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Literature Text
I’m the girl who swallows bullets
And paints petrol over stars,
I’m a girl that sits atop the moon
And hopes she’s gone too far,
This kind of girl screams love letters
She dreams in black and white,
The kind of girl who runs in orbit
In the poetry of nights.
I'm the kind of girl who laughs at pain
A girl to hurt and love,
I'm the kind of girl who tries too much
A vision in the dirt.
And paints petrol over stars,
I’m a girl that sits atop the moon
And hopes she’s gone too far,
This kind of girl screams love letters
She dreams in black and white,
The kind of girl who runs in orbit
In the poetry of nights.
I'm the kind of girl who laughs at pain
A girl to hurt and love,
I'm the kind of girl who tries too much
A vision in the dirt.
- © 2013 themagpiepoet
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Literature
sometimes i feel like a superhero
the house across from my bus stop
is a temporary funeral home, but back when the Yankees controlled the town,
it was owned by a family whose daughter rode bareback
twenty-seven miles in the middle of the night to warn her
rebel leader of a lover that the Yankees were coming for him,
the Yankees were coming, the Yankees were coming,
the Yankees are coming, John, get out, quick!
and maybe she tripped and fell,
or her red cape got tangled up in her stirrups and ideals,
because by the time she rode into the neighborhood,
the houses were already on fire, children were already
crying for their mothers, and her John
was already hung up
Literature
Imaginary Girl
The girl was born dead,
but the world was so loud
that it shocked her alive.
It started a cycle of death and rise
that she needed to survive,
while she had her mind painted with shades of red.
Don't be fooled by her silence, or by her sweet smile,
she carries the weight of the dead all the while.
And all the while that she plays,
and practices her ballet,
she takes what she can handle
and locks the rest away.
She wears her ghost like a dead weight coat,
arms wrapped around her throat:
haunting her-
taunting her-
whispering in her ear;
the memories of the dead
push her farther
down
down
DOWN
and paint her mind a dark
Literature
are my words poetic enough for you?
maybe not.
because i will never be the fire-hearted girl with remedial stardust lips,
dancing with the astral wolves that hunt beneath her moon-kissed skin,
with the courage to plant wilting lilacs into every crippled soul she finds.
but what if they were?
then i would be the ink blots coating the archives of humankind,
the fractured jewel tucked away in a catastrophic dragon's chest,
and the lyric every mismatched bone engraves into their marrow.
if only.
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© 2013 - 2024 themagpiepoet
Comments41
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beautiful language
and pacing
and diction
congratulations
on a fabulous
honest
awesome
piece of
poetry