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Literature Text
I am one without a face,
All alone and out of place,
I wander every darkened street,
Hoping for some light to see,
Yet everyday it is the same,
I am but one without a name.
Left shaking in the lantern’s hue,
I see no places that I knew,
Was taken from where I belonged,
And I was stolen, I was wronged,
Discarded, beaten, robbed of faith,
I am but one without a name.
No shelter keeps the pain from me,
As I vomit, as I bleed,
The dumpster’s metal chills my bones,
And as I stand here lost, unknown,
I am but one without the fame,
A ghost who does not share her name.
All alone and out of place,
I wander every darkened street,
Hoping for some light to see,
Yet everyday it is the same,
I am but one without a name.
Left shaking in the lantern’s hue,
I see no places that I knew,
Was taken from where I belonged,
And I was stolen, I was wronged,
Discarded, beaten, robbed of faith,
I am but one without a name.
No shelter keeps the pain from me,
As I vomit, as I bleed,
The dumpster’s metal chills my bones,
And as I stand here lost, unknown,
I am but one without the fame,
A ghost who does not share her name.
Literature
Contradiction
Saying one thing,
Whilst meaning another,
And changing your story,
Shows me your true colors
It shows me who you really are,
Deep down inside,
And it seems that no longer,
Is it something you can hide
You are a walking contradiction,
In body, mind, and words
You've shown each and every one of us,
Exactly how little you are worth
Your selfish motivations,
Serve only to cause grief,
But that no longer matters,
For we know in what you believe
Know that we don't believe in YOU,
Honestly, I don't feel we ever did,
And it's so much easier to say,
Now that we know what you've kept hid
Yes, a contradiction,
Meaning upon meaning a
Literature
the nameless project3
13th chorus
we played strip-poker hand by
hand and in that nervous light
our clothes fell
her eyes
fell
into a healthy glimpse
of just how ugly I was;
'cause there are scars
behind my pretty poems
and a heart with muscle-
memory, beating the cadence
to which dying-soldiers march.
draped in cardio-
vascular bandaids
I taste-test every apple
to make sure it isn't poison
but she bit
just to bite.
14th
Literature
Makeshift Symphony
He tied piano strings to his heart,
so that every time it beat
it didn't sound so empty inside.
But the music in his heart
couldnt permeate the hollow air
as the metronome kept time for the clock.
One, two. One, two.
Reedy notes plummeted from his lips as
he made me pluck out Tchaikovsky and Bach
when all I wanted to play was twinkletwinklelittlestar.
"I'm just a little girl."
My fingers tripped and stumbled
and I know that I could never play
as well as he needed me to;
I could never keep his notes
from slipping off the page.
White and black sideswiped my fingers,
as I struck one chord too many.
"I've always wanted to
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Comments32
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Bravo.