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Literature Text
You burnt me to ashes
and spat on my grave.
You played mind games
and thought yourself brave.
But I wasn't a dying ember
my soul was long gone.
But I don't remember
because that was then.
I was cold then
in my frozen brain.
I laughed as I burned
and welcomed the pain.
It wasn't the same
as my time with you.
It was a cleansing flame
that healed my scars.
Now I'm reborn.
I'm not a broken puppet.
I'm not a limping rhyme.
I burned, and now I am free.
and spat on my grave.
You played mind games
and thought yourself brave.
But I wasn't a dying ember
my soul was long gone.
But I don't remember
because that was then.
I was cold then
in my frozen brain.
I laughed as I burned
and welcomed the pain.
It wasn't the same
as my time with you.
It was a cleansing flame
that healed my scars.
Now I'm reborn.
I'm not a broken puppet.
I'm not a limping rhyme.
I burned, and now I am free.
Literature
Blue Eyes in Flames
When the prince sees the flower bloom from the palm of her hand, he orders her arrest.
She is only seven years old.
He takes the flower from her and keeps it, even though he knows he shouldn't. He puts it a vase, or, rather, his servant does that for him. The flower doesn't ever die, even years later.
It's dawn of a December morning, and he's cold. But still, he stands next to his father dutifully and looks at the little girl with blue eyes that are now black from seven nights sleeping on a cold, dungeon floor behind bars. They cut off her dark brown hair during that time. She's tied to the pyre, and there are seven guards around her, hold
Literature
welcome to the real world
1. if someone invites you back to their place
for coffee, and you only drink tea,
don’t stress:
you probably won’t actually be drinking coffee.
2. when the creepy guy from work asks you out
again and you think about accepting for the first
time because you’re sick of going home alone and
you have never learned how to say no, don’t. learn.
stand in front of the mirror until you love yourself
enough for your skin to fit snug on your body. read
about the hundreds of millions of planets out in the
hundreds of millions of galaxies and feel so crowded
that you’re about to burst all over again.
3. you’re gonna
Literature
It Is In The Doing
I know what she thinks I do in the bathroom when I take a little too long,
when I'm a little too quiet.
After all, I'm a healthy teenager with access to the internet, what else could I be doing?
She knocks on the door and asks, "Hey, what are you doing?"
Smile, my dear reader.
Chuckle a little.
Sometimes she's right.
But sometimes... Sometimes I'm on the floor or pressed hard against the wall, my heart a little too fast, my breath a little too quick... my chest a little too tight as I try to keep the sound of steadily falling tears from echoing beyond the door. As I try to keep pretences to the outside world that I do not cry, that noth
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From ashes to ashes.
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Comments7
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I really liked the message of this! Only real problem I can find is the inconsistent rhyming. The first and third stanzas make good use of it, but then it doesn't show up in any of the other parts. As a result, I got distracted from the subject of the poem while looking for the missing rhymes. I guess what I'm trying to say is, if you're going to use rhymes, either use them throughout or maybe just once at the end. Even if you have a really good one, you'll throw the reader off unless you continue to commit.
Still, good theme! It's one I'm sure many people on this site can relate to, myself included!
