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Literature Text
tangerine, mandarin, cadmium
the pulp always looks surprised to
be caught naked in your hand
And more than a little embarrassed
when you force the peel back
Ochre shock and bursting tears of tangy
Crying little caviar eggs
of sweet disarray
On your tastebuds
Funny spanish orange
Just a baby to the big ones
the pulp always looks surprised to
be caught naked in your hand
And more than a little embarrassed
when you force the peel back
Ochre shock and bursting tears of tangy
Crying little caviar eggs
of sweet disarray
On your tastebuds
Funny spanish orange
Just a baby to the big ones
Literature
Latreuophobia
I wash off sick-sweet orange lipstick in front of a mirror as dusty as gothic romances. It tastes like oblivion, that is to say, like nothing my tongue can detect.
The door opens with a creak no private restroom could emulate. Some chick with blue bobbed hair and smeared eyeliner. I looked like that once. Ten years ago.
Getting the beer out of my hair is harder. Some men just can't take it when I'd rather they not kiss my feet or call me an angel or-
“Dayum girl, you look like a goddess.”
I gulp, taste of acid.
Literature
Solace
She never slept well in the dark,
not without the children of the sun and moon
to guide her weary lids home.
Guided by the aftermath, she was always two steps behind.
What did the world look like to the girl who had been through it all?
Braved the heaviest of storms,
yet skipping over cracks in the pavement.
They said her eyes were the wisps of clouds before the storm.
To him they were reflections of pages overlooked.
She said it was like she lived the life of someone she had never met.
Laid out to dry, yesterdays news.
He knew her as the girl who was built to never collapse.
He wished he was too.
He loved her more than words could say
Literature
They say the one who prays
They say the one who prays receives much more
than whom we pray for, shaping what we want
to what we get. We find a way to pour
the outcomes into candle molds we can't
have fashioned for ourselves. But then we light
the wax and sniff the scent and call us blessed
by blessings in disguise. For what is right
in contexts so complex we cannot test?
For those who say that praying contradicts
free will or undercuts the will to change
injustice, fine. You have no wax, no wicks,
no blessing and no curse, you are the sage.
I pray to sculpt the candle and the mold
and scent with pity earth and heaven's hold.
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Comments8
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Cute and tasty.