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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
July 5, 2014
"In the simplicity of its words, but subtle strength and raw impact, how you can manage to know so much by alternativemeanings really grabs the reader from the onset and makes for a truly fantastic work of art." (Suggesters Words)
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Literature Text
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 girls
cornered her, knew exactly how to throw her
words like fists
she gets hives from cats and grass and
practically anything outside her door
so she spends most of her time inside,
only leaving to have another
cigarette
she listens to tool and radiohead
and smokes half a joint before bed to help her sleep
but she still doesn't; not for long
and she twitches as her brain drifts in and out of
consciousness
she will tell you if you will listen
accept her head space and back off
just enough for her to breathe
because god she needs to breathe as much as she
possibly can
I do not claim to know her,
after no more than 42 days do I have any idea
why she will drink a bottle of gin like it's water
or why it takes intoxication to show any kind of
affection
but I know what it's like to wake up at 5am
and find her sitting on the floor beside your bed
and in silence watch the sun rise
before going back to sleep
together
and I know what it takes to make her laugh
to stimulate and stir whatever is left
of the emotion she spent years destroying
and how her mouth tastes like fire and loss
and hope
I do not claim to know a lot
but I think I know how to make this beautiful ghost
of a person happy
and that
is enough
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 girls
cornered her, knew exactly how to throw her
words like fists
she gets hives from cats and grass and
practically anything outside her door
so she spends most of her time inside,
only leaving to have another
cigarette
she listens to tool and radiohead
and smokes half a joint before bed to help her sleep
but she still doesn't; not for long
and she twitches as her brain drifts in and out of
consciousness
she will tell you if you will listen
accept her head space and back off
just enough for her to breathe
because god she needs to breathe as much as she
possibly can
I do not claim to know her,
after no more than 42 days do I have any idea
why she will drink a bottle of gin like it's water
or why it takes intoxication to show any kind of
affection
but I know what it's like to wake up at 5am
and find her sitting on the floor beside your bed
and in silence watch the sun rise
before going back to sleep
together
and I know what it takes to make her laugh
to stimulate and stir whatever is left
of the emotion she spent years destroying
and how her mouth tastes like fire and loss
and hope
I do not claim to know a lot
but I think I know how to make this beautiful ghost
of a person happy
and that
is enough
Literature
Paper-Thin Promises
the first time I caught sight of your
glistening, marble eyes,
I decided you disgust me.
I hate you the way I hate perfection:
merciless, like the snap of mantis jaws.
every fact of you is pretentious,
held high like you raise a middle finger.
You, the artist, always sculpting things,
tried to squeeze my malleable heart like white clay
and stash it in your pocket to rattle with stones.
paint me an unflinching self portrait, my dear:
this skyscraper of a boy shaking with anticipation
to build and destroy, build and destroy.
you sink in tooth and talon at first mention of beauty,
love-biting Aphrodite as though you were equals.
you're a statu
Literature
twenty
we kill
the angels
and then ask
why the world
is full of monsters
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
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full title: how you can manage know so much yet nothing at all
I get my best inspiration from other people
I get my best inspiration from other people
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Comments33
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I love how you painted this individual's fragility in a loving and beautiful light.