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Literature Text
hiding leaves beneath my tongue
i circle prey like a whirlpool
and keep lyrics under the stairs
every night.
i hear your playful wallows bringing sores
to the roof of your mouth from here
my heaven
numbers and letters in an epitaph,
mangling sweet stairs.
i wish you wouldn't waltz down here
but you always do, seeing him out
the door and decorating the room
with your smile.
then i imagine all of you blood red
and laugh myself to sleep,
singing like a bird exposed to winter
dreaming of stealing you with
the mouth of the fox,
your staircase body climbing
into my stomach.
your wallows would bubble up
and transform my laughter beautiful
i'd escape to the place beneath the stairs.
in love with all the graves i've set,
i'll never let you free.
i circle prey like a whirlpool
and keep lyrics under the stairs
every night.
i hear your playful wallows bringing sores
to the roof of your mouth from here
my heaven
numbers and letters in an epitaph,
mangling sweet stairs.
i wish you wouldn't waltz down here
but you always do, seeing him out
the door and decorating the room
with your smile.
then i imagine all of you blood red
and laugh myself to sleep,
singing like a bird exposed to winter
dreaming of stealing you with
the mouth of the fox,
your staircase body climbing
into my stomach.
your wallows would bubble up
and transform my laughter beautiful
i'd escape to the place beneath the stairs.
in love with all the graves i've set,
i'll never let you free.
Literature
Pretty
No doctor, no surgeon, no orthodonist, or mortician can make us pretty.
Only we can make ourselves pretty.
Granted, it will take a hell of a lot more than scalpels and wires and plastic and paint and a fistful of bills and self-loathing.
Something a little more powerful than a double-degree in medicine and disdain.
Something rarely found in the scraped and sculpted bones of souls sold to appease the masses.
A little love, self-appreciation, and the realization that that face, that body, those 'flaws' in the mirror are not who we are, but instead what prevent us from being that person we long to be.
Literature
Your voice is beautiful
Kissing my sternum,
my torso becomes
like neon lights,
warmth vibrates
and my spine aligns
perfectly with the
sun that comes up
just above your
tasseled hair.
Just one more breath
above my collar bone
and maybe I'll part
my lips as they
tremble to the
harmonies your
fingers make against them.
Don't stop singing with me.
Perhaps you should
align yourself to
the moon with me tonight
and your eyes can match
the twinkles in the sky.
Literature
PRETTY LIES
Candles and vanilla smoke whispered between us,
filling the room with words we dared not speak too much,
but the feelings were there trembling beneath our skin,
we knew that something so sweetly felt could not be a sin.
I could not deny the tender fluttering of my heart
when with you my love grew, it refused to depart,
and the butterflies that quickened inside were my unrest
as I craved your touch strong against my soft breast.
So my lips brushed your cheek, a kiss drew your embrace
about me, still innocent to intimacy my pulse raced,
to be accepted and the feelings I finally expressed,
free from being Rejection's whore again, my l
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Gorgeous. There's an emotion to it that doesn't have a name.