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Literature Text
and dammit
there are ghosts where my heart should be.
they don't know how to die.
there are ghosts where my heart should be.
they don't know how to die.
Literature
denial and uglier aftermath
i drink to you, raising my glass and
choking down the things you left,
ignoring my gag reflex and waiting
on the buzzing in my head, white cotton
lullabies for the weak of heart.
it kills me that we are just a
collection of vignettes, that soon
i might see your blossom fingers
and bleeding sunset smile but
only as a memory gone static with neglect;
this summer, i became a rebel. a
martyr in a child’s game, a vagrant
with boxes of dead poetry to call
a home, and when i asked you to want me,
it’s only so you’d take the sanity and consciousness
with you when you left. i miss
the days when personality disorders
were not gra
Literature
process
think how much blood
a woman sees
in a year, a lifetime.
think how very much more
one like me
encounters—think what happens
when bleeding becomes
less necessity
and more art. think of every
scratch and graze, every glaze
of rust-coloured paint
you've worn on your skin
as armour.
then multiply that by three.
Literature
forget
forget love.
the ways of being the molecular lightning
the sheerness of the universe.
the hand-prints
left everywhere.
forget love--
the pure stunts of the body
somewhere above the invisible stunts of ourselves.
forget winter
& everywhere else love is possible.
its weightlessness
its cloudy material
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it's been so hard to let go of some things lately.
and i just like the word dammit
i'm just chillin' to some helen humes and nibbing on blueberry muffins.
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