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bookworminaminidress
American
She Is a pursuer Of Happiness. She Is a tornado And when she pursues Happiness As though It is her lover who loved her enough To let her go, She kicks up **** where **** doesn’t have to be And Happiness Is no longer curled up under her nose, Like treasure Waiting to be discovered. It has scurried away In the calm before the storm. She Is a Perfectionist. She sits here Imagining what it would be like to construct a poem That would turn her reader’s world upside down Or her audience Or herself. Because she needs a change, A dose of anti-gravity, A chance for her toes to dig their tiny graves in the sky And bury themselves. And when she is not satisfied Like right now? She gives up. Though sometimes, She does not give up. And she continues a pattern That we might as well all call Self-Destruction For lack of a better name. And she really does become a ticking time bomb. Let her introduce you to Self-Destruction. Self-Destruction Is the monster in her mirror Who, every time she gets too close, Eats away at her. Self-Destruction Is her fascination with blood And her love of bones. Self-Destruction Is all the stupid things She knows she could do If she couldn’t take it anymore. One day she will sit down on an unsuspecting airplane, And she will blow up. It will start in her head. And her eyes will quiver Until they roll out of their sockets And her neck will shake Until it snaps And her hands will twitch Until they break off And suddenly her head will split in half Her whole body will split in half And the molecules that have defined her for over fifteen years will break apart And her infinite number of atoms Will carry the plane down, down, down And the passengers’ screams won’t be able to lift the plane back up like helium And they’re screaming And they’re screaming And suddenly the ground magnifies in the windows And they’re screaming And And—! She believes it. She believes one day she will lose herself Into the abyss we call life. Snatched away into the wind; One second she is there, And then, She is not.
0
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 8:56 PM UTC
Discovery
She Is a pursuer Of Happiness. She Is a tornado And when she pursues Happiness As though It is her lover who loved her enough To let her go, She kicks up **** where **** doesn’t have to be And Happiness Is no longer curled up under her nose, Like treasure Waiting to be discovered. It has scurried away In the calm before the storm. She Is a Perfectionist. She sits here Imagining what it would be like to construct a poem That would turn her reader’s world upside down Or her audience Or herself. Because she needs a change, A dose of anti-gravity, A chance for her toes to dig their tiny graves in the sky And bury themselves. And when she is not satisfied Like right now? She gives up. Though sometimes, She does not give up. And she continues a pattern That we might as well all call Self-Destruction For lack of a better name. And she really does become a ticking time bomb. Let her introduce you to Self-Destruction. Self-Destruction Is the monster in her mirror Who, every time she gets too close, Eats away at her. Self-Destruction Is her fascination with blood And her love of bones. Self-Destruction Is all the stupid things She knows she could do If she couldn’t take it anymore. One day she will sit down on an unsuspecting airplane, And she will blow up. It will start in her head. And her eyes will quiver Until they roll out of their sockets And her neck will shake Until it snaps And her hands will twitch Until they break off And suddenly her head will split in half Her whole body will split in half And the molecules that have defined her for over fifteen years will break apart And her infinite number of atoms Will carry the plane down, down, down And the passengers’ screams won’t be able to lift the plane back up like helium And they’re screaming And they’re screaming And suddenly the ground magnifies in the windows And they’re screaming And And—! She believes it. She believes one day she will lose herself Into the abyss we call life. Snatched away into the wind; One second she is there, And then, She is not.
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She is a girl With lips that seem a tad too plump And eyelashes that will never be long enough And skin as white as snow. She is a girl Whose doe eyes are definitely hazel But everyone sees them as brown And she hates brown. She is a girl With a contradicting, yet satisfying hair color, though it may vary, Which is never, ever shy of a genuine brown. She is a girl Who can’t place mind over matter And it usually ends up matter minus mind divided by carelessness times anxiety plus self confidence to the negative twenty sixth power. She is a girl.
0
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 8:54 PM UTC
She is a girl
did you know that when you die, your once glassy eyes, who dreamed wild dreams standing tall against the landscape of vivid imagination, see the sun and the stars and all things billions of light years so far into the universe that even god himself can only stop and stare as you leave earth -- your hands outstretched -- like a bird flying -- you hurdle toward heaven headfirst, never once looking back?
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Aug 20, 2011
Aug 20, 2011 at 4:56 PM UTC
to die with no regrets.
lust is a funny thing, it makes me feel two-faced. one moment, i'm calm, sitting there, smiling. the next, i am in your arms, or i am on top of you, and i am something i have never become before.
0
Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 11:48 AM UTC
lust.
we moved fast, rolled with the punches. one moment leads directly into the next and before i know it, your mouth is on mine, and mine on yours. it was my first kiss, and suddenly it became my second third fourth fifth. we probably kissed one thousand times today. and with every one, mounting up to that thousandth one, it felt right, natural. and your last kiss -- i remember that one especially well. a "goodbye," a "we'll do this again sometime." i could feel you wanting more, wishing time would stop, five more minutes, please! and i did, too. is it odd that i still feel your lips on mine, your tongue gliding along my tongue? your hands caressing me, in my hair, along my back, my hips, my face? i will never forget how we built up to the ****** our noses touching playfully, and suddenly we know it is the time and the time is right. we kiss. i chuckle. we kiss again. an endless pattern -- i hope i didn't annoy you. i still feel your arms around me, and i am snuggled into your neck and i am up on my tippy toes to kiss you. it's like a ghost. it makes me want to cry. please, before we are done, let's make it one billion kisses.
0
Aug 8, 2011
Aug 8, 2011 at 8:14 PM UTC
one thousand kisses.
i have to remind myself that there will be a day where you will wake up and not love me anymore.
0
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 11:44 PM UTC
Untitled
Georgia. Three years under my feet sat Georgia. She wasn’t my mother, My sister, My aunt, Or my cousin’s best friend’s transgender brother. Georgia Was 59, 425 square miles of home. Family. A place for unconditional love to roam. Georgia Was familiar, Like the smell of my mother’s perfume, Or my oldest family heirloom. Georgia Stretched as wide as she could Until one hand met the ocean And the other held hands with Alabama, Their history together still slightly filled with tension. Georgia Bumped shoulders with South Carolina, Each unaware of the changes that were about to take place A fifteen year long path they could never retrace.
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Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 2:16 PM UTC
Georgia
Long auburn hair bellows behind I’ve got so much to choose from, but I’ll just change my mind. These hazel eyes are the mark of mystery Yeah, once I’m famous, they’ll make some history. Got my pencil tucked ‘hind my ear Life for me ain’t very austere. I’ll leave to where the wind is takin’ me No permanent home, this is what I call free. Gimme music or gimme death. I never knew the taste o’ your breath. But I don’t care. My heart still survived ev’ry freakin’ tear. A notebook under my arm Yeah, y’know I’m worth three times the charm. Let’s keep traveling, c’mon, let’s just get away. Don’t tie me down, ‘cause I’m bound to betray. Gawky, yeah, and not too pretty Dude, sorry, but that’s just me. I’ve got guitars and screaming pounding in my head. This pain doesn’t make me wanna prove my blood is red. Just give me sunshine and a clear blue sky And maybe some o’ that Boston Cream Pie. Some consider me a nerd, but I’m just as clueless as you. Ha, I’ve got way too many library books overdue. There’re some friendships ya just gotta reminisce. See ya somewhere beyond this oceanic abyss.
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Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 2:06 PM UTC
Hello, My Name Is Bianca.
Sensitivity I’m a bruise Not one thing Could excuse The pain I’ve felt The blows you’ve dealt The heartlessness That left me crying.
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Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 1:59 PM UTC
Bruises
If I hold on tight, If I dig my nails in Into my cold hands And never let go. If I squeeze and squeeze, Fists clenched, Knuckles white, I just might be able to contain it. Rewind the disaster, stop the explosion. Keep the glass from shattering And the gases from escaping. Face my head to the midnight sky, Arms at my side, Stay rooted in my spot, The stars reflecting in my eyes. I wonder if people know That there’s a war going on Inside myself Just yards outside their bedroom windows. If they saw what was possible, What could burn down their houses, Crack open their skulls Or tear off their limbs, Would they grab their children, Hide wherever it’s most safe, And pray to God that it all ends soon? A ticking time bomb Is what I am. Does the world end now? Or can I fend it off for a little bit longer?
0
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 1:58 PM UTC
2012