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Literature Text
dear boy,
why is it that you are always running?
i see you sprint away from the sickeningly picturesque home-studded streets,
away from your cardboard-cutout parents, away from everything,
even me, for that matter.
but as much as the sound of your sneakers against the pavement
has become the pounding of my heartbeat,
there is no way for me to catch up to you.
dear girl,
the way the world comes and goes and comes and goes on the rhythm of my feet
reminds me of how you'd come, but before we'd be entangled you'd be gone,
reminds me of how you'd have slipped from underneath me
into another nook
before my feet found solid ground,
reminds me of how i'd always be
too scared of the dark
to follow.
they say its hide and seek you play,
but i was never one to linger around the dark spots to look for
monsters.
dear boy,
how can i tell you how i feel every time i see the ghosts behind your irises?
no matter how tight my eyes are shut, they don't disappear, and that's when i know
that you're going to leave behind your phantom trails once again,
that even if they cannot vanish, i can,
that i have to hide to find where you run to,
because those are the places that envelope and shelter
like the warm arms of safety i've forgotten how to feel.
sometimes, when i'm alone where nobody else can see,
my memory shuffles through pictures of you running and me hiding,
and as they play over and over like my ipod on repeat,
i cannot say whether it is each other or ourselves that we are trying to lose.
dear girl,
i run because the flashing windows never contain your face anymore.
i run because it makes me feel fast;
maybe fast enough to slip my fingers around your wrist before you're thin air again.
i run to the places that might have caught you,
and from the places i know you are.
sometimes i feel like i just run so my feet might grow tired
so i'll at least grow into something
and if not i might always
run into you.
but it's like trying to get to the end of the rainbow,
every time i feel like i'm getting close you have moved [on] again.
but you're no pot of gold; if you were anything you'd be jeremejevite,
because its see-through shape is so impossible to find.
dear boy,
one day, your footsteps will grow too swift for the rest of your body
and maybe if you stop tripping and wait for me for once,
i could tie your shoelaces and you could tie my heartstrings
so neither of us need fear falling anymore.
we could learn the fleeting, saccharine-less flavor of each other's smile.
we could cry in the thunderstorm so we wouldn't have to differentiate
between the rain and the tears.
we could remember how it feels to be not out of sight.
dear girl,
i tried, i really did,
but i think i might have lost the ability to wait,
might have run so much that i have run out of words,
might have forgotten how to stop and to actually see you,
afraid as i am to come too late to catch you when your fears come true
and the walls that hide you now can no longer keep you from hitting the floor,
so when you finally fall i'll be tripping over the strings that keep me together
to be on time.
when finally the clock strikes stop and we fall
i just hope that
we'll fall in
love
so we can go down together.
why is it that you are always running?
i see you sprint away from the sickeningly picturesque home-studded streets,
away from your cardboard-cutout parents, away from everything,
even me, for that matter.
but as much as the sound of your sneakers against the pavement
has become the pounding of my heartbeat,
there is no way for me to catch up to you.
dear girl,
the way the world comes and goes and comes and goes on the rhythm of my feet
reminds me of how you'd come, but before we'd be entangled you'd be gone,
reminds me of how you'd have slipped from underneath me
into another nook
before my feet found solid ground,
reminds me of how i'd always be
too scared of the dark
to follow.
they say its hide and seek you play,
but i was never one to linger around the dark spots to look for
monsters.
dear boy,
how can i tell you how i feel every time i see the ghosts behind your irises?
no matter how tight my eyes are shut, they don't disappear, and that's when i know
that you're going to leave behind your phantom trails once again,
that even if they cannot vanish, i can,
that i have to hide to find where you run to,
because those are the places that envelope and shelter
like the warm arms of safety i've forgotten how to feel.
sometimes, when i'm alone where nobody else can see,
my memory shuffles through pictures of you running and me hiding,
and as they play over and over like my ipod on repeat,
i cannot say whether it is each other or ourselves that we are trying to lose.
dear girl,
i run because the flashing windows never contain your face anymore.
i run because it makes me feel fast;
maybe fast enough to slip my fingers around your wrist before you're thin air again.
i run to the places that might have caught you,
and from the places i know you are.
sometimes i feel like i just run so my feet might grow tired
so i'll at least grow into something
and if not i might always
run into you.
but it's like trying to get to the end of the rainbow,
every time i feel like i'm getting close you have moved [on] again.
but you're no pot of gold; if you were anything you'd be jeremejevite,
because its see-through shape is so impossible to find.
dear boy,
one day, your footsteps will grow too swift for the rest of your body
and maybe if you stop tripping and wait for me for once,
i could tie your shoelaces and you could tie my heartstrings
so neither of us need fear falling anymore.
we could learn the fleeting, saccharine-less flavor of each other's smile.
we could cry in the thunderstorm so we wouldn't have to differentiate
between the rain and the tears.
we could remember how it feels to be not out of sight.
dear girl,
i tried, i really did,
but i think i might have lost the ability to wait,
might have run so much that i have run out of words,
might have forgotten how to stop and to actually see you,
afraid as i am to come too late to catch you when your fears come true
and the walls that hide you now can no longer keep you from hitting the floor,
so when you finally fall i'll be tripping over the strings that keep me together
to be on time.
when finally the clock strikes stop and we fall
i just hope that
we'll fall in
love
so we can go down together.
Literature
tautegorical -collab
Somedays, I'm the sound of slamming doors
Shutting out the whisper of threehundredandsixty apologies
That maybe just don't deserve to be heard
And still other days, I'm television static
Surfing channels faster than fingers can click
Speaking through the mixed up voices
Of every game show grin, sitcom laugh reel and car crash news anchor out there
Trying to piece together the sentences I've been meaning to say
Since maybe my words aren't enough
Even if they are saying the same thing
[I'm almost fairly sure you deserve prettier phrases
than these chapped lips could ever mumble]
And I’m standing here in crumbling doorways
Literature
lethologica -collab
it’s twenty minutes to summer and all i know
is that i’m opening the longest day of my life
but i’m forgetting simple things like how to sleep
and how to breathe since you’ve woven your frayed edges
through my mind and the spaces between my ribs
are threatening to break and now i’m just freeze dried sentiments
and overused phrases and i’m slipping up all over the place
but that’s just because i’m bottled redundancy
i’m not a novelty
i am more like 17,280 daily breaths
of contracting and expanding lungs
and kneecaps that rock back and forth
i can't explain the respiratory system
bu
Literature
definitely, maybe collab.
i. you are a mish-mash
of never-ending smiles and toxic beauty.
you're a tangle of scattered thoughts
and makeshift perfection; you make
the seven wonders of the world jealous.
"maybe someday arrows
will guide us through the milky way, and we'll use
the stars as stepping stones."
"maybe we'll play hopscotch in the sky,
surrounded by little fragments of dreams
that dancers forgot to remember."
ii. you're the displacement in a
chemical reaction; you're the magnesium,
and i'm mercury (only liquid at room
temperature,
too close to the sun for life to
exist,
and the messenger they loved to
shoot).
you are a butterfly's wings
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© 2009 - 2024 crazysingergirl
Comments30
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i love this, so sweet!
definitely going to re read it someday later
definitely going to re read it someday later