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Literature Text
when i was small the seashells whispered
shush shush into my ear,
but i heard stories:
shorelines being loved and lapped away
by oceans, a watching moon paling with jealousy
despite her shining retinue of stars, pulling back
despite her shining retinue of stars, pulling back
the sea with white knuckles from the bleeding shore
losing itself grain by grain to the rough hands
of the atlantic-
when i was older, my mother told me
that a shell can only echo heartbeats.
i still plucked them from the bellies of the beaches,
cupped their fragile curves against my ears
to listen to their prophecies. the past
became the present: i have been the waves,
the sand, the stars and moon, the rock
and salt a thousand times-
shushed the little girl who does not know
how to let go of sea shells-
i have learnt the art
of uncurling,
finger by finger,
grain by grain,
as i listen to my heartbeart
with my soft hands,
as the seagulls wheel away
like sighs of hope.
tell me something beautiful, i ask them.
shush shush, say
the sea shells.
Literature
So What's Wrong?
I love art class, I really do.
I love to paint and draw and get amazing results.
But sometimes I can't help but not want to be there.
Sometimes, I hate it.
No one talks to me.
Then again, I have my headphones on.
No one knows me that well.
But, I seclude myself from everyone else.
It's really boring at times.
I never integrate myself in their conversation.
My teacher barely gives me criticism.
I don't ask a lot of questions either.
People tend to stay away from me.
Yet I always have this aura of not wanting to bothered around me.
When people pass by, I can feel their eyes on my back.
Their breath brush up behind my neck and on my s
Literature
Informed Consent
A shoebox and a throttled scream.
There is no good grief. Not for me.
Red grey leaves can't bring me joy
They fall on my lap - my boy,
Girl, be still, didn't mean to,
Did not stop - knew what she'd do.
A shoebox and a throttled scream.
There is no good grief. Not for me.
Literature
Dear Dad.
Dear Dad,
From the moment I came off of that plane and was placed in your arms,
(even though I was an oblivious baby at the time)
I felt safe;
I felt like I was truly home.
I've had a tough twenty-something years. But you know what? I don't care.
I don't care because I've got you to support me, cheer me on,
and tease me to death until my frown turns upside down,
and I'm a giggling mess squirming in your strong arms.
We've been through a lot, Dad, you and I.
From my first time on the beach in Chincoteague
to Moon Rides in the backyard.
From my first cleft-palate operation
to my asthma attack during that Easter Vigil Mass.
From my bouts of d
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Not entirely sure if this is finished, but I do like it. Feedback would be lovely, as always. 
Thanks for reading!
Thanks for reading! © 2013 - 2024 1nkl1ng
Comments3
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It sounds so innocent and sweet. The imagery is honestly breathtaking. I love the last three lines in particular. It's like that ephemeral moment of curiosity a child experiences before finding out it's as simple as that, yet they didn't know what to expect. Those lines just really get to me.