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Literature Text
Twenty is an ice-storm,
I am coated.
Solid and stuck,
I was.
Twenty is finding
my boots are too heavy,
struggling and strained,
I was.
Twenty's forgetting
to light my own candle,
dreamless and dark,
I was.
And twenty remembers
all former transgressions,
bitter and broken
I was.
Eighteen was first love
and Nineteen had lost it,
before the next year sang in.
Twenty was somber,
stumbling sober,
until the October began.
Twenty reflects
upon all of her follies;
Learning and stumbling,
I am.
And Twenty is healing,
acknowledged the broken.
Discovering strength,
I am.
Twenty is loved,
though she sometimes forgets it
Remembering swiftly,
I am.
And Twenty is nothing
if not grateful and hopeful.
Finally breathing,
I am.
I am coated.
Solid and stuck,
I was.
Twenty is finding
my boots are too heavy,
struggling and strained,
I was.
Twenty's forgetting
to light my own candle,
dreamless and dark,
I was.
And twenty remembers
all former transgressions,
bitter and broken
I was.
Eighteen was first love
and Nineteen had lost it,
before the next year sang in.
Twenty was somber,
stumbling sober,
until the October began.
Twenty reflects
upon all of her follies;
Learning and stumbling,
I am.
And Twenty is healing,
acknowledged the broken.
Discovering strength,
I am.
Twenty is loved,
though she sometimes forgets it
Remembering swiftly,
I am.
And Twenty is nothing
if not grateful and hopeful.
Finally breathing,
I am.
Literature
and even so, you stayed
I taste rain on your lips
and I know you’ve been
writing poetry again.
I breathe into the touch
of your fingers
cascading in a soft scale
down the cage of bones
around my heartbeat.
you kiss me
knowing
the colors that drift
in my mind
like water beneath
all the bridges that were
burned for me
and you stay.
Literature
after the tone
visiting hours are permanently over. goodbyes by voice mail goodbyes by cassette tape or too late for tangible correspondence; now by way of desperate prayer the gasp then, to heaven when hope collapses, the interrupted hallelujah, and all the sacrilege in that silence. transient transforms into endless quarantine -- isolation by the veil of death.
Literature
january
“did you know,”
she asks, sitting
beside me on the
sofa. the room is
sweltering, thick
like an ocean made
of air. a sea our
eyes can’t
see. summer
makes me feel like i
am breathing underwater,
like i'm suspended in
a world where hard hits
close in on me in gentle
waves, like i’m constantly
tumbling but i'll wash
up somewhere, eventually.
i do know. i don’t know
it yet, but this time
i'm landing with two feet
when the tide comes in.
(“did you know that today
was his birthday?”)
Suggested Collections
Reflecting on this past year, and what being twenty has meant and brought. Won't be twenty-one until March, but this is a good look at how this year was.
Comments7
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This has the feeling of a song lyric, written for acoustic guitar and a breathy, heartfelt woman who sings with conviction. Did you write it to sound musical?