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Literature Text
You played a beautiful,
Weathered Spanish guitar,
With a slow half smile,
The edges of your eyes,
Gently crinkled,
It was an evening in May,
And you told me the stars
Shone so much brighter,
Reflected in my eyes,
We danced in the meadow
My skirt flying around us,
Silky scarves hanging from my hips,
Where your hands lingered,
We were clothed in wildflowers,
My curls brushing your cheek,
As you ran your fingers,
Along my legs,
I dream of the summer,
When your body was
More familiar to me
Than my own,
And as I wake,
I can hear, the faint strummings,
Of an antique guitar,
and the scent of freshly picked
meadow flowers.
Weathered Spanish guitar,
With a slow half smile,
The edges of your eyes,
Gently crinkled,
It was an evening in May,
And you told me the stars
Shone so much brighter,
Reflected in my eyes,
We danced in the meadow
My skirt flying around us,
Silky scarves hanging from my hips,
Where your hands lingered,
We were clothed in wildflowers,
My curls brushing your cheek,
As you ran your fingers,
Along my legs,
I dream of the summer,
When your body was
More familiar to me
Than my own,
And as I wake,
I can hear, the faint strummings,
Of an antique guitar,
and the scent of freshly picked
meadow flowers.
Literature
What Matters
Forget the worries, forget the fears,
Wipe away your old hurt's tears.
Laugh out loud, dance around your room,
Picture a different bride and groom.
Spend some time with your best friends,
Pick up the pieces, make amends.
Scream to your favorite song,
Not caring if the notes are wrong.
Live your live, reject the strife.
Pick up the pen, put down the knife.
Smell a rose, bounce on your toes.
Play with your hair, slide down the stairs.
Love the way you are, name you own star.
Accept your faults, turn somersaults.
These are what matter,
No matter how crazy or scattered.
Literature
In The Grips Of December Breath
The December breath of the world was cold, but his hands were hot against her skin. Around them fingers pointed of their own accord, and girlish giggles floated over the pair's hearing. The hour was late, the clock's hand was broken, and she kissed him with an unknown but ice-cold passion. It was only his pleasure to return the gesture, to move to lips against hers, to allow his hands to creep up under her top. In her ear, which was delicate with the petals of youth, he whispered recycled verse. All the while she clung onto him, as though the very fingers of night could snatch him away from her.
Short of breath, the girl drew away, just
Literature
Riddle of a Different Shape
I was born a girl
with birth in my belly
and I will leave this world
a woman in a coffin.
From the moment I could
walk I had a boy on my heart
a boy, man, monster,
so different from me.
There is a puzzle in
my brain of why so different
why not me or him
and vice versa
verses of times
but I see he and I
are pieces of the same
cloth
but different patterns for a reason.
When I walked into the street,
I tried to be a boy
but I had hips, that broke the boy
I was born a girl,
a riddle of a different shape,
and he scattered, far away.
I was bred to be locked away
and select for taller men
(and monsters)
but I just want t
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You were the summer love, I forgot to forget,
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Comments9
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So sweet, and it puts me in a peaceful, relaxed mood!!! I really liked
"I dream of the summer,
When your body was
More familiar to me
Than my own, " But then again I liked every part!!! You can seriously write!!!
"I dream of the summer,
When your body was
More familiar to me
Than my own, " But then again I liked every part!!! You can seriously write!!!