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Literature Text
'Welcome home,' the guard smirks as he pushes me inside and seals the door. These concrete walls exist for my solitary confinement. No contact. No escape.
The air is stiff. Like the time I'd been to visit my Great Aunt in the nursing home, many years ago. The smell of dust and decay that had tinted every inhale then, would be like fresh air to my lungs now.
A small slit in the wall near the ceiling allows only a sample of sunlight to stretch into my presence. Even when I jump, I can not touch the rays with outstretched hands.
In the summer these walls drip with sweat, and perspiration clings to my torn clothes and flimsy blanket. In the winter these walls pierce me with an icy touch any time I dare to move, the cold confines me closer than my 4x4 square.
I killed him. That's why I am here. The lonely tune of a bird calls from outside. I whistle an answer to my friend as his small body blocks the light from my cell.
If I could go back, I'd do it again. Tiny feathers fall like snow onto my bed as he squeezes through to join me in my room.
If I could go back, I'd do it better.
The air is stiff. Like the time I'd been to visit my Great Aunt in the nursing home, many years ago. The smell of dust and decay that had tinted every inhale then, would be like fresh air to my lungs now.
A small slit in the wall near the ceiling allows only a sample of sunlight to stretch into my presence. Even when I jump, I can not touch the rays with outstretched hands.
In the summer these walls drip with sweat, and perspiration clings to my torn clothes and flimsy blanket. In the winter these walls pierce me with an icy touch any time I dare to move, the cold confines me closer than my 4x4 square.
I killed him. That's why I am here. The lonely tune of a bird calls from outside. I whistle an answer to my friend as his small body blocks the light from my cell.
If I could go back, I'd do it again. Tiny feathers fall like snow onto my bed as he squeezes through to join me in my room.
If I could go back, I'd do it better.
Literature
Sundiver
i.
When I was six a phoenix
tried to drown me.
Underwater I grabbed for fire.
Like Icarus, I was reaching
towards the sun.
I hope he still has
bald spots. I hope he still
cradles searing scars.
He was death,
I was the bird.
ii.
My uncle knows plastic-
wrapped soaps as well
as he knows fine wines.
If he drinks enough,
he thinks it’s love-
carved names rubbing
the silver drain smooth. Diver: 28 days
sweating, ship black against
sea. Like it had been peeled
from amber tongues.
iii.
On my fifteenth birthday, the boy
with stars on his fists and Saturn’s
rings in his eyes told me I was pretty.
It was the first time
anyone had
Literature
They say the one who prays
They say the one who prays receives much more
than whom we pray for, shaping what we want
to what we get. We find a way to pour
the outcomes into candle molds we can't
have fashioned for ourselves. But then we light
the wax and sniff the scent and call us blessed
by blessings in disguise. For what is right
in contexts so complex we cannot test?
For those who say that praying contradicts
free will or undercuts the will to change
injustice, fine. You have no wax, no wicks,
no blessing and no curse, you are the sage.
I pray to sculpt the candle and the mold
and scent with pity earth and heaven's hold.
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
Suggested Collections
Just a sample to get back into the habit of writing again. I do apologize for my frequent absences.
*I'm curious. When you read this, who do you see as the speaking character? Boy? Girl? Perhaps an old geezer? Please comment any thoughts.
*I'm curious. When you read this, who do you see as the speaking character? Boy? Girl? Perhaps an old geezer? Please comment any thoughts.
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Comments2
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that was super dark.....I really liked it, though.Also, I saw a boy.like mid to late twenty's