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Literature Text
- eight-year-olds don't understand
death. they don't know why the dog no longer
barks or why the cricket no longer
chirps or why the grasshopper lies still. they were brought
to life believing that we will live forever, yet the world
slams a fist, shows them
forever is never and that they will not believe
in anything so beautiful ever
again.
(they live in laughter
and in love
but sorrow shall fold them into something
so new)
sixteen-year-olds believe in something
after, though they don't quite know
what. they understand the cat didn't tear the feathers from
the bird just for the hell of
it, but for the life of it, and where did that life go?
yet they forget faith as time rolls on
and brush death from their shoulders
like dripping rain.
(they learn you can't stride on a cloud
and fall through childhood
into reality,
heavy)
thirty-two-year-olds forget that
life moves on without the ones you used to love,
and they hate it; they hold on to
rusted photographs and tinted memories gone blind,
yet still they wonder
why so much matters on what it is we
leave behind.
(they work like dogs
to be remembered as something more
than nothing at all - they
don't understand they are so very small)
sixty-four-year-olds remember they smashed
the cricket and never felt
sick over it. they know memories
fade and that's okay; feathers are just as important as
tombstones and the weight
of the world never much mattered anyway.
(and they learn while laughing
with god that the cat
did it just for the hell of it after all)
Literature
a list of things colleges don't want to know
1. i have a cactus named atticus that i bought
on the day i thought i was going to die,
and i never forget to water it, not
even when i forget how it feels
to breathe without my lungs rebelling
against my brain.
2. sometimes talking feels like walking on gravel
in a Georgian summer heat.
i try to keep talking anyway,
and hope that eventually
my voice will lose its softness and grow calluses.
3. once, a man whistled at me
outside of a grocery store from
the safety of his car.
four years later, i still haven’t stopped looking
over my shoulder.
4. i drive too fast and i take turns too sharply
and i never put enough sugar
in my tea
Literature
Everything That I Learned From You
I. Care too much. That's what you're afraid of, right? That when he goes to sleep and all you want to do is touch his hand to remind yourself he's real (for the moment)—you're in too deep. You care too much. You are clinging too tightly and your concern will strangle him. You think that if you tell him how much you love his eyes or you stare too long at his mouth when he talks or fold yourself around him as he sleeps he will leave because the love you put on him is too heavy. But care about him anyway. Love and kindness are too far last in this world. If he pushes you away as you cradle his head in your arms then he does not un
Literature
eulogy (six months after the fact)
last night, i kissed away the memory of you,
woke up this morning with someone else’s hands
tangled in my hair, someone else’s sweat stuck
to my skin, just so that the next time
the grocery clerk asks me how i’m doing,
i can say that i am recovering.
recovering.
like you are a drug, and i was an addict.
like you are a drug, and i have gone half a year
since my last hit.
last night, i let a stranger press his bruises
into my neck and all i thought about
was whether or not you’d call me by my
name if we met each other again.
to be honest, i’m not sure i could get it all
the way out—it’s been too long a
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and they say we are what we leave behind
because somebody's gotta do the leaving
day 16: feathers
This is for yesterday, now that my internet is fully functional once again. c:
because somebody's gotta do the leaving
day 16: feathers
This is for yesterday, now that my internet is fully functional once again. c:
© 2015 - 2024 Khaimin
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Just found this in my inbox and I love it!! Beautiful work!! 