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Literature Text
i.
the first time we met, you talked about makeup, what color you were dying your hair next week, and if god was just a concept of desirable traits that we use to find comfort in something bigger than ourselves. i marveled at the galaxy of your words, letters shooting out like stars. i exchanged my bible for a telescope that night.
ii.
our third conversation, you told me you never kissed anyone because lips held power and yours were too busy turning broken glass into poetry. all i could think about was stained glass windows painted the exact shade of your lips after being pressed against for too long.
iii.
seven conversations later, you said you liked people all the same but not enough to stick around long enough for any of them. boys and girls pulled hair all the same and you hated being held back. i started washing my hands with your shampoo after that.
iv.
i lost track of time when we got drunk together. you didn’t say anything but let me hold you, tracing into my ribs 'you'll miss this, this is all you'll think about, i'm under your skin now'. my nightmares are about losing that night.
v.
our last conversation was broken syllables with too many exclamation points and not enough of you to feel real. i overheard you talking to someone about clothes, nail polish, and what loving someone broken felt like. i don’t think i felt anything at all.
the first time we met, you talked about makeup, what color you were dying your hair next week, and if god was just a concept of desirable traits that we use to find comfort in something bigger than ourselves. i marveled at the galaxy of your words, letters shooting out like stars. i exchanged my bible for a telescope that night.
ii.
our third conversation, you told me you never kissed anyone because lips held power and yours were too busy turning broken glass into poetry. all i could think about was stained glass windows painted the exact shade of your lips after being pressed against for too long.
iii.
seven conversations later, you said you liked people all the same but not enough to stick around long enough for any of them. boys and girls pulled hair all the same and you hated being held back. i started washing my hands with your shampoo after that.
iv.
i lost track of time when we got drunk together. you didn’t say anything but let me hold you, tracing into my ribs 'you'll miss this, this is all you'll think about, i'm under your skin now'. my nightmares are about losing that night.
v.
our last conversation was broken syllables with too many exclamation points and not enough of you to feel real. i overheard you talking to someone about clothes, nail polish, and what loving someone broken felt like. i don’t think i felt anything at all.
Literature
Goodbye
i didn’t fall in love with you
until your skin was already grey and i
had to tell you what the weather was like
since you couldn’t leave your bed.
i didn’t mind long nights in the hospital
because making you laugh brought a warmth
to my cheeks that burnt hotter than a
forest fire, you never laughed at me for blushing
i snuck you in alcohol and forbidden foods
and pushed you around in that rusted wheel chair,
and all the nurses looked at us with
miserable eyes that said more than the doctors
would ever tell me.
naively i thought it was good news
when you said they were sending you home; but
when i saw you strewn across
Literature
The Coffee God
The Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve
Literature
how you can manage to know so much
she's barely an inch taller - but still taller -
squinting at the horizon line and heaving tobacco smoke
through resin coated lungs that should belong to a
fourty three year old smoker, not an eighteen year old
graduate
she laughs the loudest when others cast glances
and hushed whispers
and never misses the chance to tell you
she couldn't possibly give less
of a shit
she likes convenience store mints;
the round white ones you'd find
at the bottom of grandma's purse that tasted like
dust and chemically sweetened perfume,
and home
she went to a school where "dyke"
was spat like poison at her feet
but knew exactly what to say when three
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i don't think you felt anything either.
© 2014 - 2024 allinthen
Comments3
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There's so much emotion and power in your work that it all rubs me raw, but I keep coming back for more all the same. Please don't ever stop writing, I've become quite addicted to your pain.