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Literature Text
i.
peruse catholic schools. stumble over
paltry naivete to fall in (love)
with the angelic crackhead. hook
his libel over your heartstrings.
invoke the attention of God you've
learned to worship. abandon faith.
ii.
enter the theater. extend every last
hope fiber on the chance for stardom.
earn the spotlight on a fluke. eradicate
fear with a giant's assistance. scrunch
him into your pocket. flail wildly after
he escapes and disables your psyche.
iii.
desire fruit from the tree of good and evil.
become this generation's adam. know
your ambition will be your downfall. coax
the serpent to you - just punishment is
its own reward. weep for the loss of
everything before - no more innocence.
iiii.
love with everything you are
and can ever hope to be.
Literature
how to be a writer
travel. travel to
12 different countries.
write about to the ones
you've never been to.
fall in love.
fall in hate.
fall in crippling
depression.
drink cheap coffee
live off caffeine
and cafes with
free wifi.
question everything and
everyone. never be a
sellout nor trust a soul
with your words.
be a disappointment.
dispirit everyone and
no one because you'll
never be good enough.
dream about fantastical
places filled with wonder.
twist them into nightmares
with raging beasts and cruelty.
never be happy.
rip apart your work.
love something then
loathe it back.
cry about your regrets
to anyone who won't
listen and ignore those
who care
Literature
How To Be A Writer
My parents said I shouldn't be a writer,
and throughout the last few weeks
of scarcely sprawling stray thoughts
on the napkins that line my trash bin,
I'm inclined to believe them.
Without a medical degree folded in my back pocket,
my wallet's looking a lot thinner;
I'm left with an abused and worn vocabulary
sagging on the edge of its seat,
stinking of whatever poison-laced shock value
I inject into my phrases,
and festering in the melodrama
of a teenage conspiracy theorist's soul.
(It smells kinda like rebellion, miniskirts, black nails, and rolling eyes.)
I hate to be the cliche of a struggling artist,
But a cliche is better t
Literature
dreamergirl
The Last Time I saw you,
you were down in the dirt,
[literally] on hands and knees,
looking for the bit of magic
your father had promised was toiling
just underneath the surface.
You feel it, you whispered in
a cotton hush like the vibrancy
of your voice would intimidate the
dreams you scraped at beneath the
faultlines. Daddy never told a lie
[excluding the usual good things
come to those who wait, and 'tis better
to have loved and lost, and every end
is a new beginning]. You feel it,
you whispered, trembling at the hands
the same way you did for the Pills
that couldn't quite fix the Problem.
.
I never really understood all the ways
you
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So I joined the bandwagon. Sue me. Thanks =DrippingWords and thank you life.
there are parts i don't like...what do you think?
© 2013 - 2024 ithaswhatitisnt
Comments35
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Overall Vision Originality Technique ImpactThe first stanza is my favorite. The incorporation of reckless love and religion really grabbed my attention and sounds so familiar.
The second stanza is funny but I guess I don't quite get the giant reference. Otherwise, it seems so logical that once you have thrown yourself at love and failed, the next logical move would be to expose your next obsession to the world. How romantically misled.
The imagery in the third stanza is beautiful. It encapsulates the essence of the loss of innocence so poetically and yet so vaguely that we can all relate.
The last stanza really ties the whole piece together and reminds us that this a tutorial and just just a description of adolescence.
I found the rhythm of the peace forced, but I think that just might be my preference. All in all, it made me stop and write my first critique to share how much, and why, I loved it <img src="e.deviantart.net/emoticons/s/s…" width="15" height="15" alt="
" data-embed-type="emoticon" data-embed-id="391" title=" (Smile)"/>.