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Literature
Seventeen (In Phases)
1.
It was because her parents had named her for the grandmother who had broken her mother’s heart. The grandmother whose heart was supposed to have melted from her birth and hadn’t.
That was why her mother barely looked at her. That was why she called her ‘girl’.
That was why she liked to pretend she was the quiet woman in the background of an old black and white movie. Because everything here was like an old black and white movie.
[And if she really looked back, her mother had never appreciated the elegance of the 1950s enough.]
2.
It was because she hated surprises. The surprise she got on her sixth birthday wh
Literature
Ways to conquer heartbreak
Dance with fistfuls of roses, shred their petals one by one and wear their thorns like armor.
Write your secrets between the folds of paper cranes and tuck them safely between the empty spaces of your castle ribs.
Open your broken heart to hummingbirds, allow them the warmth and shelter of your arms.
Rebel. Tape poetry to your limbs, Cummings and Sandburg and Sexton.
Take a walk outside of your skin for a while, run with wolves.
Extinguish that forest fire that’s been curling too long in your lungs.
Be that lionhearted girl those snobby poets always write about.
Allow that cavern of stars in your throat to speak your truths in uppercase
Literature
-
this windowpane loneliness
has devoured too many stars
making love to ocean beds.
-dp
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Hi there! Just a note to let you know that I've featured this piece in my end-of-the-year journal feature 
