SOS
I need extraction, NOW
I went to bed to get cozy and transfer my poetry into my notebook. My boyfriend burst in and CAUGHT ME
NOW HE WANTS TO READ THEM AND HE'S BEING WEIRD I SAID NO
Someone help, 911, anyone?
SAVE ME, I THINK I'M GOING TO DIE, I HAVE NOWHERE TO HIDE MY NOTEBOOKS NOW THAT HE KNOWS OF THEIR EXISTENCE
I might just have to bury myself in the yard with them tonight. Or do I get rid of him instead?
Either way, here's to staying up later than I'd like until he falls asleep 💀
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My back is breaking
Beneath the burden of you—
The weight of worry
I implore you, on my knees
Please, learn to live without me
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Prompt: what could have been
coulda been mountains, right?
those places where the plates of the world crash and intersect
peaks and valleys and the every last one of them jagged -
coulda been a head thrown back in bliss, an EKG, a fluttering heartbeat coulda been your
eyes flitting in a morse-coded sign -
coulda been north of south, left of right,
coulda been heights grasping clouds coulda been fount,
coulda been desert
woulda loved to'v known
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My Perfect Hologram (Not Meant To Be, But Thank You)
Recently hurt, lost, and afraid
I saw you standing over there
Appearing to come to my aid
Though seemingly part of a pair
“Just friends” I hoped to myself
So easy to talk and relate to
Like a rare read on a bookshelf
Perusing veins of each other’s bamboo
I though that you could be it
The other part of my cracked half
It was indeed her that you were with
But thank you, my perfect hologram
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Sharon Olds, from "Something Is Happening", One Secret Thing: Poems
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oh my god there are so many books to read and instruments to learn and languages to speak and poems to write and oranges to eat and ideologies to study and songs to sing and films to watch and people to kiss and
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graves grow no green that you can use.
gwendolyn brooks
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I was born from your body
Now I have borne the weight
Of your worry, the way your
Eyes assess me—
I know you've seen the way
This secret is an envelope
I've set on fire, a padlocked
Journal just out of reach
Oh, mother, may I tell you
Of the way I burn?
Will you still love me if
I lay my burdens
At your feet?
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i will never be me again
an ice age ends and the great thaw begins, something like a current down your chest, either tears or sweat and this matters -
droplets dried against skin long since died, withered from bone and broken down over stone cracked under greater stone and driven into the molten core of a massive body waiting to be swallowed by the swelling of a dying sun and this matters -
something like sixty-six-thousand miles an hour,
orbits in orbits about orbits, I make promises to myself to remember, promises I forget in the face of the sheer spendor of an incalculable number of stars and this matters -
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Ya'll ever go, "fuckin' hell, I know this smell!" and it's the smell of a February evening from 2017 ?
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