide. Write about
suicide. Don’t mean it.
Write about sunsets and
ink veins. Mean it.
Fall in love with someone
who will never love me back.
Lament. Write a million
crappy poems and two good
ones. Never show him.
Move on. Write a few more
bad poems. Fall in love with
someone perfect. Screw it up.
Fall in love with someone awful.
Call him perfect. Screw it up.
Cry. Cry for the inevitab
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Heeey guys, I finally did one. A title poem! And guess what? Every one of these are pieces by the lovely and kind Maddie, aka *intricately-ordinary. Which is why the title is what it is.
I wanted to write this because she's a big inspiration of mine, and all her poetry have amazing titles that made this work so well. I hope you like this, Maddie dear, and thanks for always giving your breathtaking poetry titles that can make poems themselves.
Now go watch *intricately-ordinary. Do it. I commend thee. Now.
I need to stop writing poetry and focus on prose gaaaaah I'm so lazy
The titles I used are as follows:
I am the wayward child,
subliminal and defeathered,
almost perfect.
What's that in your heart?
Myths and the things that really matter
like wallflower clippings,
unfiltered and restless.
Don't forget to let me go;
the keepers of my heart
are undedicated,
sleeping behind the wheel.
I wanted to write this because she's a big inspiration of mine, and all her poetry have amazing titles that made this work so well. I hope you like this, Maddie dear, and thanks for always giving your breathtaking poetry titles that can make poems themselves.
Now go watch *intricately-ordinary. Do it. I commend thee. Now.
I need to stop writing poetry and focus on prose gaaaaah I'm so lazy
The titles I used are as follows:
I am the wayward child,
subliminal and defeathered,
almost perfect.
What's that in your heart?
Myths and the things that really matter
like wallflower clippings,
unfiltered and restless.
Don't forget to let me go;
the keepers of my heart
are undedicated,
sleeping behind the wheel.
© 2013 - 2024 lupus-astra
Comments18
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Good God, this is just perfect.
That's right, I said perfect.
You are awesome.
That's right, I said perfect.
You are awesome.