Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let Down Your Trust Issues by WildWolfMoon94, literature
Literature
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let Down Your Trust Issues
I. (Set the stage)
"The color of my bra is called Flirt," the girl says, popping a bubble in Amelia's face and winking. The sickly sweet scent of chemicals and sugar mixes with the chemicals and the sugar of the bar, hags low and heavy about their faces. The girl slides closer, beaming, her eyelids low. She's wearing too much mascara. Amelia grips her drink tighter and pulls her elbows in collapsing, she fills less space than she did before. Volume stays the same, the number of atoms composing her stays constant, but she appears to be smaller. Could this be expressed mathematically, or with a computer simulation, she wonders, and sips
MARTY
Ok. This mess is called Jitters.
Teacher gave me a one-word name
On the first day of the third grade.
She labeled me with my condition
And so sparked a life-long tradition
Of insecurity and anxiety, cyclical
Critical hits dealt to my clinical tics
By cynical pricks so I set adrift
Across a rift between me and every other fucking kid I ever dared not encounter, fearing the ridicule they would pursue.
A few years later we went to the zoo.
A tarantula, gargantuan, yet trying to hide
from our view in a viewing tank
With sandy banks and small cacti
Yet we could not avert our childish eyes.
“True,” said teacher,
“You&r
Do you know the taste of the universe? by Synesthi, literature
Literature
Do you know the taste of the universe?
One day, when you’re five years old and made out of fractured sunlight and mirror shards, you sit down on the bench of the MAX train. You’re dressed in your winter coat and boots that are too big and one of your parents has pulled your hat too close over your ears.
You’re sitting next to your mother, and on the other side is a man that smells like loneliness, something that you’ll later know as cigarettes and alcohol and homelessness. He’s crying quietly into the top of his jacket and you’re scared to look because you’ve never seen an adult cry.
The train ride goes on for five minutes, which is a lo
the other night
i caught you with fingers so far
down your throat
they choked you from the inside
out.
your closed fists
formed snail shell spirals
at your sides
and the tears in your eyes
told the story you wouldn’t tell
and i already knew.
“i’m fine,”
you said,
not trusting me enough
to say the truth.
baby girl,
you’re beautiful,
but sometimes
you tear me apart.
"There followed terrible days after he left, we forgot to say the Kaddish." ~ Night by Elie Wiesel, a survivor of Auschwitz and Buchenwald
Never Forget
Yit'gadal v'yit'kadash sh'mei raba b'al'ma di v'ra khir'utei v'yam'likh mal'khutei b'chayeikhon uv'yomeikhon uv'chayei d'khol biet yis'ra'eil ba'agala uviz'man kariv v'im'ru: Amien
Free will is the gift of humanity,
But it's hard to appreciate what's hurting me,
In light of the darkness of these days and nights,
Is this gift worth its price?
Dear God, grant shalom, peace
Y'hei sh'mei raba m'varakh l'alam ul'al'mei al'maya yit'barakh v'yish'tabach v'yit'pa'ar v'yit'romam v'yit'nas