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Literature Text
I found an old blunt needle and
A bit of thread the color of your name
So I embroidered you onto my heart.
Maybe I should have spent less time outdoors,
Since the sun leeched away the pigment and
Left my stitching faded and fraying.
When I can find a pair of scissors
I will pull out the worn string and wait
For the pattern of punctures to heal.
I hope the scars are faint.
A bit of thread the color of your name
So I embroidered you onto my heart.
Maybe I should have spent less time outdoors,
Since the sun leeched away the pigment and
Left my stitching faded and fraying.
When I can find a pair of scissors
I will pull out the worn string and wait
For the pattern of punctures to heal.
I hope the scars are faint.
Literature
once.
the world was wider, once: strewn bright
and willing to a fingertip's beckoning, riddled
with roads that spilled in breathless wanders
to otherlands of reverie. i remember
the promise i made a wild changeling child
before i bade her hush and say goodnight --
i've not woken her since: she sleeps and i steal
her spun-glass dreams for my garden
of wilt, ever longing to hold
the ghost-dance that spins by their dying light.
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Literature
napowrimo
april 1st
i just sat there
words lodged in my throat
eyes burning with tears that
i wasn't going to let escape
while you broke
into pieces i couldn't fix.
april 2nd
you gave me stained fingertips
the same colour as your belly.
i still dont know if its from
your poorly rolled mentol's
or if its the colour of
the deepest regret
i've ever felt.
april 3rd.
i tried to write this poetically.
with oceans and stars
and metaphors
so large i lose
connection.
but i can't
some things just
aren't poetic.
april 4th.
you're body was
black and blue
but oh god
there was colour.
there was colour.
and colour means life.
right?
even if its clinging on
Literature
She of the throne
first shard
Sometime looking back on this
you know you'll talk of
how you crowned each soiled scrap of me
as you found it with a kiss.
And I know I'll remind you
I remember
your forgiving lips
meeting my chilled, festering flesh.
We'll be lying, but I still want this.
second shard
Come back to me when I am whole.
third shard
When something falls to pieces it shatters
but before you're content thinking me glass
remember I will never be translucent.
fourth shard
I'm drifting through my kingdom
where the sun succumbs, keels over, bleeds out, dies.
When stillness corrodes the earth
I stand waiting, arms outstretched the exact
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This poem was actually inspired more by a craving for sewing than any real emotional angst on my part, oddly enough. But still, it does make me sad to watch relationships disintegrate, romantic or otherwise. I've lost touch with some good friends in the past, and every once in a while I remember them and start feeling nostalgic.
© 2011 - 2024 ella-vere
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