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Literature
biopsy
put me under, cover my face, stuff my lungs with your chemical lies.
if they were to take me apart,
slice open my chest,
peel back the skin keeping me whole,
they would find:
a. one heart, slowly ticking.
(they would not find anything,
but they would have to say they did.
after all, girls can't live without a heart.
they forget that i'm not the first:
a score of girls walking even though
they should have faded long ago.)
b. each rib curved so perfectly,
a shield around my lungs.
(a cage, keeping my breath from bursting
out of my skin. know that this is just me,
held together by nature,
unable to lose control of myself.)
c.
Literature
Ephemeral
1.
i wake up and tear the sun
from the sky like this is a
grade school art project and i
am supposed to share something
worthy of myself-- i think
there is a black hole nestled
betwixt my lonely ribs,
devouring anything alive.
on days like these, my greatest weakness
is weakness and i am my own fatal flaw.
we live by mantras and my ears ring
‘i hate every piece of me’
(he put his head to my chest
and heard me dying;
call me beautiful now)
2.
we are the false ends of sunken
universes, we are pieces of
dead galaxies and you are
stardust, god, you are
beautiful.
i believe that this is all just a dream
by someone with an
Literature
under
this delirium is like
a kiss: momentary,
placid,
and perhaps insidious.
dreams stretch their watery
fingers, listless
and profound, over these
reflections
they twine in my hair,
thread between my fingers
(like flowers, or maybe hope),
and drench my skirts
with lost longing.
look, pre-Raphaelites, Elizabethans,
Victorian women of all ages:
this is what comes
of daring to desire.
stars burst before my eyes,
flowers sprout
in my lungs,
the last ray of light has gone
and my world is black
and blue.
I am gorged and oversoaked
with sleep.
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Comments34
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This is absolutely beautiful. It's incredibly sexy, of course, but I was more caught by the slight thread of unease in the last stanza. Congrats on your DLD!