She could eat a mango with her eyes closed
Her fingers well acquainted with the fruit's soft hairs
Then peel it back slowly with a sharp paring knife
As I watched, intrigued by how the smooth grain
Of the kitchen table matched the hues of her arm.
But this was one time, when the soft summer night's
breath exhaled long into the kitchenette
That I found her head down, her eyes withdrawn
To a breeze tossed curtain above her.
And I noticed her stomach swelling as a ripening fruit.
And knowing quite well that a seed separated from the tree
At such a young age could fall into another garden
And be fruitful. And this she knew, for her ro
birdcry (the sea salty sweet with)
I.
the sea was his womb;
the salt the waves the sea
the boy, he counted waves:
three, three-hundred
and said: I'll live to be that--
-- old man drowning & crow-
birds cawing &
let's pretend he is deaf:
and the waves have number but not
the sound of rushing past quickly. the
old man doesn't stop drowning, though
a croak, silent & open-mouthed desperation,
carries him under.
let's pretend he is blind:
and he counts the wishy-wash against
his toes, the sou
lets embrace silence and dance by wakemeup60, literature
Literature
lets embrace silence and dance
"I don't want to talk."
Do you remember our friendship? You were my best friend, you know that. We used the sticky, summer sand to have snowball fights by the water, because we both knew it would never snow in the heat. Oh, and that sand hurt, but we laughed through the pain. I guess pain is meaningless when you're seven. At night we wandered down the pier and chased the lightning bugs in and out of the tide. If we were lucky enough, we could catch one. Your luck was always better than mine. Lighting up the shore, we kept them in jars and placed them in a circle. I gave you my grandmother's bracelet, kissed you on the cheek, blushed, and to
He is not an Edward.
He doesn't stare at me every minute he is with me.
Or smell my hair and watch me sleep.
Won't follow me, like a lost puppy,
Sometimes, he'll even walk away.
He doesn't love me for my faults,
It's in spite of them.
He'll notice pretty girls, even think of
past lovers
When he laughs at me, it's because I'm silly,
Not cute
Or Perfect.
The thought of me getting hurt does not bring tears to his eyes.
He would not die if I died,
He is not an Edward.
And I am not a Bella.
We are real.
Our love is real.
And that,
Is more important, and genuine
Than idealistic, impossible fantasies.
Screw Edward.
Dear Mom,
[I know this really isn't a letter like I promised, but you should be used to me giving less then I say I will]
I'm going to feel bad, throwing you into the ocean.
I'm going to have to clench my teeth, close my eyes, and grip my hip [because you're there, forever; in jagged scar tissue with upside down mountain capped M's and a blocky O, you're there, forever.] to keep myself from diving in after you and gathering you back together with the finest cheesecloth, molding you back together and filling you with all the beautiful things you've been drained of. I'll jam sea glass in your eye sockets and replace your weak bird bones wit
Hi! Let me start by saying, I love the colors, and atmosphere in your photos. Sometimes you feel like you could just fall in. I'm starting to look at moving up in cameras, and the canon eos rebel t3 was one of my top bets. I was just wondering, for macro, do you use a different lens, or the lens (18-55mm I believe) that came with the camera. Your focus is nice and clear! Thanks for your time.