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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
January 20, 2014
cherry trees by coup-de-coeur
Featured by DorianHarper
Suggested by camelopardalisinblue
Literature Text
i was born 4425 miles away from here
in a country rich with history
that is starting to disappear.
to add insult to injury,
centuries-old castles are crumbling,
falling away like our citizens
and tragically few are stumbling,
not even a backwards glance.
me? i left over ten years ago,
an anniversary marked on the calendar,
a reminder to not look back, just go.
pretend there never was danger.
pretend that we all have a better life.
pretend that our hearts are here.
pretend this is the direction in which to steer.
pretend there is no resentment.
pretend.
my mother left behind a doctorate,
my parents left behind a life of strife,
but we have no family here.
i've never heard my baby cousin laugh.
i grace funerals with my absence.
i don't know if my aunt's eyes
crinkle at the corners when she smiles.
my parents had to start anew,
and i know they thought this through,
but the weight of this sacrifice
weighs down upon my shoulders.
i am atlas, carrying foreign boulders,
and my muscles ache.
what scares me the most is forgetting.
romania dyed my soul,
but canada is a cold tide,
seeping through my bones,
rolling and chilling.
i no longer dream in romanian.
in a country rich with history
that is starting to disappear.
to add insult to injury,
centuries-old castles are crumbling,
falling away like our citizens
and tragically few are stumbling,
not even a backwards glance.
me? i left over ten years ago,
an anniversary marked on the calendar,
a reminder to not look back, just go.
pretend there never was danger.
pretend that we all have a better life.
pretend that our hearts are here.
pretend this is the direction in which to steer.
pretend there is no resentment.
pretend.
my mother left behind a doctorate,
my parents left behind a life of strife,
but we have no family here.
i've never heard my baby cousin laugh.
i grace funerals with my absence.
i don't know if my aunt's eyes
crinkle at the corners when she smiles.
my parents had to start anew,
and i know they thought this through,
but the weight of this sacrifice
weighs down upon my shoulders.
i am atlas, carrying foreign boulders,
and my muscles ache.
what scares me the most is forgetting.
romania dyed my soul,
but canada is a cold tide,
seeping through my bones,
rolling and chilling.
i no longer dream in romanian.
Literature
The Coffee God
The Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve
Literature
wednesday's child
it is the third of october
and i am building a castle for us
out of feathers, bird bones,
ocean waves and library book pages.
anything to keep our feet from
touching the ground.
you are sin, he whispers
and his fingers trail cold fire
down my side, scorching flesh
and freezing bone;
brittle pieces of me shatter
as they hit the stained linoleum floor.
don't wake me from this nightmare.
i whisper a nursery rhyme
as i walk down our
autumn path.
kamikaze leaves fall, trailing
fire as they throw themselves from
the branches, down, down,
to cold pavement below.
your words echo in my mind
a constant reminder
that i am sin
but you,
you were
ne
Literature
Vaguely heart-shaped
. In another universe, who I am
gets dumped by a woman
who in another life
was Cleopatra.
Today I divine this by finding a small blackened potato
between my oven and counter,
vaguely heart-shaped, sprouting
pale arteries
of no use to me,
I think on an inexplicably dramatic
whim.
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i don't usually ask for reviews/critique, but this is part of my personal project, which is basically just a really huge project that we do in grade 11 so that we can get our ib diplomas. i am writing slam poetry, and i'll post a few others someday.
so if you could just give me your thoughts about this, it would be much appreciated! 
© 2013 - 2024 coup-de-coeur
Comments55
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I’ve prob fav’d this 3-4 different times by now switching accounts and I re add it every time because I found it however long ago and still think about it all the time.