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Literature Text
Today, I learned
that grief is the highest form of surrender.
I am still learning how to sleep.
but I know the words to every Frank Turner song now,
and I wear them on my shirtsleeves
everywhere I go.
I know that recovery is a long time coming,
but it can't hurt to hope for scar tissue
on more than just skin.
I suppose this is what getting better looks like -
a quiet, fading ache.
reading so many words aloud and wondering
if you are still amenable
to being my friend.
spelling out my own name and
remembering how it feels
to just breathe.
every art page I follow lately
has been telling me
that it's okay to be lonely.
and maybe that works, too.
but recovery has been a long time coming
and I am still terrified of September.
but perhaps there is hope still
for the wayward hurricanes.
perhaps we are all orchards,
still learning how to bloom.
and perhaps the sunlight has been so heavy
if only to teach us
how to bear the weight
of forgiveness.
don't worry, darling -
this is nothing so empty as a promise.
if all that is left to us
is poetry after the rainstorm
without ever really speaking, then
realise
that I meant it every single time I told you
I will love you until the stars go out,
and I will love you after.
some days when the world gets quiet here,
I listen for the leaves on the wind
and I am safe in the knowledge
that somewhere out there,
in a city on the edge of the world,
you are still so brilliant
and somewhere in another lifetime,
in the messy room of your heart,
there is a door left open
to let the fireflies in.
and whether or not our flight patterns converge
at the very end of this story,
I wish you all the best,
and nothing but clear skies ahead.
that grief is the highest form of surrender.
I am still learning how to sleep.
but I know the words to every Frank Turner song now,
and I wear them on my shirtsleeves
everywhere I go.
I know that recovery is a long time coming,
but it can't hurt to hope for scar tissue
on more than just skin.
I suppose this is what getting better looks like -
a quiet, fading ache.
reading so many words aloud and wondering
if you are still amenable
to being my friend.
spelling out my own name and
remembering how it feels
to just breathe.
every art page I follow lately
has been telling me
that it's okay to be lonely.
and maybe that works, too.
but recovery has been a long time coming
and I am still terrified of September.
but perhaps there is hope still
for the wayward hurricanes.
perhaps we are all orchards,
still learning how to bloom.
and perhaps the sunlight has been so heavy
if only to teach us
how to bear the weight
of forgiveness.
don't worry, darling -
this is nothing so empty as a promise.
if all that is left to us
is poetry after the rainstorm
without ever really speaking, then
realise
that I meant it every single time I told you
I will love you until the stars go out,
and I will love you after.
some days when the world gets quiet here,
I listen for the leaves on the wind
and I am safe in the knowledge
that somewhere out there,
in a city on the edge of the world,
you are still so brilliant
and somewhere in another lifetime,
in the messy room of your heart,
there is a door left open
to let the fireflies in.
and whether or not our flight patterns converge
at the very end of this story,
I wish you all the best,
and nothing but clear skies ahead.
Literature
here are my words
i used to dream whole cityscapes and skylines,
ocean cities and coves washed over with waves,
terrifying, brilliant, unable to touch me.
i used to be able to talk to trees,
to speak in palms and eyes-closed silences
and the sure roughness of bark under my fingernails.
i used to be able to sing
and believe that believing made me better,
believe that joy sounds bright and crescendos.
i used to be someone who tripped on her words,
spilled out in sloppy sentences and sentiments,
used to be someone who could 'sit at a typewriter and bleed'
and in bleeding turn the hurt beautiful.
i used to close my eyes and fall into feeling,
trace the right word
Literature
autumn
i thought he was a golden summer,
so i fell for him like the tide.
while nightdreaming of those infinite stars that glittered past his
collarbone shores,
and the turquoise aquamarine sapphire in his eyes,
i ran barefoot from
my beating equinox heart so that i could feel his breezes tangling my hair
and hear the pulses of his tides.
(just carry me away, now)
my her
beautiful (unattainable)
ocean,
i can't live without breathing in,
and we both know that your cold cold heart will never be able to replace my
oxygen.
Literature
how to love someone
I grow distraught at the thought
that my words will turn cloy
under the weight of the waterfall
imbued with my saccharine sentences;
as my feelings cascade like a velveteen curtain,
the ineffable emotions cover you like a coat-
they continue to fervently flow,
and become foamy pearls and pebbles
pooling by your feet
I know these waves of water
won’t steal the breath from your lungs,
but rather fill the riverine veins
traveling towards the tributary
of your awaiting heart,
and for this-
I’d rather drown you in affection,
than have a drought.
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or, I cried in the lobby of a school building today and I had to write a poem before I lost it completely
or, I thought I saw you this morning and the world shook me to pieces
or, I read that poem and after that I felt like breaking
or, I miss you so much I can hardly breathe
or, I don't know if I'm hoping you see this but here's to the words in between us
or, I couldn't sleep last night just praying this day wouldn't come, had never come
or, I don't know how I'll make it through September and I don't think I'm strong enough to try
or, I put you through so much and I'm so sorry
or, I still haven't watched ahead and I never will
or, I sometimes wonder if you miss me and I know you probably don't
or, I remember every poem you wrote me and I still have the last one
or, I should have worn the blue dress more often
or, I'm too sad to function right now and these are all the words I've got.
So here you go.
Take them.
They were always yours.
or, I thought I saw you this morning and the world shook me to pieces
or, I read that poem and after that I felt like breaking
or, I miss you so much I can hardly breathe
or, I don't know if I'm hoping you see this but here's to the words in between us
or, I couldn't sleep last night just praying this day wouldn't come, had never come
or, I don't know how I'll make it through September and I don't think I'm strong enough to try
or, I put you through so much and I'm so sorry
or, I still haven't watched ahead and I never will
or, I sometimes wonder if you miss me and I know you probably don't
or, I remember every poem you wrote me and I still have the last one
or, I should have worn the blue dress more often
or, I'm too sad to function right now and these are all the words I've got.
So here you go.
Take them.
They were always yours.
© 2015 - 2024 neonsquiggle
Comments20
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just wondering, is the font small and in lowercase to show that the person is meek, and that they are barely holding onto hope?