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Literature Text
She traces her fingers around the palm of his hand and he says something she can't hear. She wants to paint his nails a dark color or follow his veins down to the place where the drum inside him beats like a giant behind a cage. And where they sit, the Friday night lights make his hair look dark, and they make shadows beneath his chin. His clavicle. He smells like cinnamon. Insecurity.
He leans his chin on her head and she can feel his lips in her hair. I love you. The heels of their feet bounce off the concrete ledge. His sweatshirt is too big for her.
She touches his jaw with her fingers and she can feel those tiny hairs, the smoothness of skin. He tastes cold and she likes it. Through his shirt and skin she can hear that he's alive. Pulsing. He's warm. I'm finally not alone.
His fingers touch hers and he traces her patterns. Nails. Skin. Joints. Chest to shoulder. Leg over leg. Heads filled with clouds of afternoon rain. They fit like folded fingers and they'd sleep but they can't. She breathes. And so does he. We fit.
They do.
He leans his chin on her head and she can feel his lips in her hair. I love you. The heels of their feet bounce off the concrete ledge. His sweatshirt is too big for her.
She touches his jaw with her fingers and she can feel those tiny hairs, the smoothness of skin. He tastes cold and she likes it. Through his shirt and skin she can hear that he's alive. Pulsing. He's warm. I'm finally not alone.
His fingers touch hers and he traces her patterns. Nails. Skin. Joints. Chest to shoulder. Leg over leg. Heads filled with clouds of afternoon rain. They fit like folded fingers and they'd sleep but they can't. She breathes. And so does he. We fit.
They do.
Literature
unmapped
i know not where
to begin. the stares
are careless, the stars
couldn't care less,
and the world won't wait
(to spin),
while i catch my breath.
there is no space
in air to take the sky
for a ride in the water,
but i am still
enthralled by
opportunities afforded -
rapt
at each strange path
to be progressed.
we write backward ways
to overlay our inky feet,
these prints too deep to keep
receipt of old transgression.
of misplaced blessings.
of miracles abandoned,
now blooming
on the vine.
you are wrapped around
a finger of flowers
and colour speaks louder,
but by nature
every gesture
of your ghost-shape
is divine.
Literature
Carpe Diem
I have set those free, who I do not need,
In order to get a tighter grasp on those I do.
I have gone down roads without destinations,
To accidentally stumble upon heaven, and bits of hell.
Miles of concrete gobbled up by underbellies of cold machines,
And at my lowest points, I have counted my blessings.
I am okay with loss now.
I am okay with picking up the pieces.
And I am definitely okay with trying.
Minutes and hours have passed where I have felt nothing but content inside this heart,
And in that,
I am okay with crossing out calendar days, which held moments of despair.
Because I have realized:
After the storms have passed, a
Literature
reasons you should listen.
i. because you are the reason
i want to give up
sometimes. because i'll never be
as wonderful as you, and i
feel like a piece of nothing compared to you. but
you are the one holding my hand
and pushing me forward, gently,
and suddenly,
you are the reason
i keep trying.
ii. because i don't speak
often. because this
is a piece of me
i'm afraid to show.
iii. have you ever felt
like giving up? like
you're the gum stuck
on someone's shoe, and they
only want to be rid of you?
have you ever broken down
just because it feels like
no one cares?
because if you ever do,
i'll be there for you.
i promise.
iv. because i need yo
Suggested Collections
Yes we do.
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Hey, if you like writing, you can join this club, it's a literature club for both prose and poetry, so you can get your work out to a larger audience!
This is the account, and I'm trying to find more people to join the club. If you want to join, see the club page.
This is the account, and I'm trying to find more people to join the club. If you want to join, see the club page.