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Literature Text
Her body grew weary
of his aborted promises,
His infertile kisses failing
to penetrate her heart.
She is no longer
pregnant with him...
so now,
her bastard dreams
are secretly born
from another man.
of his aborted promises,
His infertile kisses failing
to penetrate her heart.
She is no longer
pregnant with him...
so now,
her bastard dreams
are secretly born
from another man.
Literature
broken hearts don't beat
sometimes, it's morning. and i've forgotten to brush my hair again. or how to tie my shoes or what my name sounds like. and that i don't believe in anything anymore. and that's when i realize that i'm losing little pieces of myself to you.
and the tip of my tongue is stained with the taste of stale paint from the renovating you've done with my mind. and for the next four hundred and seventy three and a half hours i'll be staring at the ceiling. since i'm waiting for your flavor to fade. or maybe i'm just waiting for you to come back to me. since my fingertips are losing their feeling. and the strands of my hairs are splitting. i'm aging in r
Literature
PTSD
- - -
every night you scream at someone. i try to tell you they're not there; they don't exist. but you can't hear me. your body writhes like a tornado and the covers are bathed with sweat.
it must feel like blood to you. that must be why you howl yourself hoarse. why i sleep with earmuffs gripped tight and dream of you dying.
(it used to be a nightmare, but now it's more of a wish.)
- - -
you mumble to the same someone while you eat those crumbly cornflakes. something about something that i don't think you entirely understand.
i don't know why i still make you a bowl every day. you think i would learn after the thirteenth time of broom
Literature
this probably isn't about you
this probably is about how the sun was on the opposite side of the sky when i woke up this morning. and how my name looks wrong every time i write it until it's gotten to the point that i'm not even sure how to spell it. it's about how everything has been flying out of my control so that i can't remember how to walk without making a sound. or how to hold on to the edges when my vision gets too blurry. this is almost certainly about how you live one and three fourth miles to the north of me, but i forgot and slept facing the south last night so now i just feel like i turned my back on you.
but really, this isn't about you.
it's about how i'v
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*this poem was inspired by the master poet Bluesky27 and her masterpiece poem "a sensible woman" ([link])
two words in particular lingered in my mind: "bastard dreams".
it made me think of the title, "bastard dreams and aborted promises". so i wrote the poem based on that. since DA limits the title length, i was forced to cut the original title down and ended up with something i liked too. (but i still like the original title)
two words in particular lingered in my mind: "bastard dreams".
it made me think of the title, "bastard dreams and aborted promises". so i wrote the poem based on that. since DA limits the title length, i was forced to cut the original title down and ended up with something i liked too. (but i still like the original title)
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is all I have to say.