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Literature Text
Sleep Sweeper
poets love writing about elegiac features.
this is idyllic when auroras
bring out cheekbones.
and we love to proclaim verse
in bird cage ribs of the depressed,
of the capricious and muted,
but we cannot see these things
when the moon is eclipsed.
and no one ever writes
about the poetry in a person,
but how the person is poetic.
how they speak iambs,
move in rhythm,
look in stanzas,
stand in meters,
react in spaces,
breathe in line breaks.
and it is cold hands,
planting clawed tendrils
against the soil of a human,
wings spread and close
like a cloak diluting (f)light.
growing in their skin
like stramonium
starting in the middle of their chest.
petals rising from
under their breast
clutching bones
in the devil’s snare.
but no one writes about the
wishful, wistful, wisp full whispers
that tickle eardrums
playing sleep sweepers.
the tail that is the whisk broom
holding magic and wizardry
as love encompasses me in a spell.
sweeping somber repose
into poetry and prose
as i write about you
in the liveliest of the night.
(because thoughts and memories
aren’t dead. and never will be.)
no one writes about love stories
being their favorite tale to tell
because it’s always the tail end
that they tip to the wishing well.
but i am here to love absolutely.
unashamed in my passion
as it brushes the dust of rest away
as i lie awake thinking
of you fast asleep on my heartbeat.
i love you.
those three words
will always be the most cliche,
but the most poetic of them all.
every poet writes about love,
every poet writes about people,
but i want to write about a person
whose love, whose creation
sweeps sleep away.
and do it unabashedly.
because in its purest form,
my poetry human
doesn’t live poetry,
but they create with wor(l)ds
they finds under their nails,
the past they find
at the end of their hair,
and the love that plays
on the corners of their lips.
which is why i wish
to intertwine our fingertips
like house keys hold safety.
brush their hair like memories
cross when eyes graze picture frames.
and kiss them softly
like rain caresses windowpanes
during a spring shower.
Literature
tumblr boy.
you’re my aesthetic
with roses wrapped around
your fists and dressed
in all black from head to toe,
you’ve got wanderlust shining
in your eyes
and sad poetry dripping
from your lips,
just another punk rock loser
with steel in his veins and
fear in his heart—
your soul is pouting
but you hold every ounce
of that fuck all attitude
you can muster in
your slender shoulders
because we live in
an “eat or be eaten” kinda
world but you’d rather
just be laying on your bedroom
floor listening to the
rain make love to your window
and your favorite songs
whisper in your ear while you
silently contemplate life
Literature
a promise to my favourite boy
I’ll help clean out
the cobwebs,
that grow in
your lungs
your heart
your head
and then
I hope
with ease,
you can take
some deeper
breaths.
Literature
we are all made of stardust
1.
he’ll say that i’m his favourite nightmare
i know it all too well, the gasps between breaths
and the choking that comes with breathing.
i know white light in waiting rooms
and i know boys like him, asleep
always asleep.
2.
sunset flickers over his face and his hollow eyes
his card-castle body curls into itself,
his hands are an empire of shivering and trembling
and there are shadows the colour of midnight running down his eyes.
he is the damaged good that was declared redundant at customs
and i love using pretty words to cloak the broken
and make them aesthetic masterpieces.
3.
daydreamer, he sits in terraces
with shoelace to
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And I love you. And I love you. And I love you. And I love you. And I love you...
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Comments45
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This poem has been featured as .: POEM OF THE WEEK :. on my page!~
~♥ Simply beautiful, keep up the wonderful work ♥~
~♥ Simply beautiful, keep up the wonderful work ♥~