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Literature Text
a story in five words;
there was a sad girl.
a romance in four words;
she wished for love.
a fairytale in three words;
she found him.
a tragedy in two words;
too young.
a life in one word;
repeat.
there was a sad girl.
[and her name was something no one could recall but everyone could lie that they knew. she loved orange, ordinary and order. she was not pretty in the way that counted.]
a romance in four words;
she wished for love.
[from anyone, really. as long as his eyes were stars that only shined on her. as long as he loved as true as he promised. as long as his smile spoke of possibilities. as long as he dreamed when she didn't want to go to sleep.]
a fairytale in three words;
she found him.
[but he was no prince, no gentleman and no dreamer; he didn't hold doors open for her. most of the time, his grins looked like frowns. he helped her paint heart-shapes on her room door and they turned out lopsided and angular and he laughed till (s)he cried.]
a tragedy in two words;
too young.
[theirs was not love. when they frantically tried to fit two obtuse triangles, doing the things her mother told her not to, they finally figured out that they weren'thearts-wouldn'tfit-weren'tmeanttobe. he said "let's just be friends." and she found that she could say, "why not?"]
a life in one word;
repeat.
Literature
this.
you have shaded eyes quiet smile dark hair love ─
and I could do anything
if it wasn't for you.
collapse the borders on the edge of my vision;
everything's faded out to black shards.
It's cliché and stupid and it won't mean a thing to you, but I know
I won't be able to breathe when you leave tomorrow.
the shield whispering around my skin
was untouchable, I thought, perfect;
no one would be able to get in.
But you passed right through without even trying.
arou
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
a song I sometimes sing
through heavy eyes
this is the picture that I see:
the reflection of my body
that ghost
poor me-
I have to hold her blood
carry her bones
wear her rotting skin
my body sways to the music of the dial tone- the cold metal of the payphone melting into my fingers. the sky is falling into the ocean again, and I am being held with hands made of water.
eyes squinted now
and everything is far away
parents are fighting again
took too much medication again
the same bad dreams
still living in them
even when I wake up
too much
close my eyes and he sneaks into my house but does not let me kiss him. now I'm the one holding- holding with ha
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Very nice, yet sad way of putting things. I love how you structured this.