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Literature Text
In second grade
The only thing I liked about
Riding the school bus home
Was seeing the pasture by the
Field of wheat whirring by
I remember just grinning at the sight
Of those three glossy Thoroughbred horses
Because they were the only creatures I knew
At the time
That had freedom
The only thing I liked about
Riding the school bus home
Was seeing the pasture by the
Field of wheat whirring by
I remember just grinning at the sight
Of those three glossy Thoroughbred horses
Because they were the only creatures I knew
At the time
That had freedom
Literature
A Confused Adult ft. Descartes
You see, it was easier before Bodies were seen, not Heard. It was easier when our Stick limbs and small Hands were faeries, when Dreams were more real than Reality, when we could be Dragon trainers and princesses and witches and To be something meant to be something In our heads. It was easier before bodies Were, at all, really, Before we grew taller and Wider and out and around and Before our bodies were Seen, not A placeholder for A mind. It was easier when being a mind Meant being an imagination; It was easier when we didn’t have to Read books just to feel Like ourselves Again which really meant To be no one at all Because deep down isn’t that Who we all are? It was easier before Strangers made us Afraid of our own bodies, Reminded us that We are our skin. It was easier before Middle school jokes and Prods and late bloomers and It was easier before Everything was about Being. Seen. It was easier when being a mind Was being at all. But we live in the after. And so we
Literature
better mothers
i wish i could write you out my dreams tell you how arachnids reach and ants crawl up the walls and how i wake up screaming half way across the room so you could tell me i was something more than the symptoms of four letters so you could remind me how to breathe and lead me to where my voice is buried and show me how the world has softer things . how i am a softer thing
Literature
Inevitable
This morning I am tangled sheets clinging to the surface of your sea-salted skin. Marred with bloody knees from falling off the wagon, and I know... I must smell like liquid regret because last night, my cup was always at least half empty. and when you wake up, I will tell you all the ways I have to leave. There will be potholes in my story, and you will eventually describe me as something to be avoided.
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This is actually a true poem. In 2nd grade I hated riding the bus except for seeing the horses
© 2014 - 2024 vicariouspoet
Comments2
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I hope you are free as the horses now