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Literature Text
I thought I knew how to fight.
When words come down like a thunderstorm of fists upon your temples,
don't give in.
Clench your teeth
battle the urge to run:
she needs you now
more than ever...
I regret the subject.
Suddenly
she is more of a woman than I.
Maturity, however long developed,
pales in comparison to that blush,
that rosy opening,
no matter how rough
and clumsy
and passionless.
I should be sick over this,
over her weakness, his desperate insistence,
their inability to be true to each other
as well as themselves...
But instead, there's a different heat that moves up the throat
and settles, a solid knot, in the bottom of me.
Deeper than sin,
deeper than contempt,
a roiling coil of
shame...
This should be easy.
But everywhere, the holdouts are falling:
no more weathered walls,
no steadfast resolutions,
just broken glass and holes
in chain link fences.
Am I the final island?
When words come down like a thunderstorm of fists upon your temples,
don't give in.
Clench your teeth
battle the urge to run:
she needs you now
more than ever...
I regret the subject.
Suddenly
she is more of a woman than I.
Maturity, however long developed,
pales in comparison to that blush,
that rosy opening,
no matter how rough
and clumsy
and passionless.
I should be sick over this,
over her weakness, his desperate insistence,
their inability to be true to each other
as well as themselves...
But instead, there's a different heat that moves up the throat
and settles, a solid knot, in the bottom of me.
Deeper than sin,
deeper than contempt,
a roiling coil of
shame...
This should be easy.
But everywhere, the holdouts are falling:
no more weathered walls,
no steadfast resolutions,
just broken glass and holes
in chain link fences.
Am I the final island?
Literature
Lullaby
"I've been waiting my entire life to tell you that I'm dying and I figured I'd finally get it over with.
So here I am, carving forgive me
into my teeth, so every time that I speak
I can still say that I'm sorry.
More years have passed in the last than I care to remember
but I could never forget:
In eighth grade my chorus teacher always told me,
'Michael, you'll never be good enough.'
and it always excited me. It reminded me of my mother.
On the last day of school she smiled,
her teeth jagged like a train wreck,
she didn't say a word,
but I knew exactly what she meant.
In high school I fell in love with a roadside bomb waiting to be deton
Literature
At Night, I Cry
At Night, I Cry
At night, I cry because I can’t stop thinking about the old me
When no one’s around, I weep warm tears that slide down my cheeks slowly
And it’s odd, I feel so unsatisfied but I refuse to use the word “unhappy”
I think back to the times where I would just laugh with my little friends, gleefully
Now that I’m older, I feel myself constantly over-thinking
Just constantly thinking of bad habits and fears
Maybe it’s something I did; maybe I’m the bad seed
Maybe I do deserve this horrible treatment by my peers
Or maybe I’m just doing what I do best, over-think
I do it
Literature
Watcher of the Night
He waits in the shadows
Watching and learning
Trying to resist
His unconquerable yearning
An actor of rare disguise
Covering half-truths with unfinished lies
His plans twist and turn
Taking years for fruition
After which he disappears
A forgotten apparition
While lesser men succumb
To the beckoning temptation
He stands regardless
Steadfast by his station
Vigil of the darkness
Watcher of the night
Countless men have tried
To evade his inhuman sight
He is the sum of his fears
For he chooses what he wants to be
He has uncertainties, he has doubts
But is afraid intentionally
He tends the shades of the mighty
And the shadows
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Feeling like the last one left.
© 2013 - 2024 xxDearOblivionxx
Comments3
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I can't recall when was the last time I could review a piece of yours that isn't particularly adult, or touching on sexual themes though this is a strong work without those elements. I think the ideas at conflict here are big and you do a great job fleshing them out.
The narrative is simple enough, the narrator is watching a woman she is comparing to herself and that woman's relationship with another (who we can potentially assume was a former partner of the narrators). We see the narrator struggle with three ideas here, one is seeing herself as inadequate and her as a woman she could eventually be, two resenting this other woman and their relationship, and three envy. What's interesting is that while their relationship and her failed relationship with him may have no relation, the narrator is able to look at them with a sense of introspection. She's flummoxed by their relationship (even though she feels its shallow but we don't know if that's her resentment or a true statement) because she's better, and she may need to change.
Here's why that's interesting, because the other big idea here is loneliness. The narrator is grappling with it, and when she wonders why it is she's alone she's drawn (like many) to her mirror and self critique. What we're left to ponder is whether or not loneliness in general creates a greater self-awareness, for a problem that self-awareness may not be able to solve. When we're left on our own, is that a naturally destructive state that could breed more destructiveness? I think the work forces the readers to ask good questions about the nature of being alone and isolated.
One issue with this, I think the title was a little weak or at least not as related to the material as I thought it would be.
In the end fantastic work, it both engages and challenges.