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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
June 22, 2014
Wonderfully concrete: Summer Love is by callerofcrows.
Featured by neurotype-on-discord
Literature Text
When I was eight I hated summer
It was juice-box sticky
and every day I scraped myself
off my sheets
and poured my body into a glass.
At twenty-two,
I don't remember peeling my legs
off a wooden chair come June,
but how our hands were damp with nerves
when we held them,
how the AC on the bus was too much
so my scarf became your blanket and
we ate curry with my parents
before I fell asleep on your shoulder.
Or when you told me not to swim too far out
and the ocean was too cold,
how you got sunburned and I bit my tongue
so hard holding back
"I told you so"
that I swear I bled,
your eyes reflecting the fish at the aquarium,
how you teased me
when I couldn't stay awake through any movie.
You bring comfort to the heat.
I have forgotten other summers.
It was juice-box sticky
and every day I scraped myself
off my sheets
and poured my body into a glass.
At twenty-two,
I don't remember peeling my legs
off a wooden chair come June,
but how our hands were damp with nerves
when we held them,
how the AC on the bus was too much
so my scarf became your blanket and
we ate curry with my parents
before I fell asleep on your shoulder.
Or when you told me not to swim too far out
and the ocean was too cold,
how you got sunburned and I bit my tongue
so hard holding back
"I told you so"
that I swear I bled,
your eyes reflecting the fish at the aquarium,
how you teased me
when I couldn't stay awake through any movie.
You bring comfort to the heat.
I have forgotten other summers.
Literature
An Old August
I watch you
cutting strawberries
in the amber afternoon,
sun on its midway
to autumn;
you won't let me help
because secretly
only half of them
make it to the bowl.
I smile back
at your playful eyes
because
you know.
It feels like
an old August,
in my stomach
some sort of sadness
some sort of joy.
Last night's thunderstorm
has left the ocean agitated,
wildly
beautiful.
Life is nothing
but a vacant place, today
and we shall
let it be,
let the world
wait for us, today.
Cross legged
on my piano bench,
I play for the cat
a winter Debussy
she's happy,
I could tell
she smiles.
Literature
When It Rains
I think of you, when it rains.
Don’t you remember
The fickle breezes
Spattering droplets in our faces,
How a great gust carried off your Donald Duck umbrella
And we chased it,
Across the square, across the park,
Where it finally caught
In the rosebushes.
One of the ribs was broken
But I laughed
And laughed because it made Donald’s tail droop,
Until you were laughing too.
I don’t know how we didn’t even
Notice that my hands were bleeding from the thorns
Until we were halfway home.
You asked me if it hurt—
Of course it did,
But it didn’t matter—
Besides, I just can’t cry with raindrops running d
Literature
welcome to the real world
1. if someone invites you back to their place
for coffee, and you only drink tea,
don’t stress:
you probably won’t actually be drinking coffee.
2. when the creepy guy from work asks you out
again and you think about accepting for the first
time because you’re sick of going home alone and
you have never learned how to say no, don’t. learn.
stand in front of the mirror until you love yourself
enough for your skin to fit snug on your body. read
about the hundreds of millions of planets out in the
hundreds of millions of galaxies and feel so crowded
that you’re about to burst all over again.
3. you’re gonna
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Comments47
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Really nice nostalgia