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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
February 16, 2015
it's no longer worth a thousand words by Khaimin offers a poignant view on a common memento.
Featured by SingingFlames
Literature Text
- i took down the pictures; every last
one.
they reminded me too much of the
shapes of my eyes three years
ago, and the way your shoulders
slumped in defeat when you realized the flash was on,
not off.
they reminded me of the books
stacked in towers around our heads, tilting
softly in summer sunlight
drifting through hazy shades of dust, left to pile into
mountains by morning from curious
fingers and a night owl's
howl.
they reminded me of yesterday
and ten yesterdays ago and how
they would never happen again. how even though
we smiled freeze-frame, it never lasted.
everyone wants to think they will
keep themselves forever, and seeing perfect pictures of pretty lives
lost years ago
made me realize: nothing is.
that was the hardest part.
so i took down the pictures, every last
one,
and sent them
down to ashes in a
shoebox that didn't burn as
easily as i'd thought it would.
i would love to say i'm sorry, but -
i'm not.
Literature
obsession
your shadow and I have begun
to argue about sharing space
Literature
Visitor
There is a ghost doing handstands on my front lawn,
wrist-deep in fresh soil. Her hands are birds
in flight.
It's late, but no one comes to take her home.
The pale moon offers a silver smile -
the clouds disapprove.
Too tired to dream, she buries her legs in sky.
Tonight she is invincible, untouchable,
this frail girl beneath the stars
this death in light.
-
There is a ghost doing handstands on my front lawn,
falling to her white knees. Her stare is a pane
of glass.
The eyes of the living are often murky but
the eyes of the gone
are windows.
Literature
i would do anything to get you to love yourself
i know your type, i’ve seen them around here
before, browsing through my poems like
you’re flipping through vinyl records, trying to find
that one disc you were listening to the first time
he leaned over and kissed you.
the only way you’ll ever be able to love yourself
is if he leans over and kisses you again, is if someone
tells you about the seven wonders of your soul, if
someone sits down and writes a list of all your beautiful
fault lines that you’ve never been able to forgive.
you want to love yourself and you want to be loved,
but i know it’s hard to believe that you’re holy,
when your hands still s
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Comments41
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Great poem, misleading title.