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Literature Text
she is a snowflake-skinned sigh
floating on the winds of Eurus,
playing tic-tac-toe on her skin.
she always comes out the loser
standing on the road between
two worlds, she wonders when
she started to read the map wrong,
because this isn’t the
second star from the right.
she can burn the pictures,
but she can’t burn her memories.
and damn it,
her wanderlust is trying to
pull her up, up, and away
but the desolation is keeping
its slimy tentacle wrapped
around her ankle and
it
won’t
let
go.
floating on the winds of Eurus,
playing tic-tac-toe on her skin.
she always comes out the loser
standing on the road between
two worlds, she wonders when
she started to read the map wrong,
because this isn’t the
second star from the right.
she can burn the pictures,
but she can’t burn her memories.
and damn it,
her wanderlust is trying to
pull her up, up, and away
but the desolation is keeping
its slimy tentacle wrapped
around her ankle and
it
won’t
let
go.
Literature
Eaten by a Dream
"I was eaten by a dream once."
The girl, and I say she was a girl because she looked to be in her 20's, sat down next to me in the waiting area outside the gate for my flight to Houston. I had been reading an article on my iPad and not paying attention when she sat down. But, my memory tells me that I might have taken slight notice of her out of the corner of my eye as she came out of the "Sports Bar" across the hallway from the waiting area a few minutes ago. I figured she was slightly tipsy because of the way she moved. She didn't look to be entirely in control of her motions.
I normally would not have responded to a stranger in the a
Literature
Paper-Thin Promises
the first time I caught sight of your
glistening, marble eyes,
I decided you disgust me.
I hate you the way I hate perfection:
merciless, like the snap of mantis jaws.
every fact of you is pretentious,
held high like you raise a middle finger.
You, the artist, always sculpting things,
tried to squeeze my malleable heart like white clay
and stash it in your pocket to rattle with stones.
paint me an unflinching self portrait, my dear:
this skyscraper of a boy shaking with anticipation
to build and destroy, build and destroy.
you sink in tooth and talon at first mention of beauty,
love-biting Aphrodite as though you were equals.
you're a statu
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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For `FuzzyHoser's Keep It Colloquial Contest.
I finished writing the poem by the deadline, but didn't get home to post it before our internet went out. I asked `FuzzyHoser before-hand if I could submit it today and she said it was fine.
I hope this qualifies, since I didn't technically say where it is. But the "snowflake-skinned sigh" is a reference to Alaska, where I grew up, and the "burn her memories" part is a reference to Idaho, where I live now.
EDIT 11/02/13: Changed "plays" to "playing" and took off the last two lines for impact.
I finished writing the poem by the deadline, but didn't get home to post it before our internet went out. I asked `FuzzyHoser before-hand if I could submit it today and she said it was fine.
I hope this qualifies, since I didn't technically say where it is. But the "snowflake-skinned sigh" is a reference to Alaska, where I grew up, and the "burn her memories" part is a reference to Idaho, where I live now.
EDIT 11/02/13: Changed "plays" to "playing" and took off the last two lines for impact.
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I absolutely adore "snowflake-skinned sigh."