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Literature Text
i will fall alone here
in these silenced streets
and those moonskin knees will be thoroughly scraped,
no one to catch me now.
i oiled the lamps
before i left
i dropped the lamps
before i came
(and the night's cold as the withered flowers i left on my porch)
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Literature
The way we tend to be
Today, I learned
that grief is the highest form of surrender.
I am still learning how to sleep.
but I know the words to every Frank Turner song now,
and I wear them on my shirtsleeves
everywhere I go.
I know that recovery is a long time coming,
but it can't hurt to hope for scar tissue
on more than just skin.
I suppose this is what getting better looks like -
a quiet, fading ache.
reading so many words aloud and wondering
if you are still amenable
to being my friend.
spelling out my own name and
remembering how it feels
to just breathe.
every art page I follow lately
has been telling me
that it's okay to be lonely.
and maybe that works
Literature
The Way I See It
Beyond the train window,
vague impressions of buildings
fly past,
but they might as well be
mountains in Colorado.
I can see Christmas lights
best when they’re tangled;
they’re like fireflies,
glittering
in all their splendor.
A silhouette
is all I need to know
about a person;
I see no blemishes.
I’ve always wondered
why height, weight,
skin color,
or disfigurement
ever mattered to anyone.
We are
perfect
in our imperfections.
You see,
you may see the forest
for the trees,
but I see it
inches at a time,
and though I sometimes
mourn my loss of sight,
I find the world is
wondrous
the way I see it.
Literature
If you're going to be sanctimonious
Awkward bodies are for growing
teenagers, not twenty-four
year old college graduates.
My hips were made to procreate;
my shoulders to carry the weight
of your stares. I’m perfectly fine;
your perception is what’s messed up.
I shave for my own comfort,
not yours. My nails are short
and chewed upon. I don’t
even own a pair of heels;
shackles would be more comfortable.
My hands are scratched
by all the cats I’ve cared for.
I look best in business casual;
slacks, tank, shell. I never remember
my bust size. I own more books
than clothes. My eyes are gold
in the late afternoon sunshine.
I can afford a bland oat
diet an
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runaway, runaway
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© 2014 - 2024 RoseScarlet
Comments18
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If I were to be honest, this is really good! In such a short script you managed to tell a lot of story and leaving many portions for the reader to decide upon. A fine work indeed 