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Literature Text
seize the day before
the day breaks and in turn
breaks you,
leaves you in tiny shattered fragments and
buries you beneath the ground in
cozy ornament boxes,
ribbon-wrapped like
the worst Christmas present of their lives
(the first without is always the hardest)
but remembering just keeps you from
moving on,
keeps you broken,
tearing open
stitches before
they can heal and forget
history -
leave nothing of it.
forget what it tasted like and
how it felt on your fingertips and
who taught it to you.
forget how you made it,
how it made you,
because you haven't made it
and you never will if
you don't let go
don't let it
mold you like
oven-baked clay, shattered
before you dried.
but maybe
you should let it break you.
don't even try for a clean break or to salvage the
bigger pieces of you left behind,
let it leave you microscopic.
and when you recollect yourself, keep only the pieces
that you want and
bury all the rest in the dirt, not six feet -
10, 20, dig as deep as you can and abandon yourself there.
this is how we bring about change and
seize the day.
write words and rhymes about your daybreak
about your heartache and
all the late nights you swore you were dead inside
(like a true poet, because all true poets die before their times
and have met their demise long before they
lived to see the cost of it)
even the remnants of the
wildfire in your chest
have a purpose.
the ashes weren't just meant to
clutter your throat or the
smoke to coat your lungs,
just because they choked you (broke you)
doesn't make them unlovable (too);
plant them.
all those broken parts of you will
finally be given a
use:
feeding the daylight daffodils
the day breaks and in turn
breaks you,
leaves you in tiny shattered fragments and
buries you beneath the ground in
cozy ornament boxes,
ribbon-wrapped like
the worst Christmas present of their lives
(the first without is always the hardest)
but remembering just keeps you from
moving on,
keeps you broken,
tearing open
stitches before
they can heal and forget
history -
leave nothing of it.
forget what it tasted like and
how it felt on your fingertips and
who taught it to you.
forget how you made it,
how it made you,
because you haven't made it
and you never will if
you don't let go
don't let it
mold you like
oven-baked clay, shattered
before you dried.
but maybe
you should let it break you.
don't even try for a clean break or to salvage the
bigger pieces of you left behind,
let it leave you microscopic.
and when you recollect yourself, keep only the pieces
that you want and
bury all the rest in the dirt, not six feet -
10, 20, dig as deep as you can and abandon yourself there.
this is how we bring about change and
seize the day.
write words and rhymes about your daybreak
about your heartache and
all the late nights you swore you were dead inside
(like a true poet, because all true poets die before their times
and have met their demise long before they
lived to see the cost of it)
even the remnants of the
wildfire in your chest
have a purpose.
the ashes weren't just meant to
clutter your throat or the
smoke to coat your lungs,
just because they choked you (broke you)
doesn't make them unlovable (too);
plant them.
all those broken parts of you will
finally be given a
use:
feeding the daylight daffodils
Literature
anfractuous.
and I have so many things yet to show you.
none of this is beautiful
when compared to hair whipping out a car window
in a night so deep and far-flung from city lights
that you can see by starlight for miles.
desert grass desert dust sighing in the wind
chasing at the tires and the sky–
oh my god the sky oh my god that sky,
she calls for only her wildest children tonight.
she calls for us to gallop against each other
against each other our shoulders brushing with canyons with coyotes
like brothers
like sisters
she calls for us
calls after us
as we pelt free and far-flung beneath her blue-black belly
pregnant with planets
Literature
timewaves
time moves like quicksand
time stands s t i l l
time rises, and time falls, like a wave
I want to go back in time
I want to go back to childhood
I want to go back to when records didn’t break every year
I want to go back when there still seemed to be a future
I want to back to when there still seemed to be options
I want to go back to when there was still time
I want to take all my knowledge and wisdom
I want to create a map
so I can bring it to the little girl I once was
Literature
windowpain
sometimes, the ache's a nighttime thing, a lonely thing,
a window-cracked-to-hear-the-rain thing.
sometimes, all you can do is wait for the morning.
i know you feel like you gotta fix what's broken but
some things are better left unspoken
until you can see the light on his face.
sweetheart, you're a delicate thing, a tear-stained thing,
a fall-fast, fall-hard, fall-in-love thing.
i know you feel like you're walking on glass but
sometimes you have to wait for this to pass
& try again tomorrow.
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NaPoWriMo day 28
spot the (kinda vague) movie reference
//ps i went so off-track on this one, probably because i started with the title which i usually don't do
spot the (kinda vague) movie reference
//ps i went so off-track on this one, probably because i started with the title which i usually don't do
© 2017 - 2024 xfuture-boundx
Comments13
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I'm binge reading your works. I've fallen in love with your poetry.
I love the lines:
don't even try for a clean break or to salvage the
bigger pieces of you left behind,
let it leave you microscopic.
and when you recollect yourself, keep only the pieces
that you want
More accurately to put it. Your thoughts are beautiful.~ Keep up the good work!
I love the lines:
don't even try for a clean break or to salvage the
bigger pieces of you left behind,
let it leave you microscopic.
and when you recollect yourself, keep only the pieces
that you want
More accurately to put it. Your thoughts are beautiful.~ Keep up the good work!