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Literature Text
She's not crazy for shoving her hand down her throat
Or putting a blade to her skin
For starving herself
Or committing a sin
She's not crazy for praying
And not believing in God
She's not crazy for playing
In storms with a lightning rod
She's not crazy
For being void of emotions
Nor for trying to drown
In countless oceans
She's not crazy for saying I love you
Or for making a wish on the stars
And she's not crazy for wishing
That her eyes could leave scars
She's not crazy for standing
Like she's better than you
Or refusing a hug
While her lips turn blue
She's not crazy for building
Her wall brick by brick
Or listening to music
With screams and a riff
She's not crazy for writing
Poems galore
Or wondering what
This silly life's for
But she's crazy for looking
At her reflection
And wanting to believe
In a thing called perfection
Or putting a blade to her skin
For starving herself
Or committing a sin
She's not crazy for praying
And not believing in God
She's not crazy for playing
In storms with a lightning rod
She's not crazy
For being void of emotions
Nor for trying to drown
In countless oceans
She's not crazy for saying I love you
Or for making a wish on the stars
And she's not crazy for wishing
That her eyes could leave scars
She's not crazy for standing
Like she's better than you
Or refusing a hug
While her lips turn blue
She's not crazy for building
Her wall brick by brick
Or listening to music
With screams and a riff
She's not crazy for writing
Poems galore
Or wondering what
This silly life's for
But she's crazy for looking
At her reflection
And wanting to believe
In a thing called perfection
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Literature
Church of Thought
I want to build a library
And shelve it with every book ever burned.
I want to build a library
And invite in all the pastors and preachers and woebegone popes-
Send them wandering through the breathing books,
Willingly lost in the dust motes and the cinnamon paper and the quiet conversation of
Dry Twain-
Dark Poe-
Wilde and Shakespeare and Darwin and Plato.
I want to build a library
For all the puppets and their strings.
And there, in that long-awaited Church of Thought
Let them decide
Who the real gods are.
Literature
Facebook Stalker's Limerick
"The Facebook Stalker's Limerick"
I love that picture you just posted, with your new style of hair.
I love that outfit you just bought, I had to stop and stare.
And your new place, the sweet new bed,
That tasty-looking veggie spread,
It looks so good, that if I could, I would go live there.
And your new job, how do you like it? Will you stay there long?
If I stopped by and just said hi, is that coming on too strong?
What if I just sent some flowers,
No name attached, so spend the hours
Wondering who admires you, pondering all night long.
If you don't know, I'll give you hints, leave some subtle clues.
I'll tag myself, "like" a pic
Literature
Church
She has never orgasmed because every man who has touched her never meant a thing. And she has panic attacks because she never wants anyone to be inside her again or try to love her again because something is broken, impossible to mend.
The holy water is never in her reach when she needs it.
She fills her lungs with smoke as if to suffocate, to smother her brain so she doesn't have to exist. She confesses her sins to paper because she's afraid of priests and judgment and reconciliation.
Since everything ended the sign of the cross is more intimidating than swallowing the pills. She hasn't been on a proper diet, hasn't had the bread or t
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I'm not crazy
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Comments24
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Nor am I...
And beautiful writing
And beautiful writing