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Literature Text
You are not the eye-erasing beauty
of the sun splitting open the sea with morning,
but you are the green and purple glint
on a wave crest as sun ducks away into night.
You are not the electric-splash shock of
ice water in meltingpot summer,
but you could be the cool, smooth
surface of a palm.
You are not a fire, ravaging, devouring,
chewing and churning and spitting out black,
but you are a shawl, touching my shoulders tenderly.
You are not a symphony of drumroll clouds and thunder,
but you are the sound of rain.
You do not laugh like falling snowflakes.
Your words do not resonate like age-old wisdom stones.
You do not move with the grace of an almost-landing butterfly.
When you look at me, I know my eyes are opaque,
providing no windows.
But you are the lighthouse standing through the storm,
the summer breeze that lifts the flowers just a little
brighter.
of the sun splitting open the sea with morning,
but you are the green and purple glint
on a wave crest as sun ducks away into night.
You are not the electric-splash shock of
ice water in meltingpot summer,
but you could be the cool, smooth
surface of a palm.
You are not a fire, ravaging, devouring,
chewing and churning and spitting out black,
but you are a shawl, touching my shoulders tenderly.
You are not a symphony of drumroll clouds and thunder,
but you are the sound of rain.
You do not laugh like falling snowflakes.
Your words do not resonate like age-old wisdom stones.
You do not move with the grace of an almost-landing butterfly.
When you look at me, I know my eyes are opaque,
providing no windows.
But you are the lighthouse standing through the storm,
the summer breeze that lifts the flowers just a little
brighter.
Literature
to map sunrises...
one day I will tell my daughter to touch herself
before she ever lets a man do it for her, to learn
her body-secrets and the shape of pleasure. I will
tell her that San Francisco always keeps your heart.
that her skin is a blank canvas, that hair grows,
the value of the right kind of disrespect. that the older
we get, the more we need the people who knew us
when we were young. I will tell my daughter
to give away the secrets that keep her up at night,
and that there is never a wrong time to love someone,
but sometimes a wrong way. I will teach my daughter
to travel without makeup; that sometimes forever means
morning and sometime
Literature
never gold
her piano key teeth bit the bullet
and shattered the melody
that was keeping her
on her toes
he watched from a distance with his oceanic eyes
counting her every breath with ignominy
his heart was always silver
never gold
she stared up at the ashen sky with anticipation
waiting for the rain to wash her away
and as she crawled to the sea
he couldn't help but
wonder
Literature
Icarus
Icarus
The dreamer who dreamed too high.
A myth to subdue glory-seeking youth.
It's the tale of a foolish boy who dared to try to reach the sun,
But the heat was too great,
and his make-shift wings melted,
Dooming him to the frothing waves below.
But is that really the truth?
Maybe it's not a cautionary tale,
But one of hope-
Of hope for all dreamers to come.
He didn't fail to touch the sun,
Rather he touched the greatest glory.
He soared past the bewildered birds,
On past the highest mountains,
On past cold reality
And cruel calculation
Blistering
Blazing
Burning
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...you do feel like sunlight
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