archive of literature

When I die, my writing is all I will leave.

[0paldawn]

[0paldawn]

[0paldawn]

I came into this world naked and that is how I wish to exit it

[0paldawn]

We are tethered to this earth on a level that is beyond any logical reasoning. But if we are, then why does the ones that tethered me have to leave. Why is it that one day when I call out for my mother the only answer I will get is the echo of the reminder. The reminder that one day my father will no longer be there to protect me. Why is it that one day all I will have is the caressing comfort of my own internal body— and that will one day no longer be there, one day when I am somebody's comfort, somebody's protector, they will call out into the world and I will not answer. When that day comes, though my body will feel cold to you, I will be warm, by the gentle warmness of the sky. It wraps around you like the water in a swamp when you begin to sink, it protects you. The swamp water blocks your eyes, you can longer see people searching for you within a crowd out of habit. You can longer hear people calling out for, for your help— it becomes but a muffles amongst the noise of the world. You can feel the coldness of another lost soul next to you through what should have been a warm blanket of relief from the world, but, in reality, is a bag. A bag that you don't belong in. You can hear the cries of help from the, what would be souls but have turned into nothing more then internal organs. Internal organs that provide heat, heat that has been, heat that was not lost but instead transferred, transferred by a cruel creator. The warmth was not for you. The heat was not created, silly, don't you know that nothing can be created. The heat was stolen

NOTHING CAN BE TETHERED OR UNTETHERED, CREATED OR DESTROYED. Life and death is an illusion. When you call out someone hears you. They just no longer care for you.

[0paldawn]

prompt: find the positive in something you hate

i hate summer

The sun glares down towars the flowers

The bird lets it's song be known

The children aren't confined by school hours

And a flower's colors are shown

The sound of laughter can be heard

A woman's lose dress flows

Though not in school, much is learned

Even the teacher knows

All of nature's colors seem brighter

And so does everyone's smiles

The air seems quieter and lighter

And sadness feels isolated by miles

A young boy's freckles are accompanied by sunburn

Life becomes perfectly imperfect

As soon as leaves fall, summer is something we all yearn

[0paldawn]

A girl searches the streets that used to warm her heart

What she searches for is safety and comfort

But she cannot find it— the streets have been torn apart

In this land, She serves as the only judge, and her mind the lone court

A shoeless boy wanders another set of streets,

The skin on his body closely lines his bones

He comes to a patch of dirt that once had flowering medowsweets

He recalls when he would bike by it, now the clothes on his body is all he owns

A mother sits next to a street alongside her son

With the cold weather, she wraped him in a jacket while she trembled

She smiled at him eating his food, while she had none.

The heat her own body produced was the only form of comfort— her world crumbled

A teenager watches the glances given by every passerby

And she looks at the pale sidewalk in shame

As she thinks of the perfect girl she would much rather be

As she recalls her mother, who will never know what she became

As she thinks about the life she took for granted, that she wishes she could reclaim

A girl's eyes trace the texture along her forearms

Each gash is different, but they all bond over making her unlovable

She knows that perfect girls need perfect boys, and for her that's impossible

So, in replacement of her perfect boy, she falls for men's internet facades and charms

The sensual messages sent between them made her feel protected and loveable