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Literature Text
radio waves kiss metal tips, songs stuck in static—
lullabies to star children, or a chorus of planets
filling up the empty space around them with sound
as comets dance along—a man with wires in his
teeth adjusts the chrome antennae atop his head
and listens to the whispers of foreign worlds:
saturn's rings, celebrations, babes cooing through
dreams of sugar plum mountains and peppermint
along the highway lives a girl whose mother died
the day she was born, with eyes as fierce as
her father's—she lives for the moments the man
drives by in his pickup truck and lets the music of
mars waft through the air like the smell of flowers
in spring; it helps her forget the winter in her ribs,
along the left side, an icy patch colder than pluto
when it was burned by beady-eyed scientists
lullabies to star children, or a chorus of planets
filling up the empty space around them with sound
as comets dance along—a man with wires in his
teeth adjusts the chrome antennae atop his head
and listens to the whispers of foreign worlds:
saturn's rings, celebrations, babes cooing through
dreams of sugar plum mountains and peppermint
along the highway lives a girl whose mother died
the day she was born, with eyes as fierce as
her father's—she lives for the moments the man
drives by in his pickup truck and lets the music of
mars waft through the air like the smell of flowers
in spring; it helps her forget the winter in her ribs,
along the left side, an icy patch colder than pluto
when it was burned by beady-eyed scientists
Literature
.
i trusted you with my porcelain collarbones
and you laid the shards you shattered
across the freezing floor,
in an attempt to put me back together.
but you know, you know,
that masking the once-beautiful parts of me
with rushed and careless taping
won't make me any less broken.
Literature
Satellite
Satellite
Tonight, I finished a roll of toilet paper
that I had started
a month, 8 days,
two hours, and 21 minutes ago.
Its genesis, June 11th,
one of the worst nights of my life,
I took a roll from my small bathroom,
and silently tucked it under my arm.
I couldn't let my girls know.
They couldn't know
I was going to use this as my broom.
They couldn't know
that I swept my shattered heart
under my bed.
And I wept.
My pillow taking my abuse,
my suffocation and my attacks.
My fingers squeezing it for dear life
and my knuckles as I punched it,
imagining it was her.
Then hugging it.
And crying.
I only cried that hard
when I was about
Literature
.
you are a moon,
a shining beacon
that i cannot reach
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Gorgeous!