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Literature Text
You smile,
Teeth gleaming,
Eyes shining.
You look at me,
At my eyes,
Deep down into them.
Past the green surface,
Through the pupilic abyss into what normally remains hidden.
You see me.
You see the little boy within,
The boy in the corner,
Waiting to be noticed,
As people,
And places,
And lives,
Rush by.
You see the unshed tears,
A reservoir,
Held back by emerald green gates.
You see the hurt,
And the pain,
And the need to go unnoticed.
You see all of that,
Yet you still smile.
Your teeth still gleam,
Your eyes still shine,
And you still look deeply into my pained eyes.
So I smile back,
And you look away.
Then you walk away,
And,
While staring at your back,
I think to myself:
Good thing I'm the kind of man who sees lies behind the truth of every smile.
Teeth gleaming,
Eyes shining.
You look at me,
At my eyes,
Deep down into them.
Past the green surface,
Through the pupilic abyss into what normally remains hidden.
You see me.
You see the little boy within,
The boy in the corner,
Waiting to be noticed,
As people,
And places,
And lives,
Rush by.
You see the unshed tears,
A reservoir,
Held back by emerald green gates.
You see the hurt,
And the pain,
And the need to go unnoticed.
You see all of that,
Yet you still smile.
Your teeth still gleam,
Your eyes still shine,
And you still look deeply into my pained eyes.
So I smile back,
And you look away.
Then you walk away,
And,
While staring at your back,
I think to myself:
Good thing I'm the kind of man who sees lies behind the truth of every smile.
Literature
how to become a writer
have parents that separate
when you’re in high school;
a father filled with unused anger
and a mother too busy to care.
pretend it doesn’t hurt.
let your friends treat you
like dirt;
after all,
everything is your fault.
listen to their problems with a fake smile
all the while crying out because
everything hurts and no one can see.
press a knife to your skin,
but be too cowardly to
draw your own blood.
fall in love with people
who could never notice you,
because you’re
just. not. good.
enough.
chew on the multicolored
strands of your hair.
(you can’t stop runni
Literature
Anxieties of a Conflicted Introvert
I.
[i don’t want to
have to tell you i’m
sorry
again but
lately it’s been tough.
And i’m stricken with this feeling that
maybe i’m not good enough.]
run.
you see, somewhere out there
birds are looking for nests and birds
are finding them in the ribcages of souls but i
am tired of picking straw from my heart
and strings and hair that wrap around my fingers i’m—
[well sometimes i’m a little lonely
but i never wanted to tell you that]
escape.
--tired of seeing the ball i wind from
those leftover nests grow and grow—
[and i want more, want more,
Literature
desolate
you are a broken house with smashed windows
and ivy growing between your fingers
you are fragile and with every
creaking footstep on the stairs you pray so
hard that you have let the right one in
there will be people,
people with minds so blissfully ignorant that
they walk right through you and do not
see the splintered furniture residing within your
body, you are invisible to them,
and sometimes
you wonder if you are even there
but then there are other people -
people worth staying standing for,
people who will walk in and gently run their
fingers along the parts of yourself that
you forgot were even there,
people who will explore your
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Well then, it has been a little while since I wrote, and this is what I come up with? Oh well, beggar's can't be choosers, and I was definitely begging for a little bit of inspiration. Not that I am all that upset with the outcome, I actually quite like it
Anywho, this was written for Doctrinaire's prompt contest under prompt #4, "Communication, means never doing it." I'm not really sure if this is close enough to the prompt though...some one will have to let me know if this flies or not :/
Also, my main question with this piece is as follows: Is the final sentence surprising enough/does it provide enough of a twist? Meaning, is the feel of the poem completely changed in the last line? Also, do the italics help or hurt the flow of the poem?
Anywho, this was written for Doctrinaire's prompt contest under prompt #4, "Communication, means never doing it." I'm not really sure if this is close enough to the prompt though...some one will have to let me know if this flies or not :/
Also, my main question with this piece is as follows: Is the final sentence surprising enough/does it provide enough of a twist? Meaning, is the feel of the poem completely changed in the last line? Also, do the italics help or hurt the flow of the poem?
© 2010 - 2024 nngross
Comments17
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I read this twice-because each time I was reading it "Good thing I'm NOT the kind of man..." for me the line did change the feel of the poem...because really tho he is hiding-he WANTS to be noticed....especially by HER...and the ending seems too pessimistic for me...just me tho...I loved the flow-and I could visualize this whole "happening"...well done...