why i do not know how to introduce ed by MisfitableGrae, literature
Literature
why i do not know how to introduce ed
some days i wake up and my stomach says, “i am hungry.”
and my brain says back, “good; eat.”
and i have breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and my brain says,
“you are human, you are human, you are human, and this is what humans do.”
and i feel okay and i do not think much about why this is strange.
it is cereal at nine, a sandwich at half past twelve, and supper at
a quarter to seven. on these days, my stomach is quiet and
polite. my brain is also quiet, but with the intensity
of one who is preparing for war. still,
i never see it coming.
then some days, i wake up and my stomach says, “i am hungry.”
of course you would learn echolocation
& other forms of approximation techniques,
no trust in the senses coming at you in a rainbow whirlpool/
a rainbow of vomit in the kitchen sink.
imagine light coming in from all directions
shieldless, trapped in this attic alone,
all on your own, on cracked ankles
whispering "i'll never fade away like this",
when you will.
i am only trying to uncover this mess,
pulling at christmas lights' wires through toy chests,
trying to unbury a heliotropic heart
purring on and off via an engine of gratitude.
something like a song is weaving up
It's the OCD, My Love by SeekingDivinity, literature
Literature
It's the OCD, My Love
While washing my hands, I thought of you, replaying our conversations in my head. But it's okay, it's alright, I had to wait for the water to warm up anyways. You see, it's one of those faucets where the water gets warmer the longer it's running.
I began to think of you because of the smell of the soap, the smell of chemicals. Remember that time you convinced me to sit in that hot tub with you? You told me the chemicals destroyed all the germs in the water, all those germs from all those people sitting in it. But the chemicals destroyed them. "For sure," you said. I did some research later and discovered that that wasn't true, but I don't mi
With a 4.0 You Should've Known Not to Drink Poison by FieryDownpour479, literature
Literature
With a 4.0 You Should've Known Not to Drink Poison
A murder most foul, they say.
It’s a shame really. You had so much to live for. You had a promising career ahead of you; you had a good internship, a 4.0 GPA, you probably would’ve graduated top of your class.
It’s a shame you swallowed that arsenic.
I guess I can’t blame you though. It wasn’t really your fault. How could you have known that someone laced your drink with poison? But with that 4.0 GPA one would think you’d be smart enough to notice.
Apparently not.
They talk about you a lot at the college. They say detectives have gone looking for you. Your parents are worried sick. No one really knows
i am not the kind of person who writes by accident
though some words were purposely addressed to the wrong people,
some metaphors were knowingly built in reluctance
and sometimes my poems can too trusting
a part of me calls the people deceived by these mistakes
collateral damage
but i call them 'liyah' for short
i cannot write by simply slapping intimidatingly profound words together
and i cannot write if what i feel isn't here and now
this numbness is trapping my ideas like these indoor skies you normally call a ceiling
in these four walls where i am sat in front of a keyboard
embraced by thin blankets and the song of morning birds
i
You are a trajectory from which I have fallen, Moon-bound
Earth-boy. With height and speed your molecules shifted;
I dropped away by degrees — further, then further.
There must be all the sky between us now,
but I taste your dust with my fingertips,
follow afterglows.
an apology to anyone who'll listen by lupus-astra, literature
Literature
an apology to anyone who'll listen
It begins with a wish
and ends with a sigh.
I am in love with boys who
don't exist and girls who I sometimes
pretend are myself. Spineless,
spiteful, and one hundred percent
sporadic,
I'm becoming undone.
When I was
younger I thought it
was a sin if
your parents didn't
love each other. Now I
know that it's
just the way this world works.
And hell,
I need you right now;
to tell me that
gaining four pounds in
three days is typical
to tell me that
living in a dream every
second is perfectly okay
to tell me that
I'm normal, that I'm
still sane, that I'm not
going to close
I’ve been sitting on your doorstep for three days.
Here are the nothings I left under the mat:
i.I do not feel like a lion anymore,
an alpha wolf, a hyena or
any other strong-willed beast.
ii. Today,
I want to take my scars
out to lunch,
feed them your eyes,
& your tongue
until it bleeds sorrow,
and “please forgive me’s”.
iii. You wish I never existed
as you grind those words
into my wrists like they are
red hibiscus blossoms.
& I’ll have you know
I am a flower, bloomed,
rooted deep into the soil.
You are just a combination
of 26 letters-
an “I wish…”
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder by beingabletobreathe, literature
Literature
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder
When I was little, it use to amaze me how colors were made. In art class I would sit and mix paint because blue and red didn't stay the same when they fell in love. Every single color found its match and danced beautifully as I swirled them together. Black and white were my favorites. I'd pour the creamy paint into a bowl and watch as black and white swirls, turned into grey swirls and owned the container holding it captive. Grey was amazing to me. Because black and white are nothing alike, and grey is in the middle. Black is dark and scary and demanding. And white is graceful, and trusting, and clean. Grey is nothing. Grey is bland. And safe
The heaviness settled in like an anvil being dropped on me. I couldn't take the fog inside my head and the lead inside my heart anymore, so I sat in the sun to melt it away. I wanted to sear every surface until I couldn't feel anymore. What kind of life is that, though, to never feel anything? To never feel the joy of love; the way it wraps its arms around your heart and traces its fingertips along your veins? Even the pain of looking back at love's scattered memories is necessary to understand how beautiful the feeling once was; how lucky you were to have ever felt its lips press to your cheek, its breath collect in the hollow of your neck.