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Literature Text
01.
today a little boy asked me why i had d-d-dentists in my teeth and i told him it was to make my teeth nice and straight and i smiled real wide and he laughed. one day i might tell his mother that his laugh was enough to turn that fake smile into a real one, but then again, i probably won't.
i am the type of girl to laugh all the time so no one will know there's anything wrong, but it's okay, really, there isn't anything wrong. there isn't anything wrong. i am also the type of girl to use my tears to get extensions on projects and sympathy from teachers, who will shake their heads in disapproval but will still add a "+" after the "B" if i cry hard enough. i laugh and tell my friends that they are fake tears and that i'm just a good actor but they're real and i feel really bad for lying, but not so bad because i am a good actor.
02.
i get highs from distorted guitar riffs and heavily synthesized voices. i like to stand beside the speakers at a concert and feel the thumpa-thumpa in the hollows of my chest and pretend the angels have come to take me away. i want to know the name of the pretty lady in my cameo necklace and why she is always looking away. and why she looks so sad.
it is the beautiful that always look sad.
one day, my friend told me she hated dirty floors and i told her i hated gravity. she asked me why and i told her because if there wasn't gravity, we wouldn't need floors, only ceilings, and you said you hated floors. then she nodded and we walked to third period together.
03.
when i am craving pretty words, i can sometimes bring myself to read what i wrote before and i sit in front of my computer and read them with misty eyes, wondering why i can't write beautifully like that anymore. i am losing beautiful aspects of me faster than i can create them and i am scared.
fact: people ask me what my deepest fears are and i reply, being alone, the dark, and being alone in the dark.
next time, if they bother to ask again, i will tell them, abandonment.
today a little boy asked me why i had d-d-dentists in my teeth and i told him it was to make my teeth nice and straight and i smiled real wide and he laughed. one day i might tell his mother that his laugh was enough to turn that fake smile into a real one, but then again, i probably won't.
i am the type of girl to laugh all the time so no one will know there's anything wrong, but it's okay, really, there isn't anything wrong. there isn't anything wrong. i am also the type of girl to use my tears to get extensions on projects and sympathy from teachers, who will shake their heads in disapproval but will still add a "+" after the "B" if i cry hard enough. i laugh and tell my friends that they are fake tears and that i'm just a good actor but they're real and i feel really bad for lying, but not so bad because i am a good actor.
02.
i get highs from distorted guitar riffs and heavily synthesized voices. i like to stand beside the speakers at a concert and feel the thumpa-thumpa in the hollows of my chest and pretend the angels have come to take me away. i want to know the name of the pretty lady in my cameo necklace and why she is always looking away. and why she looks so sad.
it is the beautiful that always look sad.
one day, my friend told me she hated dirty floors and i told her i hated gravity. she asked me why and i told her because if there wasn't gravity, we wouldn't need floors, only ceilings, and you said you hated floors. then she nodded and we walked to third period together.
03.
when i am craving pretty words, i can sometimes bring myself to read what i wrote before and i sit in front of my computer and read them with misty eyes, wondering why i can't write beautifully like that anymore. i am losing beautiful aspects of me faster than i can create them and i am scared.
fact: people ask me what my deepest fears are and i reply, being alone, the dark, and being alone in the dark.
next time, if they bother to ask again, i will tell them, abandonment.
Literature
before
a little while ago
maybe a couple of months or something
i wasn't drinking ; instead i was
waking up to you
every morning you would stretch
and your spine would move and i felt it all over
your skin stretched into the sun and
i saw it everywhere
but guess what, that shit was gold and
gold doesn't last and you didn't last.
i got boring and you got mean.
and you're less of a gypsy and more of
a woman and i know if i called you up tonight
said hey baby come home
how did we get here baby i'm crying on the
floor drinking lime pepsi
and this goddamn pepsi is flat. so why don't
you come home. just for the night.
you would say you h
Literature
The Corkboard
Pictures, phrases, scattered across the corkboard, held in place with plastic pins. The corkboard told a story, and the story was her life. Each scrap of paper captured her, each one a proud representative of who she was, yet they were so blatantly on show. It was as if anyone could see her, know everything about her, with a single glance at the corkboard. Her complications weren't so complicated when you saw the corkboard. All her oddities seemed perfectly normal on the corkboard. The corkboard had a way of doing that making everything organized, simple, orderly. Predictable.
So, she tore down the corkboard. She savaged the scraps of
Literature
iniquitous
i'm fucking sick of this noxious existance. everyone loves me and everyone looks at me the exact same fucking way with their cloudy eyes and straight teeth.
stop fucking
could you please just stop fucking
fuck could you please stop
just stop fucking talking to me
i've already heard every word you're saying and it's gotten to a point where your heart felt confessions that bring you to tears are just echo's off of obsidian cave walls.
i'm bored. not with the people i'm friends with but with humanity. i want to shed my scalded skin and run naked with the wolves, hair knotted something fear and the blood of my prey for facepaint.
i know th
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the soundtrack of my mind is type type type, backspace backspace backspace
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Comments20
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This is great. How much of it is autobiographical?