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Literature Text
he told me that i was the most beautiful
of all the mannequins in the department store;
he said that he wouldn't mind being stuck
in this hellhole forever, as long as he stood next to me.
and i loved him because
he warmed my immobile heart,
and i loved him for how
he'd never leave my side
if i told him not to.
each day, we'd stand together
under the heated display lights
i didn't care that there were others
more beautiful than me
i didn't care when closing time was arriving,
all that mattered was that he only had eyes for me
and only me
we were seperated
by leagues and leagues of aisles
all day,
but upon closing,
he would depart from formal attire
and drag himself all the way to casual wear,
the place i called home.
and i'd hold onto his cold hands
splintered from years of wear-and-tear,
and be glad i could at least
lay claim to one thing in this store.
he'd embrace me in his stiff arms
and whisper to me sweet nothings,
tell me how beautiful i was,
talk about how we'd be together
forever
but forever, was not to be
when dawn broke
and i awoke glassy eyed
and unsure
and he was gone.
if my sculpted nose
could smell
or if my carved ears
could hear
i would smell the smoke
of his cedar body
burning
and hear the crackling of his skin
melting
and suddenly,
i was more alone
than the janitor who dusted me
by himself at night
winter,
and i see a little girl in tears outside
and it makes me want to cry too
but everybody knows you can't cry when
you're made of painted plastic
days past and i grow tired of
wishing, hoping
for nothing to come by
my heart is quickly forgetting him
spring,
i turn to focus my gaze
on handsome young things
and suddenly,
a bold swagger along hot asphalt
bright eyed and curly haired
he stops to admire
my place in the display,
admiring my summer dress,
my painted skin
i am putty under his gaze.
maybe he was only
imagining his girlfriend in my stead,
or daydreaming, perhaps
but all that matters
is that he's looking at me now.
but he quickly moves on.
what use is a mannequin to him.
grey days and forlorn nights
i feel despondent
today,
men in blue jumpers come
they don't hold me gently,
the way he did
somehow i am able to close my eyes
i don't feel myself hit and crash against
the wet wooden floor of the truck
i am able to screen out
all the bumps and pain
the splinters;
i can ignore
how i am trapped in the corner
behind tools and other garbage
as i feel the wheels slow
now i know i am trash
just waste
as the truck rolls to a stop--
now i miss him
all the more
as i know i am at my end.
of all the mannequins in the department store;
he said that he wouldn't mind being stuck
in this hellhole forever, as long as he stood next to me.
and i loved him because
he warmed my immobile heart,
and i loved him for how
he'd never leave my side
if i told him not to.
each day, we'd stand together
under the heated display lights
i didn't care that there were others
more beautiful than me
i didn't care when closing time was arriving,
all that mattered was that he only had eyes for me
and only me
we were seperated
by leagues and leagues of aisles
all day,
but upon closing,
he would depart from formal attire
and drag himself all the way to casual wear,
the place i called home.
and i'd hold onto his cold hands
splintered from years of wear-and-tear,
and be glad i could at least
lay claim to one thing in this store.
he'd embrace me in his stiff arms
and whisper to me sweet nothings,
tell me how beautiful i was,
talk about how we'd be together
forever
but forever, was not to be
when dawn broke
and i awoke glassy eyed
and unsure
and he was gone.
if my sculpted nose
could smell
or if my carved ears
could hear
i would smell the smoke
of his cedar body
burning
and hear the crackling of his skin
melting
and suddenly,
i was more alone
than the janitor who dusted me
by himself at night
winter,
and i see a little girl in tears outside
and it makes me want to cry too
but everybody knows you can't cry when
you're made of painted plastic
days past and i grow tired of
wishing, hoping
for nothing to come by
my heart is quickly forgetting him
spring,
i turn to focus my gaze
on handsome young things
and suddenly,
a bold swagger along hot asphalt
bright eyed and curly haired
he stops to admire
my place in the display,
admiring my summer dress,
my painted skin
i am putty under his gaze.
maybe he was only
imagining his girlfriend in my stead,
or daydreaming, perhaps
but all that matters
is that he's looking at me now.
but he quickly moves on.
what use is a mannequin to him.
grey days and forlorn nights
i feel despondent
today,
men in blue jumpers come
they don't hold me gently,
the way he did
somehow i am able to close my eyes
i don't feel myself hit and crash against
the wet wooden floor of the truck
i am able to screen out
all the bumps and pain
the splinters;
i can ignore
how i am trapped in the corner
behind tools and other garbage
as i feel the wheels slow
now i know i am trash
just waste
as the truck rolls to a stop--
now i miss him
all the more
as i know i am at my end.
Literature
I'm Hiding
Dear World,
Im hiding.
Im behind the makeup; over-done, ostentatious, not-really-me makeup. But it makes me feel better. Do you understand? I dont think you do. See, I have all these horrible problems with myself. Theyre internal problems; problems with how I look, problems with how I act, problems with me.
If I cover myself up, maybe I can pretend the world will see me better; they might see who I want them to see. But more importantly, maybe Ill see who I wish I could be. I can fool myself sometimes, when Im lucky; and thats all that matters to me. Its borderline-obsessive, but I dont
Literature
midnight.
it is midnight and the clocks are chiming in the almost-silence. the sky feels like rain and somewhere, some girl is dancing and laughing and smiling, but she's certainly not me.
our hearts are cold. they've been sleeping, curled into themselves for too long without a blanket or a pillow or a smile to fall back on. it's midnight and the sky feels like rain and there's going to be a storm later,
but it won't match the storms inside, that's for sure.
we are biting our nails, smiling and pretending nothing is wrong and saying, yes, darling, i'll get rid of this horrible habit in the morning. it'll all be better tomorrow,
except it's midnight
Literature
before
a little while ago
maybe a couple of months or something
i wasn't drinking ; instead i was
waking up to you
every morning you would stretch
and your spine would move and i felt it all over
your skin stretched into the sun and
i saw it everywhere
but guess what, that shit was gold and
gold doesn't last and you didn't last.
i got boring and you got mean.
and you're less of a gypsy and more of
a woman and i know if i called you up tonight
said hey baby come home
how did we get here baby i'm crying on the
floor drinking lime pepsi
and this goddamn pepsi is flat. so why don't
you come home. just for the night.
you would say you h
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not disappointed at all.