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Carol Rifka Brunt, Tell the Wolves I’m Home
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you don't see it? your mind's polluted
(my pinterest <3)
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Jennifer Saunders, from “When the Guest Speaker Told Us“
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Mary Oliver, from a poem titled "Work," featured in The Southern Review (edited)
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i miss you, do you miss me?
i drove by a sign for your old middle school and thought of you
we haven’t talked since my birthday
even then it was a measly happy birthday on your story at noon instead of midnight
i don’t think we’re friends anymore, you have shiny new ones
you still have my hair clip from eight months ago
i wonder if i’ll ever get it back
how many of my sayings and mannerisms are borrowed from you?
do you still say them the way i do?
do you have new ones i don’t know about?
new friends, new interests, new hobbies, new clothes, a new life?
how much has changed in your life away from me?
how much has stayed the same?
do you miss me the way i miss you?
or have you forgotten all about me?
it feels like you left me at a bus stop waiting for you to come back
maybe i’ll get a new best friend
maybe they’ll be a better one than you were in our half decade friendship
maybe i won’t
maybe i won’t ever have a best friend like you
where people mistaked us as lovers
maybe its better this way
maybe its what needed to happen
maybe we needed to drift apart
have different lives
is it selfish of me to want you all to myself?
is it horrible to see bad things happen to you and think that its karma?
a year ago i couldn’t dream of thinking this way
maybe a year from now i’ll forget you all together
or maybe you’ll haunt the back of my mind like a ghost,
bringing up memories wherever i go.
#new poets society#original poem#poetry#poets corner#poets on tumblr#spilled ink#spilled poetry#friendship#growing up#friends#ex friends#ex best friend#old friends#platonic#friendship breakup#drifting apart
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out of place
Its an interesting thing to be sober a family of alcoholics
You feel wrong for not wanting to drink
Weird
Out of place
At family events there’s mass amounts of alcohol
Mostly beer because its cheap and being alcoholic is an expensive hobby
Its always joking “do you want a sip of my beer?”
We both know they’re messing
But then it comes time for shots and that’s when the trouble begins
“hey take a shot with us!”
“please take a shot I wanna drink with you!!”
“just one shot!”
“just one sip!”
“no thanks”
“I’m good”
“I don’t drink”
“I don’t want to”
I’m pleading
I’ll say it a thousand times till I’m blue in the face for them to finally accept the “no”
Why isn’t that good enough the first time?
Now that I’m older everything is different
Am I missing out on the quintessential college experience?
Am I living my life right?
Why can’t I just take a sip?
Take a shot?
Why do I have such an adverse reaction to alcohol?
Am I scared to drink because of my family?
To fall victim to alcoholism?
Is it a reaction to the constant pressure to drink that I’ve had for half my life?
Am I scared I might like the feeling?
I feel wrong
Weird
Out of place
Its an interesting thing to be sober in a family of alcoholics
#poetry#original poem#poets on tumblr#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#poem#new poets society#poets corner#spilled poetry#writers#my poem#spilled words#words
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What delightful weather we have had for a week! It seems more like smiling May crowned with flowers than cold February wading through snowdrifts. I have heard some sweet little birds sing, but I fear we shall have more cold weather and their little bills will be frozen up before their songs are finished.
Emily Dickinson in a letter to Abiah Root dated 23 February 1845
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I will wander down it and pick flowers, green cowbind and the moonlight-coloured May, wild roses and ivy serpentine.
Virginia Woolf, The Waves
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The birds were singing in their scattered way. The starlings in their bright mail were feeding on the grass. Dew shone, red, violet, gold on the trembling tips of the grass blades. It was a perfect May morning.
Virginia Woolf, The Years
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Emily Dickinson, from a letter to Lavinia Dickinson wr. c. May 1870
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{Words by Anaïs Nin, from The Diary Of Anais Nin, Vol. 4 (1944-1947) / Cynthia Cruz from diagnosis,The glimmering room}
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