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Literature Text
A gown of silk, flowing as a stream,
Her footsteps so gentle, perhaps she was a dream,
As he crouches near bushes to glare at the unseen,
And she danced like ballerina.
Her fingers combed her golden hair,
A perfect lady who didn't care
To see the man that would never dare
To touch a ballerina.
But desire grew, and patience died,
As a lovely girl danced before his eyes,
So he buried his heart, pulled out a knife,
And tickled the ballerina.
She fought his hands, in fear of death,
A dirty blade sinking through her chest,
For he would never settle for something less,
As she screamed,
She cried,
She took her final breath...
And the wind grew calm, barely blowing on the stream.
Her voice so quiet (perhaps it was a dream).
As he closes his eyes, cradling his queen...
His beautiful ballerina.
Her footsteps so gentle, perhaps she was a dream,
As he crouches near bushes to glare at the unseen,
And she danced like ballerina.
Her fingers combed her golden hair,
A perfect lady who didn't care
To see the man that would never dare
To touch a ballerina.
But desire grew, and patience died,
As a lovely girl danced before his eyes,
So he buried his heart, pulled out a knife,
And tickled the ballerina.
She fought his hands, in fear of death,
A dirty blade sinking through her chest,
For he would never settle for something less,
As she screamed,
She cried,
She took her final breath...
And the wind grew calm, barely blowing on the stream.
Her voice so quiet (perhaps it was a dream).
As he closes his eyes, cradling his queen...
His beautiful ballerina.
Literature
This is love
In this empty room
We stand together
In silence
In the darkness
Our shattered hearts
Bleeding together as one
While the blood runs
Through our cold skin
This is what love is like
Two broken people
Sharing their pain
Merging their empty souls
We forget about the world
Because we live in a world of our own
United as one
In an illusion of happiness
Literature
Pink
the boys gestured and jeered
‘what happened?’
‘what’d you do to your hair?’
‘boys won’t like you now.’
she turned away, smiling all the while
head shaved and pink scarf in place
‘because it’s too hot’
‘I want a fresh start’
‘I never liked my long hair anyways’
but at home she cries
though the tears won’t fall
because it was shave
or watch it fall out
no one comments on the lost weight
or the bags gathering under her eyes
for she hides it with pink clothes and makeup
chemo starts she throws up in school
the teachers send her home, but her paren
Literature
how to become a writer.
don't.
stay away from
pencils and pens.
don't look
at keyboards
or at blank pages
of notebook paper.
don't submit
to the emerald sigh of
vellichor,
the shredded sheets
of everything,
everything you've worked
your whole life to run away from.
don't live in the moment.
let love and fear float by,
just a skimming whisper,
because a whisper
is better than nothing.
a whisper is better
than the brittle falling-apart
of kairosclerosis.
suffer from catoptric tristesse,
but don't think about it
(for too long, anyways.)
look at the mirror
but never look yourself
in the eye,
because who knows what you've become?
don't write what you're feeling.
y
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So yeah. Haha creepy stuff man, creepy stuff.
Comments are appreciated <3 Love you all!
© 2014 - 2024 MikkiMarie
Comments26
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it's a beautiful story, i love it. it's unique and strange, without the everyday happy ending.
my suggestion would be to make it more intense. i got a lot of emotion from it, but that could've been because i thought deeply about it while reading it. maybe adding a little more tension or using some more intense language would help the poem live and breath on it's own, without the reader digging for it.
the rhyme and meter pattern worked really well, i love how the whole thing flowed. i also like the ending of ballerina each time for the first few stanzas.
loved it over all, the rhyme and meter pattern are a nice touch, and the story was beautiful.