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Literature Text
clearly i've developed a fascination with cigarettes
and hand-holding and cheek-kisses,
something about thinking about him on starry nights,
when i can draw lines connecting his initials to mine
because he was a cancer and i was a cancer,
and my horoscope told me to keep him close to my heart
so he could peel back my skin and my ribs and my lungs
to steal my words right from my chest
he smelled like Newports and hours-old cologne,
but sometimes it was his smoke mingled with a fresh peppermint
that drew me to his lips and made me wonder
if i could get addicted to the taste of his nicotine
he made me want him next to me, to lay my hand on his chest
while our minds soared into the ocean of clouds and birds above us
and we stared at each other with our eyes closed,
letting our lips speak in a wordless rhythm
that somehow contained three syllables.
Literature
Memory
Memory is like the tide,
It swells and ebbs;
It's free and wide,
Yet ridden with dregs.
At times it's calm
Soothing and sweet;
Like a tender balm,
A gentle beat.
It's violent, too
Coarse and bitter;
Like a vicious coup,
A cruel winter.
In it, I do bask,
Adrift in my mind;
I need only ask
To be lost in time.
Literature
i was kissed by color before i was born
i have a thing for butterflies -
they were tattooed across my skin
when i left my mother's womb.
they rest between my ribs
and the hollow of my throat
i was kissed with colors before i was born.
you were kissed by h a p p i n e s s
and embraced by Eden -
so you could find refuge
in the color under my skin.
instead of a heart,
my blood beats with butterfly wings.
and they glow when i smile
or when my cheeks forget to blush.
in the place of the heart the butterflies took away.
so your smil
Literature
After Words
"I wish you would give it back to me."
"Why? You'll just break it again."
"It's my heart. I will do whatever the hell I want with it."
"Yeah? Well, you take terrible care of things that are yours."
"Fine. Keep it. I am equal parts concrete and soul anyway."
"You say that, but I'm not entirely sure that you are. I think you're deep, and fragile and broken, and that makes you beautiful."
"Again, concrete and soul. "
"I wish you wouldn't make this so hard."
"So hard? I'm making this easy. You gave me dreams of half feathered swans and a stupid house on an endless beach and a city made of an ocean, and now you're taking it all away. But a
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wrote this a while back, but ~thousandthwind was asking me to submit something all day.
wasn't planning on uploading an old piece, but i couldn't write anything new.
also, if you're commenting to criticize my lack of capital letters, let me stop you right here.
i know it's not "proper" for literature, but this is how i choose to write.
follow me on other websites!
facebook: [link]
tumblr: [link]
twitter: [link]
wasn't planning on uploading an old piece, but i couldn't write anything new.
also, if you're commenting to criticize my lack of capital letters, let me stop you right here.
i know it's not "proper" for literature, but this is how i choose to write.
follow me on other websites!
facebook: [link]
tumblr: [link]
twitter: [link]
© 2012 - 2024 snow-angels
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Overall
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Technique
Impact
Musings put into the form of free verse poetry, fascination. by snow-angels reads like the flow of speech from a lovely dream.
Utilizing enjambment and strong imagery, snow-angel begins the poem with the almost-always effective first-person narrative to draw in the reader. Then this deviant moves on to allude to starry nights and the connect-the-dots game we must all have done before.
The oxymorons put in place ("smoke...peppermint") immediately engages the reader in trying to figure out the deceptively simple words in the poem. Perhaps the most effective of all is the last sentence, which puts the imagery used before it to good use.
fascination. is an example of an excellent, simple poem that somehow, along the way, captures the heart of the reader. Well done.