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christina-murphy
American
stop assuming that i want to be a hero. i want nothing of burning buildings or gold ribbons. i don’t want more— your more is not the kind i need. reward me, instead, with less. when you forget me, forget me to my face. come see, with me, how harrowing humanity can be. spare me please of the plucking, gleaning over by money-stuffed palms, greased-up with thorn-drawn blood: a short bill to pay when building bouquets. share with me please, the price you’ve prescribed for bottom shelf brand human being. what else do I owe? what must I lose to live? or, if it’s easier, to die? — the way i wish: a **** tucked in the crack of old cement, unseen by all but sun and rain. safe and cheap, or free. or free. or free to be, left in my invisibility.
0
Nov 3, 2020
Nov 3, 2020 at 1:13 AM UTC
relief bill
the earth will not ask for attention. but rumble in a mighty silence, move an eternity of clouds and waves to action. make assembly lines of atoms, trembling in their subservient shells, then bathe in the disorder. she will not offer mercy. but bring life desperately to it’s knees, wring it meticulously of all its borrowed magic. and with her bare and calloused hands, spread her prize like blood and honey across the skies, burning brightly in the glorious colors. the earth will not forgo her spinning. but drag every root or claw that clings to her through an infinity of dust and frost. skirting dutifully along the sun’s rays, bound to a thin and treacherous tight rope, gripped like a razor blade wedged into her fist. spilling precious drops of matter, live and dead, like a trail of wet paint across the universe, dancing delightedly in deference to her imminent destruction.
0
Dec 20, 2019
Dec 20, 2019 at 2:19 PM UTC
not with a bang...
it’s feeling colder.                                         outside my window.           inside these              sheets. The steam of the fever dream we      w      a       e                 e       v      d together is            s e t t l i n g on the rug like morning dew. It’s heavy air gets     stuck    inside      m y    throat each time i try to swallow back a memory. But still I               r i  s e         . l i k e  t h e . sun, brighter every day. Making way for oceans                             ~~~~~~                             ~~~~~~~~                            ~~~~~~~~~~ where there once were                                          deserts between my arms, my lips, my legs. Brushing into piles:           the sand         you dragged     in with your boots,                  the                                                    dried up         the                                  flower petals,   parts of me you left behind.      like    *****   laundry.     inside my room.     inside my heart.
0
Dec 20, 2019
Dec 20, 2019 at 2:10 PM UTC
boots
will you fight with me for simpler days-- late night skate, & call-wait -ing up to hear a slurry word and sunsets over skylines overthinking, sinking stomachs through the bathroom floor, one more love note left inside your pocket rips across your sneakers and your jeans on our knees under a streetlight, stealing time from goodnight, glowing in the grown-out kind of confidence i left in 17 when you still believed in beauty and in mine, particularly.
0
Oct 21, 2019
Oct 21, 2019 at 9:41 PM UTC
griptape
you knew that i loved flowers, gave them to me the same way you did promises: in pretty, dying bouquets. a dozen “we’ll be okay”s someday i’d get that quiet house where I can lay my weary bones. and you can lay another lady every time that I’m not home. trimmed the stems down, avoiding each thorn touching only the parts of me that were soft and green like money. “relax. It comes and goes” and so did you, through any willing woman’s clothes. in shiny vases: “anything I could afford, anything for you” any thing that you could get inside because anything is more. and so I got my pretty flower petals covering the floor in a trail that led me to the bed, the only way you knew. always got my pretty flowers, instead of any truth.
0
Oct 21, 2019
Oct 21, 2019 at 8:35 PM UTC
one dozen months of roses
I am growing, sometimes painfully. Sometimes out of molds i spent years shaping, Sometimes, cautiously, into new ones. I am still wearing all of my truths in layers, deciding which ones grip my curves best, and which ones ought instead, to be shed. In spite of all the weights I chose to carry, and all the dark holes I almost made home, I am still climbing. Towards the freest, lightest version of myself, I am still growing. And so should all of us. In the face of everything and everyone that strives to shrink you, choose to grow. Even when it feels like being torn from the inside out, Even when it breaks your heart, Even when it means loss, and change, and chaos, choose, still, to grow. Even if growing means standing still, Even if right here, right now feels comfortable, bask in that comfort, be grateful for the relief it offered you, but rise with the sun, with the 360,000 new babies born each day into a new shot at life, pack up the things you've learned to keep, and go. In whatever small or large way you can manage, grow. Even if it is in ways invisible to others, even if it is a rate so slow it feels like going backwards, when the timing is just right, youll know. Because all of the great big forests on Earth were formed one patient seed at a time, because that time is a gift whose value we often dont understand until it is laid to rest with us at death, because life alone is a miracle, every day you are alive, you should be growing. Because you owe it to the breath that makes you willing, to the trees that keep the lungs inside you filling, to the home the land on which you stand provided, when youve decided to avoid the pain of living, and instead, you slow do so with intent not to let go. With every ounce of strength you know, just grow.
0
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 9:28 PM UTC
mission
I am growing, sometimes painfully. Sometimes out of molds i spent years shaping, Sometimes, cautiously, into new ones. I am still wearing all of my truths in layers, deciding which ones grip my curves best, and which ones ought instead, to be shed. In spite of all the weights I chose to carry, and all the dark holes I almost made home, I am still climbing. Towards the freest, lightest version of myself, I am still growing. And so should all of us. In the face of everything and everyone that strives to shrink you, choose to grow. Even when it feels like being torn from the inside out, Even when it breaks your heart, Even when it means loss, and change, and chaos, choose, still, to grow. Even if growing means standing still, Even if right here, right now feels comfortable, bask in that comfort, be grateful for the relief it offered you, but rise with the sun, with the 360,000 new babies born each day into a new shot at life, pack up the things you've learned to keep, and go. In whatever small or large way you can manage, grow. Even if it is in ways invisible to others, even if it is a rate so slow it feels like going backwards, when the timing is just right, youll know. Because all of the great big forests on Earth were formed one patient seed at a time, because that time is a gift whose value we often dont understand until it is laid to rest with us at death, because life alone is a miracle, every day you are alive, you should be growing. Because you owe it to the breath that makes you willing, to the trees that keep the lungs inside you filling, to the home the land on which you stand provided, when youve decided to avoid the pain of living, and instead, you slow do so with intent not to let go. With every ounce of strength you know, just grow.
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43
she is both blissful and unbearable. she spreads her prettiest and ugliest sides like cards within a deck: and plays them simultaneously. she walks with a heavy and stubborn independence, crowned by a perpetual quest for reassurance that when life’s sweetest lemons are handed to her, she won’t have to taste them alone. she questions everything. it does not mean she won’t believe. she puts herself on a pedestal she usually doesn’t deserve and from which she falls often. she meets any threat to her values, no matter how twisted and illogical they are, with due resistance. she admits she is often still wrong. but offer her the challenge of acceptance—lay your weapons down next to hers— and she will live to show you, over and over, better than you ever saw coming.
0
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 2:01 PM UTC
swords
They never taught us what a smile was worth so I’ve been scrounging all of the earth to get a glimpse of yours I’m sure one world’s still not enough so I’ll get big and I’ll get tough and bring to you the galaxy you’re after. —-anything to soak within your laughter.
0
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC
Nitrous
A lot of people feel like the future— like perfect, painless, new beginnings. And picket-fencey promise. But you. You Feel like 17. and stomach pains and poetry. like the first time. and not knowing yet that this all ends.
0
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 11:39 PM UTC
raphael
it is 2009 again we sneak around like creatures beneath the shadows of the world. and all it's hate and disappointment through all the clouds that rain upon me, you are the sunshine breaking out onto the street. i collect each ray, a purest gold a precious currency you've yet to know. trade in my deepest darkest moments for some closure you are the end of what i thought was starting over. you pick me up and hold me tight like nothing you have ever held before i am like nothing you have ever felt before you are the first and last thing i'd like to remember loving. with a heart that pretends to have never broken, because you piece me back together with nuts and bolts and weld to me your naïveté i am are your new and hidden sin, you are the angel that i caught by accident. you are the hoping and the longing and the rips across my sneakers and my jeans and i glow again in confidence because you still believe in beauty and in mine, particularly. yours are the widest, vastest eyes i've ever drowned within you are like candy and like sea salt and like laundry and i lift up every layer of time to bury you and keep you warm inside. you heal the hurt i used to long for, you are the memory i'm made for weaving dreams into a calmer, clearer head of love before it learned that love was dead.
0
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 8:24 PM UTC
24 karat