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Literature Text
the horizon is strung together from ships lit like lanterns
swaying to the same night-rhythm as the stars
backandforth, backandforth
a lullaby, a cradle.
there are little faces peeping out from behind the windowpanes
sweaty palms on smudged glass,
sneaking out long after bedtime, whispering sea shanties like prayers;
they were born with "wanderlust" written in their hearts.
they want the waves beneath their feet
or the sky clutched in their palms;
they want the world to open up for them,
to split the horizon seam from seam
as they move and dance and dream cross-continental,
seas and skies apart,
as they look for home,
the one place they never find.
but there is one who skirts the window
whose restless fingers and twitching heart
don't swell for saltwater and motion.
there is one who cannot stay on the ground
who instead spends his time climbing trees, scaling roofs,
spraining ankles and fighting gravity,
who spends his nights chasing the stars with wide eyes
content not with lanterns that pepper the distance
but only with sprinklings of lights that split the sky open,
lights that break hearts,
lights that have seen the beginning and ending of everything,
who are the only ones that know the way home.
swaying to the same night-rhythm as the stars
backandforth, backandforth
a lullaby, a cradle.
there are little faces peeping out from behind the windowpanes
sweaty palms on smudged glass,
sneaking out long after bedtime, whispering sea shanties like prayers;
they were born with "wanderlust" written in their hearts.
they want the waves beneath their feet
or the sky clutched in their palms;
they want the world to open up for them,
to split the horizon seam from seam
as they move and dance and dream cross-continental,
seas and skies apart,
as they look for home,
the one place they never find.
but there is one who skirts the window
whose restless fingers and twitching heart
don't swell for saltwater and motion.
there is one who cannot stay on the ground
who instead spends his time climbing trees, scaling roofs,
spraining ankles and fighting gravity,
who spends his nights chasing the stars with wide eyes
content not with lanterns that pepper the distance
but only with sprinklings of lights that split the sky open,
lights that break hearts,
lights that have seen the beginning and ending of everything,
who are the only ones that know the way home.
Literature
welcome to the real world
1. if someone invites you back to their place
for coffee, and you only drink tea,
don’t stress:
you probably won’t actually be drinking coffee.
2. when the creepy guy from work asks you out
again and you think about accepting for the first
time because you’re sick of going home alone and
you have never learned how to say no, don’t. learn.
stand in front of the mirror until you love yourself
enough for your skin to fit snug on your body. read
about the hundreds of millions of planets out in the
hundreds of millions of galaxies and feel so crowded
that you’re about to burst all over again.
3. you’re gonna
Literature
how you can manage to know so much
she's barely an inch taller - but still taller -
squinting at the horizon line and heaving tobacco smoke
through resin coated lungs that should belong to a
fourty three year old smoker, not an eighteen year old
graduate
she laughs the loudest when others cast glances
and hushed whispers
and never misses the chance to tell you
she couldn't possibly give less
of a shit
she likes convenience store mints;
the round white ones you'd find
at the bottom of grandma's purse that tasted like
dust and chemically sweetened perfume,
and home
she went to a school where "dyke"
was spat like poison at her feet
but knew exactly what to say when three
Literature
Lessons for Today
Today in math class, they would be learning how to factor quadratic equations. Miss Gracie, called Mrs. G by her students, knew this because she had the lesson planned out meticulously across three-and-a-half sheets of college-ruled notebook paper, which sat neatly in a folder before her. She knew because, like with all her lessons, she had recited it in front of her dressing mirror last night, right before bed.
She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes left until class. Its tick, tick, tick was the only sound in the room.
She looked around the room. Nothing but the equation charts that she covered with long sheets of colored paper during tests
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this was a july 14 quick write. i really like it!
© 2014 - 2024 straybutterflies
Comments1
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very good reason to like it, it's awesome, as is everything you write <3