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Literature Text
life seems to want to laugh in my face
as I am stuck –
like a cloud strung up in the sky –
and all I can see are my memories, ruined
stars in the night,
.
I wish I could help you
but anything you mention of it
causes shivers to rise at the back of my neck and
nevermind,
it's too selfish to tell you.
.
you were who inspired me to get better –
and now you're who's unseeingly tempting me back.
along with the rest of the world,
of course:
.
the sky sometimes makes me feel so trapped –
we're all ants beneath a blanket,
squirming to free themselves as it lowers
and suffocates everyone
in their own personal hell that somehow resembles
everyone else's,
.
when you think about it,
is it worth it?
is it worth the hunger and the people you'll
hurt unintentionally
and the fatigue and the health problems that
come later,
and death, when you can't heal?
.
I remember the beauty of the shadows
between my rib bones, behind my collarbone,
the juts right up the middle of my back –
.
and I miss it.
.
it crawls up my throat like the bile when
you really shouldn't be throwing up,
and it burns,
and it hurts like someone's driving drills through
my brain.
.
I'm a hypocrite, a dirty lying hypocrite,
just like he said –
.
I wish you didn't feel like this too –
I don't want you to end up like me,
selfishly vain
and blind,
addicted to bad habits and harmful ideas –
because I love who you are
right now.
.
this is too familiar.
as I am stuck –
like a cloud strung up in the sky –
and all I can see are my memories, ruined
stars in the night,
.
I wish I could help you
but anything you mention of it
causes shivers to rise at the back of my neck and
nevermind,
it's too selfish to tell you.
.
you were who inspired me to get better –
and now you're who's unseeingly tempting me back.
along with the rest of the world,
of course:
.
the sky sometimes makes me feel so trapped –
we're all ants beneath a blanket,
squirming to free themselves as it lowers
and suffocates everyone
in their own personal hell that somehow resembles
everyone else's,
.
when you think about it,
is it worth it?
is it worth the hunger and the people you'll
hurt unintentionally
and the fatigue and the health problems that
come later,
and death, when you can't heal?
.
I remember the beauty of the shadows
between my rib bones, behind my collarbone,
the juts right up the middle of my back –
.
and I miss it.
.
it crawls up my throat like the bile when
you really shouldn't be throwing up,
and it burns,
and it hurts like someone's driving drills through
my brain.
.
I'm a hypocrite, a dirty lying hypocrite,
just like he said –
.
I wish you didn't feel like this too –
I don't want you to end up like me,
selfishly vain
and blind,
addicted to bad habits and harmful ideas –
because I love who you are
right now.
.
this is too familiar.
Literature
on the cusp
it is just that when i let go of you
when i let go
it's hard to remain that perfect without you.
--
the in-between of love, buds- so full of potential
our love is written in whispers on the pages
of a book which has not yet been opened.
--
that day, the sun had erased the last lines
of an unforgiving winter from my skin, i was renewed
olive skinned and feeling as if i had just fled the eternal
garden naked as i came- free, fallen.
--
the sky was dark;
nothing but the blood red smile of the moon
cut through the transient darkness of the night.
Literature
notesleep
playing my emphases like harp strings
your voice smokes thru the oaken bramble
pour a carbonated apology, a sun-stained
mile marked envelope, two ill-fitted birds,
hands small holes right before a rush of river
what it feels like being swallowed from the outside
crushing rings into truth serum, pretend
to be out of tune with that deception
I have been unable to parse my own persona
a pink cotton voice I remember thru the phone
I remember because it formed me into a granary
one crop after another of patriarchal idioms
whisper my secrets so softly into a glint of red hair
a saucer-eyed lace pattern cut into pine paper
I practice radical self lo
Literature
Anonymity
Confusion.
Forgotten access
memories of another person
another year
another moment
in time.
Suggested Collections
I don't know what to do.
© 2012 - 2024 jikivigoig
Comments6
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"I remember the beauty of the shadows
between my rib bones, behind my collarbone,
the juts right up the middle of my back –
.
and I miss it.
.
it crawls up my throat like the bile when
you really shouldn't be throwing up,
and it burns,
and it hurts like someone's driving drills through
my brain."
Great writing here.
between my rib bones, behind my collarbone,
the juts right up the middle of my back –
.
and I miss it.
.
it crawls up my throat like the bile when
you really shouldn't be throwing up,
and it burns,
and it hurts like someone's driving drills through
my brain."
Great writing here.