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Literature Text
In the parking lot
padded thickly with snow:
a worn pink sock,
its crooked smile
drawn with marker
surrounded
by icy valleys, pockmarks,
footprints from the crushing
of unseeing boots
padded thickly with snow:
a worn pink sock,
its crooked smile
drawn with marker
surrounded
by icy valleys, pockmarks,
footprints from the crushing
of unseeing boots
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Literature
letters on leaving.
i wrote my first suicide letter in 10th grade.
they told me it didn't count if you felt like dying
unless you had it down on paper
like a vetoed birth certificate.
i've rewritten it enough times since
to realize i could never leave with a proper goodbye.
goodbye is too heavy a word for paper to hold
and i was never brave enough for the kind of courage it takes to tell them
why.
why they weren't enough to keep me here.
but i'm finally learning a different kind of bravery-
the kind it takes to
stay.
stay.
i learned to wear death
like rope burn my junior year
my senior year we became friends
but i finally stopped cutting the insides of wrist
Literature
Accept your Candle, Weep for the Stars
A light I see, far off in the distance. It's a star, I told myself.
No other thought surpassed it, I want to reach it.
I struggle in the darkness, slowly heading for it, not knowing, not thinking.
I know this is what I want. I want the star.
It gets brighter, I can feel its warm touch, though I'm far from it.
Joy overwhelms my soul, I'm so close, so close to
my star. It's my star and nothing else matters.
I reach with my fingers, to touch it.
A candle. A lowly candle, my thoughts shattered.
This is not what I wanted. It's not my star.
I blink, and blink again, I see clearly. Up above.
There are hundreds, no millions of stars.
Why
Literature
Breaking
One day, you will open the cupboard
to find a wine glass or some Tupperware
and the world will, without warning
or alarm, roll off the edge of the shelf
and coming crashing down.
The oceans will splash onto the linoleum,
onto the rug. All the dust in all the deserts
will rain down onto the couch and coffee table,
the hills will crumble, the mountains will break,
all the windows in all the cities will shatter
and fall, a thousand dangerous miles of glass
glittering on your kitchen floor.
Everything will hush.
Exhale the breath you are holding,
and go look for a dust pan, for a broom.
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This piece is for the August Workshop at Writers' Workshop! Link: shadowedacolyte.deviantart.com…
*Edited! Following the suggestions of my wonderful commenters, I've added some more backstory and changed some things up. A HUGE thank you to all of the people who gave feedback!*
I admire poets who use lots of abstract language, but I find that I enjoy writing in Willams' style much more. Thank you so much to this workshop for helping me discover that! Originally, this was going to be about a lost glove, but I decided to make it more interesting.
Please feel free to comment/critique!
*Edited! Following the suggestions of my wonderful commenters, I've added some more backstory and changed some things up. A HUGE thank you to all of the people who gave feedback!*
I admire poets who use lots of abstract language, but I find that I enjoy writing in Willams' style much more. Thank you so much to this workshop for helping me discover that! Originally, this was going to be about a lost glove, but I decided to make it more interesting.
Please feel free to comment/critique!
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Comments44
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vivid personification! ^^