How to love a girl who can't love herself. by lupus-astra, literature
Literature
How to love a girl who can't love herself.
one.
When she cries herself to sleep
six out of seven nights a week you must
say nothing. You must simply take
her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
pale cheeks and wait for her to
slumber at the sound of your heart.
two.
On the days where she wishes she
were part of the stars, tell her
no. Tell her that there are too many
lights in the sky and that just one
would be forgotten the moment you looked
away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
the way she is: completely human.
three.
Don't let her think about the scars
that no one but her can see. If she
says
Simple Girl Complicated Problems by CloudNumber8, literature
Literature
Simple Girl Complicated Problems
I know I am not the daughter you wanted
But at least you got it right the second time
My little sister found her place in your hearts
But I feel I have never really found mine
Why would you care to listen to your first born?
When you have a fresh blank canvas to create
All of those things that you wish I could have been
Had I not developed such negative traits
But those negative traits make me who I am
And shouldn't you love me without condition?
See my stubbornness as being strong minded
And when I talk, don’t interrupt just listen
I know I am not the daughter you wanted
I scowl but I still need your loving embrace
Though you barely
The Family Has Been Informed by CloudNumber8, literature
Literature
The Family Has Been Informed
Bullets that are too far away to hear back home
But words that will forever ring just as loud in my ears
Delivered from the lips of a uniformed man
The sympathetic sentence any mother fears to hear
I turn away as if ignoring his presence
Will make this unwanted reality go away
But he repeats that he is sorry for my loss
Those words are the last thing I remember of that day
I find myself looking out of the back yard window
On the swings in the garden I still see my boy play
I am bringing drinks out to him and his brothers
Under the sun, on the grass, on endless summer days
Those memories like photographs in frames on the wall
Now show my so
you are
only human.
There is no such
thing as stardust
floating in your veins or
gloomy poetry stitched
right into your heart.
Your blood is made of
iron - unbreakable,
unbending and unmatched
by any other stronghold,
for you are a fortress
that they will never invade.
Stand up,
darling;
wipe those tears away
and know that
you are the only one
who can reinforce these walls.
Oh the storm clouds they are gathering now
Winds are lifting grains of sand from the shore
The patterns in which they rearrange themselves
Are too relevant for me to ignore
Faces from the past that I recognise
Faces from the future that I have not met
Faces from a life I thought I’d left behind
Faces that I tried so hard to forget
Oh the storm clouds they are gathering now
My whole life has been a prelude to this day
For each grain of sand lifted from the shore
There are a million more that are blown away
Faces from a past that I never lived
Faces from a future that was not my fate
They swallow me up whole in this dust bowl
Then spew
It's not hatred, it's incredulity. by lupus-astra, literature
Literature
It's not hatred, it's incredulity.
when i was ten years old my
teacher asked the class,
"if you were god, what would
you change?"
and i remember
biting my lip so hard
that it bled. carefully,
i wrote about
how i would teach
kids from an early age on how to
love yourself and no one
else and that there is no such thing as
an almighty power that will pity
you and answer your desperate prayers
at three a.m. because you're the only one
who has that kind of control.
when i handed it in she just looked
at me like i was the
monsters under
her child's bed. the next day i
was sitting in her office wondering
why it was so wrong to
talk about what's in your heart at a catholic
school
I can't write poetry for dead girls. by lupus-astra, literature
Literature
I can't write poetry for dead girls.
there are too
many pills in this
world and too
much misery in
the human heart
but that didn't mean
that you could just
up and leave when
we both know it
could have gotten better
and i miss you like
a wolf misses her pack
or a goddamn dragon misses
her fire and i'm sorry
that i can't give you
a bouquet of jasmines
(they were your
favorite, after all,
because that was
the only princess
with a pet tiger)
because poppies are
too cliche and i'm
sorry i wasn't there
when all you needed
was a hug and for someone
to whisper "it's okay,
you're perfect enough
for me, don't listen
to that junkie bitch
who just happened to
give birth to you" and did
my father once told me that you can’t marry someone with your same blood type.
chances are your children would emerge with a myriad of deformities;
your DNA strands wouldn't coincide the way your souls would.
this hit me with the realization that maybe, in a time before this one,
someone foresaw the way we would look at each other and decided
we were a secret better kept hidden.
this morning was the first in a long time that i woke up feeling beautiful
without a boy convincing me so the night before. is this what freedom feels like?
heart spilling out of my chest and alveoli snapping into place.
this is untouched skin:
smooth and