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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
April 25, 2013
Dreamers by ~Kupo9089 illustrates perfectly how writing can transcend into a complex relationship between two souls, explains the suggester.
Featured by Nichrysalis
Suggested by AdmiralSilv
Literature Text
She reminds me that she's a dreamer
Her right hand delicately grips a pencil
as she's working equations on a TI-89 with her left
She looks up at me and smiles,
and there are stars, meteors,
spanning across the cosmos of her expression
her countenance reminds me to look up at the chalkboard
that's attempting to teach me how
to make verses sing from pages in a plain 8 by 11 notebook
and I am only armed with
a .7 pencil and a purple pen,
stolen from my older sister's pencil pouch
My hands are inches away from hers
from the desks side by side
like cars parallel parked on a side road
her equations confuse me
until she flips the page
and shows me stories
filled with metaphors of the sky
reminding me that we are both here for the same thing:
Writing.
I needed a reason to smile
She wanted a lesson in writing
She reminds me that I'm a dreamer
We exchange stories and poems like cigarettes
except the only price we pay is a small portion of our ego
when there are mistakes and flaws,
and we are graciously fragile people
I wrote poems of a boy whose touch I could never forget,
where I only slept because he promised me sweet dreams and good mornings
Her stories were spun from meteors, magic spells,
and a payment of cucumbers
She teaches me that writing is a two-way street.
You walk down the road, expecting a revelation in the end,
but you don't find one
Instead, your find yourself armed with a notebook, a couple pencils
and blank pages
She taught me to write my own endings with periods
so I sound like I can stand tall and proud,
not second guessing myself with an ellipsis at the end of my statements
I know that comma splices aren't the only thing that can cut sentences in two
She taught me that writing means to breathe
and the breath given to works of art comes back
in the form of satisfaction when you lay your pencil down
You form callouses on your hands to take away those that are on your heart
You question how paper so thin can harbor so much weight
when all that's on them are words you're too afraid to speak
and remind yourself that you're a dreamer
I needed a reason to write.
She gave me one.
Thank you.
Her right hand delicately grips a pencil
as she's working equations on a TI-89 with her left
She looks up at me and smiles,
and there are stars, meteors,
spanning across the cosmos of her expression
her countenance reminds me to look up at the chalkboard
that's attempting to teach me how
to make verses sing from pages in a plain 8 by 11 notebook
and I am only armed with
a .7 pencil and a purple pen,
stolen from my older sister's pencil pouch
My hands are inches away from hers
from the desks side by side
like cars parallel parked on a side road
her equations confuse me
until she flips the page
and shows me stories
filled with metaphors of the sky
reminding me that we are both here for the same thing:
Writing.
I needed a reason to smile
She wanted a lesson in writing
She reminds me that I'm a dreamer
We exchange stories and poems like cigarettes
except the only price we pay is a small portion of our ego
when there are mistakes and flaws,
and we are graciously fragile people
I wrote poems of a boy whose touch I could never forget,
where I only slept because he promised me sweet dreams and good mornings
Her stories were spun from meteors, magic spells,
and a payment of cucumbers
She teaches me that writing is a two-way street.
You walk down the road, expecting a revelation in the end,
but you don't find one
Instead, your find yourself armed with a notebook, a couple pencils
and blank pages
She taught me to write my own endings with periods
so I sound like I can stand tall and proud,
not second guessing myself with an ellipsis at the end of my statements
I know that comma splices aren't the only thing that can cut sentences in two
She taught me that writing means to breathe
and the breath given to works of art comes back
in the form of satisfaction when you lay your pencil down
You form callouses on your hands to take away those that are on your heart
You question how paper so thin can harbor so much weight
when all that's on them are words you're too afraid to speak
and remind yourself that you're a dreamer
I needed a reason to write.
She gave me one.
Thank you.
Literature
A Note on Drowning
I am writing this letter for myself. If you have found this letter, please give it to me. If you find that I lack the will to read, if my mind is gone, if my hands are bloodied, tell me at least, that the song is near its end. If I am dead [indistinguishable]
[Written in the margin: IF I AM DEAD THROW ME TO THE SEA]
In laying out the bones of my terrors, a solution may be found.
I’ll start before the beginning, when Mother took me for walks on the beach and told stories. Together we missed my father, who sailed the sea. These are my earliest memories, but I remember things had always been this way. We walked together, and I counted m
Literature
Dragons
The dragons just kept getting cuter.
I'd meant them to be scary, with snakelike heads and pearly fangs, but as my fingers gained more practice the dragons they shaped became younger and more innocent, their wings tiny and their eyes wide. Dull spikes lined their heads and tails, not yet sharpened by age. They lay on their bellies or sat up and watched with good-natured curiosity. They were friendly. They were sweet.
They were flawed, and there were a lot of them. I experimented with color and pose, sculpting the way others would turn a stress ball. Every morning I baked the newcomers in my oven, and within a week my desk was overrun. Rows o
Literature
alannah
lilting clouds in your glass of cabernet
are imagined weather conversations
with people you used to know,
used to know pretty well and
whether you should have left
the way that you did
all carpet bags and old clothes
the fog funneled through
holes in the train windows like
burned down cigarettes
uneven
you light your own and think
remembering is muscle
stretched taut over bone
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For a contest.
[link]
Edit:
Holy shit. Best thing to wake up to is a bunch of favorites. Jesus.
Thank you everyone! Thank you, ~AdmiralSilv and ^NicSwaner! This means so much to me!
[link]
Edit:
Holy shit. Best thing to wake up to is a bunch of favorites. Jesus.
Thank you everyone! Thank you, ~AdmiralSilv and ^NicSwaner! This means so much to me!
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