She picks the bruises off her apples,
and I massage the bruises on my calves.
She says that it makes the apple taste different,
and I subtly kiss the blueness on my arms.
She throws away the discolored pieces,
and I pull up my shirt to hide
the plum colored spot beneath my collarbone.
I help her eat the apple,
happy that I'm not a fruit.
I practiced sword fighting with my father yesterday, and now I'm covered in bruises. The worst looking one is this huge dark purple spot that covers half my chest from where my shield was pushed against me.
I like writing poetry. Not all of it is going to be a historical epic or an ode to something. These are like little glimpses of the subway in my mind; my train of thought isn't always artsy or symbolic or deep or meaningful, but I like to think that art takes ordinary things and makes people see a sort of beauty in them. So, look around- I've been doing this for a while. Enjoy ♥
3 comments:
hahahahaha omg sword fighting!
p.s. i love you so much for your most recent comment. i would be honored to have my quotes in your poems/stories =)
oh gosh, i keep thinking of things! lol sorry if you thought these three comments were left by three different people. anyway, i just remembered, did i ever tell you about Miranda July? you MUST read No One Belongs Here More Than You, a collection of her short stories. simply amazing. and next [or before, whatever] watch Me and You and Everyone We Know, which she also wrote and directed and starred in. she's a performance artist and completely quirky and amazing.
[and if you already know about her, sorry for all of this lol]
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