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Literature Text
she’s a 49er
“you know I hate crying, ricky.”
i know you do. i know. But…it helps.
sometimes.
“i’m too tired to cry anymore, rick.”
breath escapes my lips and my head falls.
i can’t help my sister with this…fuck.
our hearts are burdened.
we’re two southern children,
with old souls,
49ers not on the west coast,
and searching for diamonds,
as we filter through the rough.
i don’t know what she goes through,
but I can listen to her.
i can be her ear to hear her vent.
i can be her robin to her batman.
how can a girl not even 5’5’’ be batman, you ask?
easy.
she’s a cloaked hero whose main super power,
is the power of her will.
while she may keep some things close to her chest,
and under her sleeve,
i’ll always be by her side.
and the gray-son became the dark one
in nightwing.
batman touched him more than you noticed.
dick grayson
was a human vigilante after he graduated.
and she affects me more than she,
even understands, honestly.
she’s too smart for her own good,
and knows it.
too strong
and denies this.
living everyday takes strength,
something as simple as that, takes a lot of life out of us.
because love and life, just isn’t,
is what it is.
i know she knows it, but doesn’t utter this.
she’s an artist,
maybe my favorite creator
and certainly one of the greatest creations.
she’s a poet.
a dancer and actress.
who doesn’t give herself enough credit.
not her artistry or her beauty.
and while she looks at herself as decay,
i look at her in a far different way.
she’s a girl—no, woman, who talks a lot,
is self-deprecating—a little more than that,
but keeps coming back.
she’s a southern 49er,
still looking desperately for the gold,
that’ll grant her what she wants most.
she lives and lives.
and lives.
and lives.
she’s painfully honest,
in everything she does.
her poetry is beautifully wounded.
i adore the fact she writes in second person.
i love and crave those allegories.
she’s in search of gold,
but hasn’t checked one area,
the place in which all of her beauty is,
the safe-haven that no one can touch,
but only attach itself to,
as mine is fastened to her.
her soul.
she’s flawlessly flawed.
those scars that mark her,
make her.
this young woman is a fighter.
a lover.
i love her.
my sister.
a best friend and protector.
a 49er.
Taylor.
i know you do. i know. But…it helps.
sometimes.
“i’m too tired to cry anymore, rick.”
breath escapes my lips and my head falls.
i can’t help my sister with this…fuck.
our hearts are burdened.
we’re two southern children,
with old souls,
49ers not on the west coast,
and searching for diamonds,
as we filter through the rough.
i don’t know what she goes through,
but I can listen to her.
i can be her ear to hear her vent.
i can be her robin to her batman.
how can a girl not even 5’5’’ be batman, you ask?
easy.
she’s a cloaked hero whose main super power,
is the power of her will.
while she may keep some things close to her chest,
and under her sleeve,
i’ll always be by her side.
and the gray-son became the dark one
in nightwing.
batman touched him more than you noticed.
dick grayson
was a human vigilante after he graduated.
and she affects me more than she,
even understands, honestly.
she’s too smart for her own good,
and knows it.
too strong
and denies this.
living everyday takes strength,
something as simple as that, takes a lot of life out of us.
because love and life, just isn’t,
is what it is.
i know she knows it, but doesn’t utter this.
she’s an artist,
maybe my favorite creator
and certainly one of the greatest creations.
she’s a poet.
a dancer and actress.
who doesn’t give herself enough credit.
not her artistry or her beauty.
and while she looks at herself as decay,
i look at her in a far different way.
she’s a girl—no, woman, who talks a lot,
is self-deprecating—a little more than that,
but keeps coming back.
she’s a southern 49er,
still looking desperately for the gold,
that’ll grant her what she wants most.
she lives and lives.
and lives.
and lives.
she’s painfully honest,
in everything she does.
her poetry is beautifully wounded.
i adore the fact she writes in second person.
i love and crave those allegories.
she’s in search of gold,
but hasn’t checked one area,
the place in which all of her beauty is,
the safe-haven that no one can touch,
but only attach itself to,
as mine is fastened to her.
her soul.
she’s flawlessly flawed.
those scars that mark her,
make her.
this young woman is a fighter.
a lover.
i love her.
my sister.
a best friend and protector.
a 49er.
Taylor.
Literature
Spilling Gray
like cement drying into paw print mounds
and bicycle treads laid out like poetry
telling the neighborhood's stories
in a hush of secrets and a web of deceits
tailored by shaking hands and the snicker
of a glance between a closing front door
like your eyes under water holding tight
despite the pressure, fish or snakes or kelp
tickling the bottoms of bare feet like a lover,
lazy whorls and the suggestion of riptides rushing
to dredge you down, to make you panic
in the want to, the need to, the have to breathe
like elephants trumpeting under different skies
long tails short trunks a parade of parentage
across the dry savanna that makes you fe
Literature
ENOUGH!
There are times when I feel like tearing these pages apart,
Or perhaps, throwing this BLOODY song into the fire and watching it BURN!
Maybe I'll start plucking the keys from my keyboard,
Or simply swipe everything off the desk.
Each item shattering into a hundred pieces,
Much like the fragments of my dying inspiration.
Literature
( 4/04/2014 )
Everything here is so fucking
loud and this dragon eyed girl
doesn’t feel like filtering
anymore.
She doesn’t want to answer
the phone today, either, so-
she stuffs her ears with
silence, and
her mouth with new
names
as she kisses
swollen knees.
She’s pondering
socks now too
with
their mixed &
matched indecency.
Real ladies wouldn’t
dare step outside
wearing one pink
& one green sock,
only,
but she’s no lady.-
A red lipped hermit
holding a knife to her
own throat, screaming-
writewritewritewrite
idareyou!
maybe,
who embraces
the sun and
the rain on her face
for the first time
in weeks.
Oh poets with your
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We're 49ers, but I've already found gold within her.
Mixed children. Southern children.
Old children.
Young spirits.
Old souls.
New ambitions.
I can't save you, Taylor. But I can try and protect you.
Even though I know you wouldn't necessarily allow it.
One thing I'll do though.
Is when we meet. I'll purposely spill some cereal when I'm in your kitchen.
We'll have a good ol' bro' and sis' time, Tay.
I promise you that.
I hear you roar, Taylor.
And I love "your little feet."
And yes, your singing.
You are beautiful.
Smart.
A blessing.
You make me wanna be a better writer.
A better friend and brother.
Stronger protector.
You are an inspiration.
My best friend.
My sister.
I love A-Lovely-Anxiety.
© 2014 - 2024 chromeantennae
Comments46
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This is Taylor, so perfectly Taylor.
Oh man, I'm glad she has a friend like you who can keep up with her timezone.
<3 A Steelers girl in California
Oh man, I'm glad she has a friend like you who can keep up with her timezone.
<3 A Steelers girl in California