To all the men who didn't see me for what I was by TheGirlOfTomorrow, literature
Literature
To all the men who didn't see me for what I was
Tornadoes never make good shelters -
but he doesn't know that.
So he tries to find
refuge inside of me,
he tries to build a home
out of my bitten bones
with a porch swing
made of whatever
left-over love
someone forgot to take back.
He wants me to be a safe place
to hide away
from a troublesome summer,
but I am not made of light,
and I am not made of beginnings -
everything about me
is a never-ending ending.
Tornadoes never make good shelters -
and he will soon know that.
Remember when we where younger and we planned to travel the world by hot air balloon?
By ourselves
Free of parents, free of rules, free of any God
Freedom!
Then the world turned over like fleeting pages of a calender
minutes to months passing in a blur of color and noise
But we always planned to come home
Someday...
Back to our birth places
with every experience new again.
Our mothers wide eyed and amazed
awe struck at their creations.
Disclaimer: Dating Me by SleepingDonuts, literature
Literature
Disclaimer: Dating Me
Don't date me.
I'm not outgoing.
I'm not confident, although for you I'd try.
I don't know how to act around you,
And I don't know the right things to say.
I'm not the perfect guy,
the dreamboat from romance movies,
Or even the lovable comic-relief nerd.
No.
I'm just me.
I'll try to love you, but please understand my honesty when I say I don't know how.
Romance is a language that has been lost to me,
The way Latin has been lost to the modern world.
So don't expect flowers or chocolate for Valentines,
mainly cause I can't afford it; student loans.
Instead,
I'll listen when you need it.
I'm good at that.
I'll laugh at all your jokes, even the
because we are so stupid,
they think that
our weak hearts whimper
in our uninspired chests,
that our blood pools like sludge in our feet
and fingertips,
that we aim our smiles vapidly
at our front-facing cameras
to capture nothing more than our
narcissism.
because we are so stupid,
they give us no choice
but to fight like dogs for atlas’s position—
unpaid,
but it might look good
on our resume.
(now, because we are so stupid,
we wonder why our backs hurt,
why it’s so hard to enjoy the world
when it’s resting on our shoulders, why
no matter how brilliantly our resumes sparkle,
our phones sit
dead
on our desks.)
but
b
Pencil to paper,
Brush or pen,
A thought unspoken,
A poem unread.
It's no more than a whisper,
Not yet a word said.
Something vague and formless,
To be found and fed.
Something so young,
So rough and undefined,
Keeping it close,
Keeping it confined,
Within the edges of the page,
Not yet to be seen,
It's the greatest secret,
The artist will keep.
Pretty as your words may be,
I know they are not meant for me.
You really want a pretty doll
To live inside your castle walls.
I was not born to be your wife.
I enjoy the simple life.
I am made to sow and reap
And am not a woman for you to keep.
My hands are strong to lift my load.
My feet are made to walk the road.
I am accustomed to free air.
Those in your home find no freedom there.
Keep your dresses and your combs.
I intend to wander and to roam.
I'll make my mark upon this world
And be more than your pretty girl.
My soul will not fade away.
It lives to sing another day.
Someday when I am grey and old,
There will be a
ever since I could
manipulate letters in my head
to form coherent thoughts
I wondered what those white things above me were
shining so bright
pulling so close
yet they were always just out of my reach
but I had hope as long as I believed
that up there somewhere
someone could touch them
and hold them like children
the years passed
I grew older
I hoped I'd never have to face
what was coming to me
years kept passing
I had my highs
and I had my lows
I had my hopes
and had my dreams
I had my rage
and had my grace
but I always looked up to the stars
they would guide me along
on the off-leading trail of life
sitt
She says trusting this much
is like clawing through my skin,
shattering my sternum, and
snapping each rib like pencils
to unearth a thudding fist
pressed between two lungs.
Trusting this much is hammering
myself to a cross like a scarecrow
and screaming, “Take it! Take it all!”
to home-wrecker ravens and expecting
them to land on my shoulders and coo
instead of claw and caw as they always have.
I say trusting this much
is standing naked in soft moonlight,
warm haze of orange street lamps
hanging outside of the shudders
on the midnight blue backdrop.
Trusting this much is spreading
my arms wide and whispering,
“Th
old wives' tale by brokenfragilethings, literature
Literature
old wives' tale
opposites do not attract.
me, with my soft body
does not want your hard
hands, fists around my
throat.
bathtub sunk, i stay
at the bottom and
watch peach bubbles pop
on my skin. your needle-
nails puncture the
fruit of me. suck the
juice from me. water-
logged, i hop on my
left foot. tilt
to shake you from me.
you are vicious and
sharp. the Anger. i am candy
floss, gummy teeth. the Sadness.
you lick your fingers
clean of me
drop my clothes
on the pantry floor.