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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
June 12, 2014
staggering and struggling by eloquence-fair addresses old topics with new images; as the suggester says, it's "beautiful work".
Featured by ShadowedAcolyte
Suggested by youarelightinthedark
Literature Text
01.
yesterday, i wrote
your name on a slip of paper
and folded it into an origami star.
it hangs on my bonsai tree
(little trees for big
wishes) as a just-in-case hope
for those times when it feels like
absolutely nothing
can make me
happy.
sometimes, when even stars
and little trees aren't
enough to make me happy, i cut
down the paper stars and pretend
that it is a meteorite shower in my
bedroom, but sometimes that
just makes it worse
because i realize
that shooting stars are actually
falling stars;
we are all just stars that have
forgotten the happy-thoughts that
made us fly,
it's just that some of us are blazing and beautiful
before we burn out. and die.
- -
02.
i can write disorderly words with random indents
and call it "poem", and
people will still say
they like it
because we all know
what it's like to be unhappy
and there is nothing
unhappy people like better
than making people
happy.
i can jump over my own leg and
touch my toes if i really try,
but i can't stop being terrible
and i can't stop thinking
i'm terrible.
but i'm trying, really. i'm trying.
- -
03.
cliches are last resorts for poets who
ran out of ideas.
they write things
like how someone has stolen
their heart and taken it somewhere
far far away and now it is
lost.
i like to hold two fingers on my neck
and remind myself that i have
a heart, but sometimes i
just can't make myself trust biology,
because writers never
trust
science.
fact:
beethoven composed without his ears;
i can write without my heart.
yesterday, i wrote
your name on a slip of paper
and folded it into an origami star.
it hangs on my bonsai tree
(little trees for big
wishes) as a just-in-case hope
for those times when it feels like
absolutely nothing
can make me
happy.
sometimes, when even stars
and little trees aren't
enough to make me happy, i cut
down the paper stars and pretend
that it is a meteorite shower in my
bedroom, but sometimes that
just makes it worse
because i realize
that shooting stars are actually
falling stars;
we are all just stars that have
forgotten the happy-thoughts that
made us fly,
it's just that some of us are blazing and beautiful
before we burn out. and die.
- -
02.
i can write disorderly words with random indents
and call it "poem", and
people will still say
they like it
because we all know
what it's like to be unhappy
and there is nothing
unhappy people like better
than making people
happy.
i can jump over my own leg and
touch my toes if i really try,
but i can't stop being terrible
and i can't stop thinking
i'm terrible.
but i'm trying, really. i'm trying.
- -
03.
cliches are last resorts for poets who
ran out of ideas.
they write things
like how someone has stolen
their heart and taken it somewhere
far far away and now it is
lost.
i like to hold two fingers on my neck
and remind myself that i have
a heart, but sometimes i
just can't make myself trust biology,
because writers never
trust
science.
fact:
beethoven composed without his ears;
i can write without my heart.
Literature
Visitor
There is a ghost doing handstands on my front lawn,
wrist-deep in fresh soil. Her hands are birds
in flight.
It's late, but no one comes to take her home.
The pale moon offers a silver smile -
the clouds disapprove.
Too tired to dream, she buries her legs in sky.
Tonight she is invincible, untouchable,
this frail girl beneath the stars
this death in light.
-
There is a ghost doing handstands on my front lawn,
falling to her white knees. Her stare is a pane
of glass.
The eyes of the living are often murky but
the eyes of the gone
are windows.
Literature
welcome to the real world
1. if someone invites you back to their place
for coffee, and you only drink tea,
don’t stress:
you probably won’t actually be drinking coffee.
2. when the creepy guy from work asks you out
again and you think about accepting for the first
time because you’re sick of going home alone and
you have never learned how to say no, don’t. learn.
stand in front of the mirror until you love yourself
enough for your skin to fit snug on your body. read
about the hundreds of millions of planets out in the
hundreds of millions of galaxies and feel so crowded
that you’re about to burst all over again.
3. you’re gonna
Literature
Nine Times
I saw him nine times.
The first time we were both sitting in the room together, getting ready to take the math test that would determine our placement. I was scatterbrained and throwing things around, trying to find the pencils that I had known I would need but had still just tossed in my purse. He was lounging backwards in his chair, looking for all the world as though he didn’t have a single care in the world, including the upcoming test. It annoyed me, that I was frantic and ready to scream, while someone else could be that relaxed.
I tested out of the class.
I don’t know if he did.
The second time I saw him, it was a few m
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jumping rope, double dutch.
won't you ride bikes with me?
i don't know how to write, but i do know how to be honest.
won't you ride bikes with me?
i don't know how to write, but i do know how to be honest.
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Comments56
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That last two lines though, damn