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Literature Text
bury me in the folds of first-and-only-love
line my coffin with ribbons of photos soaked in rose-tinted nostalgia
poor strange, fleeting thing-
let distant memories be a fitting eulogy,
tombstone rooted deep in my crumbling hometown where no one will lay flowers at its stony feet
i left my heart in minnesota;
allowed its ashes to kiss lake superior and get swept up in the current
this death has come in waves
the sun can't reach me six feet underground
i have been cold, blue-lipped for months
line my coffin with ribbons of photos soaked in rose-tinted nostalgia
poor strange, fleeting thing-
let distant memories be a fitting eulogy,
tombstone rooted deep in my crumbling hometown where no one will lay flowers at its stony feet
i left my heart in minnesota;
allowed its ashes to kiss lake superior and get swept up in the current
this death has come in waves
the sun can't reach me six feet underground
i have been cold, blue-lipped for months
Literature
Why do I care when she doesn't talk to me?
Why do I care when she doesn't talk to me? It's not like it matters, it's not like it's hurting me...
Well, no, maybe that isn't true. It is hurting me. Why does it hurt me? It shouldn't matter that she isn't talking to me. It's not a big deal. It's not like she's ignoring me...
What if she's ignoring me? Is she ignoring me? She tells me she's busy. I believe her I really do, but there's always this part of me that tells me I'm just annoying. Why would someone want to talk to me? I'm not good enough...
I'm never good enough. I push myself, put so much pressure on myself. People tell me I'm good at things, but I can't see it. I can't belie
Literature
Good Night
it started with “good night”
and the way you stopped saying it
and I told myself it was because
you were too tired
too weary
too worn
and I made it okay
then I stopped being your “good morning”
and everyone else saw you first
and I told myself it was because
you were too busy
too popular
too distracted
and I made it okay
now it ends with “good bye”
and it's not a cry for attention or a ploy for your love
you can tell yourself it's because
I'm too needy
too jealous
too much
but I gotta make it, okay?
Literature
Silence Kills
I don't want to know me,
I don't want to make a sound.
Let's pretend I've stopped existing
and start breaking ground.
You can dig this hole for me,
even though I'm nowhere to be found.
You are the only one who can finish this,
though I'll never admit you were the only one keeping me around.
I don't want to hurt you anymore,
so go ahead and put me to rest.
Let's bury my body
and put denial to the test.
Who is this girl you knew?
Where is she?
She drowned on her own words
and now you're free.
Look me in the eye
as you lower me down.
I'll never stop being the one
who let you drown.
Forget me
for I'll not make a sound.
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Comments6
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There's something I really like about this poem, and there are some fantastic images here too - particularly the first two lines in each stanza. The only line I think might need some tweaking is "tombstone rooted deep in my crumbling hometown where no one will lay flowers at its stony feet." It reads, and looks, a little long. I think a rephrase might sharpen this image a little, maybe something like "tombstone rooted deep in my crumbling hometown; no-one will leave flowers here" or something like that? Regardless, a great piece with a killer final line! 