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Literature Text
Promise yourself
that you will do things
right this time
Swear to yourself that
you really can keep
promises
Tell yourself that you
have what it takes -
that you're only failing
because you aren't
trying hard enough
But repeat to yourself more often that
sometimes it really isn't your fault -
sometimes the teacher is terrible
or you didn't have time to eat
or you were just too tired
to function
Tell yourself that you
know what you're doing.
Tell yourself that you
are prepared to fly
even if your wings are
only half-built
Tell yourself that you'll
finish them
tomorrow
And if you ever catch
yourself breaking down,
god, just don't stop running
or else you'll realize
that your lungs are
starved for oxygen
Just repeat while breathless,
"I am okay. I am okay. I am okay.
I am okay-"
Write across your collarbone:
"I am not trash.
I am enough.
I deserve to be happy.
I am perfect and
nothing needs fixing."
Everything's the fault of
the rest of the world
that you will do things
right this time
Swear to yourself that
you really can keep
promises
Tell yourself that you
have what it takes -
that you're only failing
because you aren't
trying hard enough
But repeat to yourself more often that
sometimes it really isn't your fault -
sometimes the teacher is terrible
or you didn't have time to eat
or you were just too tired
to function
Tell yourself that you
know what you're doing.
Tell yourself that you
are prepared to fly
even if your wings are
only half-built
Tell yourself that you'll
finish them
tomorrow
And if you ever catch
yourself breaking down,
god, just don't stop running
or else you'll realize
that your lungs are
starved for oxygen
Just repeat while breathless,
"I am okay. I am okay. I am okay.
I am okay-"
Write across your collarbone:
"I am not trash.
I am enough.
I deserve to be happy.
I am perfect and
nothing needs fixing."
Everything's the fault of
the rest of the world
Literature
metastasis
nana gave birth at eighteen
and caught cancer at forty-eight,
some summer-worn sunspot
spreading from skin,
first to take her breasts,
then to shake her bones.
forgive me, nana
for what i’ve done:
i will not give birth
at eighteen.
my rite has passed,
this sapling carcinoma
budding in my belly
to be excised from within,
to halt the swell, the warp
of skin and breasts
and bones, the intimate perversion
of flesh.
forgive me, nana
for the blood and the bruising,
for these new-empty hips, for
the air thick with lysol
and grief –
i have done as you did once
at forty-eight,
though melanoma never
had a heartbeat
nor stirred in t
Literature
How to love a poet:
Expect them to be flawed,
a field of wild flowered-
imperfections, sticky
metaphors
& an inability
to speak.
Love them anyway.
Know that when they look at you
they are noticing the little things.
Your smile,
the sound of your voice,
the laugh lines—
bruises.
Know
Literature
how to be my lover
i.
look me in the eyes and count the stars
that you see reflecting in their
faltering irises as my
pupils dilate to show you what’s inside.
ii.
hear the symphony that is my body:
the clicking of my tongue as I pull at
the hem of my shirt,
the silent whispers of my breath as I
exhale my butterflies,
the war drum beating of my heart
as it hangs upon my sleeve.
iii.
feel my hand tucked tightly
between the ridges and gaps
of your calloused palm like a puzzle piece
that doesn’t quite fit.
(leave your fingerprints along my spine
so that I may find you the day
you become lost.)
iv.
taste my name on your
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Comments8
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I liked the poem (I enjoyed the positive spirit of it) but I disagree with the last two lines. Some things, yes, but not every thing