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Literature Text
I will never understand women.
But maybe that can be a good thing.
What is life without mystery?
But maybe that can be a good thing.
What is life without mystery?
Literature
Childhood
When I think of my childhood I think of being alone and money being worth a lot of cents:
I was in first or second grade when I started setting my alarm clock for 630, waking up without hitting snooze, and running myself a bath. Afterwards I dressed myself in plaids and stripes and polka dots and went into the kitchen for a bowl of cereal which I ate while staring at my backyard or watching cartoons. On my way out to the end of the driveway to wait for the bus, I went into my mom's bedroom and gave her a kiss goodbye, as she continued to sleep.
When I got home my mom would tell me two things:
"I was scared to death – I thought I slept
Literature
Childhood Memories
Time became lost,
As i relived the memories flashing through my mind.
Wanting to explode from my mouth,
Poisonous words clawing up my throat, choking me.
The words i had practiced over and over again in front of the same mirror for years
It was dragged back down my throat,
Dissolving into the acid of my belly,
Never to be heard,
But by the ears of my screeching mind.
They could tell that they had gone over the line.
A simple question had been asked,
Then silence clung to the awkward room.
She realized her mistake
Concerned when signs of anguish showed in the flash of eyes
Quickly looking away,
My jaws clenching.
"So, tell us all about
Literature
quarter past midnight
The nascence of fall whispers
Quietly behind my ears -
The ripple of a full golden moon
Over thick, inky waves.
The last storm of summer left
Gaping darkness in the glass city,
Contorted boughs etched against
A disconcertingly wide sky.
Months of transition.
Anesthesia.
The knowledge that one day
That there will be one
Empty bed in the house
(please have mercy
please).
Drowning out the fear in soundwaves late at night.
Tearing lives apart with my bare hands
(Blood swirling open like petals;
I'm so sorry).
Crippling self hate and doubt.
Running from the ones I should love
(the southern stars offer consolation; outside,
the milky way arc
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Fitting title.