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Literature Text
Tornadoes never make good shelters -
but he doesn't know that.
So he tries to find
refuge inside of me,
he tries to build a home
out of my bitten bones
with a porch swing
made of whatever
left-over love
someone forgot to take back.
He wants me to be a safe place
to hide away
from a troublesome summer,
but I am not made of light,
and I am not made of beginnings -
everything about me
is a never-ending ending.
Tornadoes never make good shelters -
and he will soon know that.
but he doesn't know that.
So he tries to find
refuge inside of me,
he tries to build a home
out of my bitten bones
with a porch swing
made of whatever
left-over love
someone forgot to take back.
He wants me to be a safe place
to hide away
from a troublesome summer,
but I am not made of light,
and I am not made of beginnings -
everything about me
is a never-ending ending.
Tornadoes never make good shelters -
and he will soon know that.
Literature
how many broken relationships does it take
it was easy to forget to love you.
so perhaps it’s my fault for our brokenness
for our extinguished spark;
it’s as if i forgot to plug us in or light our candle
but how many broken relationships
does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
none because there was only screwing up not screwing in
none because you screwed your lightbulb in someone else
i am trying to forget to love you again
but i’m still writing poems about what broke us,
summing us up in stanzas about lightbulbs;
do you
Literature
i lost my heart in a ghost city
i've fallen in love with these wind-swept streets
the ice-blue skies; they cry for me
the raindrops glisten in the distant view
like a shower of stardust in the city lights
i find my hope in these run-down parts.
in the metro heart of a sleepy city,
the motion leaves me dazzled and dizzied
the headlights of the passing cars
illumine my face like incandescent stars
and rather than waiting by a post-letter box
i'm distracting myself with directionless walks
yet all my brain can conjure up
are bygone memories of you.
hours on end but there's no reply
my forlorn heart's like the ashen sky
i'm cold, i'm alone, and i'm drenched to the bone
but th
Literature
In Which I Finally Find A Good Man
I tell him, if you love me, you need to stop reading the poems.
I tell him, if you read them, you will find a version of me you hate.
I tell him, if you want a future with me, you will stop reading the poems.
Because the girl in the poems is kerosene dreams
and ink stained scars and whiskey flavoured fury,
and the girl he is in love with is cotton candy soft
and summer dresses and vodka laughter.
I tell him, he can’t have both because he doesn’t want both,
no one wants a girl whose lungs are smoke black rage
even if her heart is made of tissue silk.
Girls who are both, are too volatile, too painful to love.
So I keep he
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© Anca-Ioana Sandu
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© Anca-Ioana Sandu
Find me on:
Personal Tumblr
Blackout Poems Tumblr
Blogspot
© 2016 - 2024 TheGirlOfTomorrow
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you really should post more often.