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Literature Text
suicide, a girly word
such a feminine word
with all the insanity
of a woman
a crazed lady leaping
from cliff
to pills
to her death bed
still looking quite good
no, men do not commit suicide
they go kamikaze
as in they are calm and have cause
when they hang the noose
or blow off their face
it’s with conviction and reason
employing the same logic used
for crosswords and sudoku
yes, suicide is something only a woman would do
such a feminine word
with all the insanity
of a woman
a crazed lady leaping
from cliff
to pills
to her death bed
still looking quite good
no, men do not commit suicide
they go kamikaze
as in they are calm and have cause
when they hang the noose
or blow off their face
it’s with conviction and reason
employing the same logic used
for crosswords and sudoku
yes, suicide is something only a woman would do
Literature
Our Issues
Your heart grew up in a black wooden box
and thought it fabulous,
its world of
right angles,
wood grain,
and eternal night.
It hated me when I bored the hole
that let the sun singe its eyes, cook its skin,
when rain collected the dirt on its skin
in a puddle beneath its feet and said:
"look how dirty you are, foul thing."
It hated and
hated and
still hates,
always crawling
under any
box it finds.
I kicked it
out of its hiding place.
It ran out howling, hating and being
ha
Literature
Counting for Nothing
Fourteen hundred paces wasted
walking to your door,
and every time a pointless pounding
headache - sore, resounding, raw;
what follows next? as you'd expect
a shocking exhibition of
that bloody mix of tears
and spit and semen spilled
across this gritty floor.
and from the day that we last spoke
I've counted twenty-four.
How come I'm your ignored -
you must have grown so bored of me
and now my fingers, gnawed and nails all bitten
paw through scores
of letters better left unwritten -
never sent, now torn and scattered, littered
with my bitter thoughts unuttered,
so utterly distraught I am, I poured a litany of scorn
and lo
Literature
Reverie
I.
They say every woman is a piece of the moon,
but I want the sun.
Dear Apollo, explain to me why you gave up
clear mornings for the shadowy future.
And I'll make you wish you hadn't burned a time before.
Because he's still sleeping, turned towards the window,
the thick blinds cracking with sunlight in the early dawn.
The navy sheets his royal dress, the rays his glory crown.
I wake up next to a god on Sunday morning,
hands still dirty from the night before.
II.
But when I sleep, I dream of rhyming big words
Building them on top of each other, letting it touch the sky.
I rub up against them once in awhile to test their stren
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Comments19
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sarcasm and feminism
two of my favourite things to talk about!
two of my favourite things to talk about!