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Literature Text
she wants a tattoo of a
dozen wax paper boats
fluttering up
the cobbles of her indecency
a disappointing rainbow of
gasoline and sentimental sobriety
but she'll have to settle
for the word
toy
written on her wrist in bold
and the truckload of
testosterone-fueled boys
who confirm everything in her
pretty
little
head
dozen wax paper boats
fluttering up
the cobbles of her indecency
a disappointing rainbow of
gasoline and sentimental sobriety
but she'll have to settle
for the word
toy
written on her wrist in bold
and the truckload of
testosterone-fueled boys
who confirm everything in her
pretty
little
head
Literature
my five year plan
day one
at least once a day, I mistake a boy for a girl. the truth could take five years to write, and I think it probably will. at least once a month, you mistake my "i'm okay"s for "okay, I'm not doing so good"s. this is a matching test. this is a matching test without a word bank. this is sucks-to-be-you-because-you-didn't-study-you-spent-your-night-being-a-manwhore-again. let me know if you're really satisfied with fractions of many girls as opposed to the entirety of me that I'm offering to you.
month three, week two
I'm unsatisfied with my eyebrow arches, my jaw line, my cheekbones, and having someone care so much one minute and comp
Literature
tremors
curled over a porcelain mouth, i let my dinner fall out.
it's 9:33 p.m. and i think about saturday,
when rain hit the pavement like firecrackers,
the sky darker than the shadows behind the shower curtain.
i know there's a spider burrowed between those plastic folds.
funny thing about deep spaces; they feel better
when they're stuffed full. i think about how your fingertips
made my skin feel soft and breakable, how your tongue was warm,
about how my legs wouldn't stop shaking and you laughed, whispering,
"you okay?"
well, there's this experience known as an aftershock.
hands clutching cold tile,
Literature
waiting on 50
let me
perform
delicate surgery
sing songs of chain-
saw love
along
your supple
summer spine
place the pieces
of your
struggling
jigsaw
map
which match
with mine...
is it safe
to say
that I've
talked
you
to bed
for several
weeks?
would it be
wise
for me
to sew
your proper name
into my
sheets?
or play
your
memory
like a
melody
arranged
in bits
between heart-
beats?
well
my heart's
refrain
repeats
'til my mouth
stutters
what it
speaks
and though
the
syllables
get jumbled
sentiments emerge
complete
has anyone
else
ever told
you
you're
the good
kind
of
cannot sleep?
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Comments41
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This piece is very visual and your use of formatting works well to create a vivid read. I enjoyed your choice of lexis, and the tone too also executes a brilliant read.
Congratulations on the Pick of the Day
Congratulations on the Pick of the Day