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Tori Hart Oct 2014
I wish I could rip out my vocal cords
And string them to a violin

But the tune would be shrill and painful
And just not beautiful at all

Or I could pull out
The veins of my wrist
And strum them on a guitar

But they would groan and strain
Into each key change
Because it seems my pain isn't
Good Enough
To make a Beautifully Melancholy Chorus.
Tori Hart Sep 2014
It’s so easy
          to feel isolated
                    in this World.

When I get
          in that place
                    of loneliness

I listen to a record
           from my father’s old collection
                    from college.

                                                       ­                                               And I here them
                                                          ­                        I can feel them
                                                            ­                  gathered around

                                                         ­                                              With their beers
                                                           ­                             talking of hot girls
                                                           ­            with big, bouncy curls

                                                          ­                                        And for a moment
                                                          ­                           just a small moment
                                                          ­                I don’t feel so lonely.
Tori Hart May 2014
In a short 24 hours
We transition from
Condemning the lack of
gun control
Shouting cries of
Murderous misogyny
Lamenting over lost souls
and Never Forgotten
Players in our Facebook Novels.

In one day
We switch to watching
Glitzy action films
Of men in tight suits
Saving individuals
Quickly forgotten.
Because we are reassured that
At least one is safe.

But not until after
We see 20 minutes
At least
Of destruction
of Innocents
Screaming and running
in Terror
Fearing for their lives
From a madman on his
immediately forgotten.

And we are uneffected.
We do not mourn over these
Despite seeing them die
We are unaffected and Entertained
Before our very eyes
We saw them.
And we forgot them.

They are not mentioned
They are not remembered
And they are not Lamented
In our Facebook Novels.
Despite the fact that
We Know
These tragedies actually happen.
My heart aches and cries for what has happened in California, and the innocent lives affected. I pray so fervently for the peace and comfort of all families and friends affected. I now know I can't even stomach seeing an action movie. Probably not ever again.
Tori Hart May 2014
You sat on the other end of the table
Glistening, shining, and taunting me
Rosy cheeks with spurts of Yellow and Green
Silently teasing
A juicy, little Apple.
Hopefully no one would see me, no one would pay any attention
As I grabbed the treat and the knife
And began to dangerously peel.
I knew I was doing it wrong
My hands shaking while my cheeks began to flush
Embarrassed by my ignorant inadequacy.
Are you left-handed? she asked from my left.
Humiliation filled the corners of my eyes, wet and distraught.
No, I mumbled. My cheeks reflecting Mose's Red Sea.
I was beginning to drown.
Your thumb needs to move, You make me nervous,
and she sounded nervous indeed.
Put it down here. Help yourself control it. Guide it.
Everyone was staring now, the whole table awed
My ignorance showing, like a medallion at my chest
My shameful Apple as pathetic proof.
You're doing it wrong.
Non così. Basta, faccio io.
Let me do it.
You're about to graduate, and you can't peel an apple.
I began choking, drowning in tears of Humiliation.
No, let her do it the small Voice on my left said.
She is finding her way. Let me watch her.
I finished peeling the Apple
Suffocating my tears as I ate.
You remind me of Daisy, she said soon after
From The Great Gatsby.
I choked and laughed, more ashamed than ever.
I'm not sure that is a compliment.
I could barely muster a mumble.
She couldn't do anything by herself.
She looked at me, gentle and forgiving.
I think it is, she replied
Wistful and Wise.
Daisy was vital to the story, you know.
And I believe that given the chance, she could have done anything that she wanted
*On her own.
"Sbagliando, si impara."
Tori Hart Feb 2014
i don't quite mi ricordo come scrivere anymore
imparando una lingua nuova mixes words together
Like Zuppa
mushed, soggy, and clouded
non voglio palare in inglese
solo italiano così posso imparare
my penso con inglese
i curse con inglese
i write in this limbo
a world in between two languages
the Purgatory of being Bilingual
ma io non sono Bilingue Veramente.
Tori Hart Jan 2014
Bodies soar through Outerpace
Kissing their stars though a little too far to Taste
The Milky Way fell like Silk waterfalling down our Shoulders
Delicate, Light, and Slick
We are in our own Solar System
Flying circles around our Radiating Sun
As we whisper Buonanotte to that Eternal Night
We shout Buongiorno to the Beautiful new Day.
Tori Hart Dec 2013
The young man sits
Back straight and
Eyes down
Drumming his fingers against the table
Crisply timed and evenly marked
Changing meters
with Dancing Fingers
his Timely Beat-ers
Strike the table's Sound.

Then adding feet
To the Steady Beat
Gaining speed
His mind is Freed

No one can catch him
His Spirit long gone
And is dancing to his
Beating Song.
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