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Literature Text
Dear Diary...
I used to hold my pencil at the ready—
strung with thread to wind around words,
mending with a stitch, my gaping heart
—and carve your name into the parchment
as if you were the combination to my dreams.
I'd confess to you my secrets in graphite whispers,
and doodle the contents of my heart between your sheets.
And you held my every word on the edge of a line without fail.
But you held too tight, never releasing me beyond your grasp,
and tiny pieces began dying from the atrophy of your captivity.
Now, I speak your name in vain, refusing to crack the spine that broke mine.
You damned mocking diary.
--
Written: 5/9/2012
Revised: 5/16/2012
Copyright © 2012 Jen Fowler
All Rights Reserved.
I used to hold my pencil at the ready—
strung with thread to wind around words,
mending with a stitch, my gaping heart
—and carve your name into the parchment
as if you were the combination to my dreams.
I'd confess to you my secrets in graphite whispers,
and doodle the contents of my heart between your sheets.
And you held my every word on the edge of a line without fail.
But you held too tight, never releasing me beyond your grasp,
and tiny pieces began dying from the atrophy of your captivity.
Now, I speak your name in vain, refusing to crack the spine that broke mine.
You damned mocking diary.
--
Written: 5/9/2012
Revised: 5/16/2012
Copyright © 2012 Jen Fowler
All Rights Reserved.
Literature
Everything You Borrowed
On Sunday afternoon,
after exiting the church,
you plucked the sun from the sky
and hid it in your palms
so that when I held your hands
they would no longer be cold.
When Monday night arrived
you snatched every single star
and used my tears to make
a necklace.
Tuesday's empty dawn shone
through the cracks of the door--
you stole the promise of what
could never be
and draped it around my shoulders.
After Wednesday's twilight passed,
you grabbed the clouds
and wove a tapestry of lies
that I hung on the walls
of my prison.
Thursday crept through us
on silent tiptoes,
waiting for us to take notice--
instead, we merely waited
for midnight to
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Goodbye
i didn’t fall in love with you
until your skin was already grey and i
had to tell you what the weather was like
since you couldn’t leave your bed.
i didn’t mind long nights in the hospital
because making you laugh brought a warmth
to my cheeks that burnt hotter than a
forest fire, you never laughed at me for blushing
i snuck you in alcohol and forbidden foods
and pushed you around in that rusted wheel chair,
and all the nurses looked at us with
miserable eyes that said more than the doctors
would ever tell me.
naively i thought it was good news
when you said they were sending you home; but
when i saw you strewn across
Literature
Grandma
“Is there something terribly wrong with me?”
I sigh and look up from my book. In the evening light my grandmother stares back at me, utterly unaware that it’s the third time she’s asked in as many minutes. Complex maps of wrinkles frame her wide eyes, each crease charting the grief, joy and laughter of a lifetime she is slowly forgetting. I look at her and I remember the wit and spark that used to punctuate her speech. I remember the way she used to strike up a conversation with anyone, anywhere; how she’d find wonder in the simplicity of everyday life. Her curiosity, her sense of adventure, her love of the worl
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This was inspired by a friend's own "Dear Diary" poem. I liked the idea.
Eh, that ending needs a little work but it's after 2am and my brain has decided to shut down for now. :/
Updated 5/16/2012: I re-wrote most of the first strophe and got rid of the previous ending.
Still wondering if that last line add or subtracts from the punch of the piece.
Updated again 5/16/2012: Apologies to my watchers for spamming your inboxes. Updated the first strophe with spacing to separate out ideas, and tweaks the words a little more.
Comments welcome.
Updated 5/16/2012: I re-wrote most of the first strophe and got rid of the previous ending.
Still wondering if that last line add or subtracts from the punch of the piece.
Updated again 5/16/2012: Apologies to my watchers for spamming your inboxes. Updated the first strophe with spacing to separate out ideas, and tweaks the words a little more.
Comments welcome.
© 2012 - 2024 BeyondJen
Comments39
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Ahahaha, wow. This is a wonderful piece that actually feels a lot like an intimate diary entry. The turn towards the end makes this a lovely, teasing thought!
It is ever a treat to find a person that writes in such a way, such a form and with such skill, finesse, the that imagery could not be more clear or enticing. While I have to confess that I have a bit of a crush with the entire piece, one line charmed me in particular - "Now, I speak your name in vain, refusing the crack the spine that broke mine."
Clever girl
It is ever a treat to find a person that writes in such a way, such a form and with such skill, finesse, the that imagery could not be more clear or enticing. While I have to confess that I have a bit of a crush with the entire piece, one line charmed me in particular - "Now, I speak your name in vain, refusing the crack the spine that broke mine."
Clever girl