raxeira: (got;; missandei)
made Queen
-->this poem is written in response to 2 prompts. The first is to pick up the nearest book and look at page 29, choosing 10 words that resonate and can be used in a poem (the words are underlined here). The second was for the literary device of caesura, which is a fascinating and wildly challenging thing. I had fun with this, and it also drives me mad. All you have to do it pause when you see the parallel marks || while reading as usual.

made Queen )

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raxeira: (f;; lorde)
You Will Be Asked

When you go on a job interview
you will be asked:
What are three words that describe you?
It's a stock question
(hint: they haven't prepared, nor read your application)
You should not take this question seriously, 
never answer with the truth.

Do not tell them 
you are a romantic
you fall in love as easy as breathing 
never learn from your mistakes.
You hate to admit it: the word
romantic is
childhood movies with Princes Most Charming and Princesses Most Beautiful who would rather lie asleep than go after what they most want; 
movies with chance meetings and mistaken identities, with men who are charmingly rude and women who realize the power of love (almost) too late to be saved; 
to be romantic is to be weak,
to be needy,
to be a woman.
(You/They forget 
romantic is
to see the beautiful in the world around you,
to open your heart to new people,
to believe that every new person you meet is a new friend,
just maybe.)

Do not tell them 
you are forgetful,
often found 
stars in your eyes. 
Don't let them know 
you miss emails 
lose your glasses, 
you sometimes stop in the street with a dream in your head that blocks out all else
you've forgotten a thousand and one nightmares
anticipate ten thousand more.
You look at something red and forget where you are,
forget reality (cast it away)
for the slippery slick of blood at a murder scene;
you see clouds moving across a porcelain sky
consider how it would feel to roll and roil and tear yourself to pieces;
smell cut grass 
imagine pristine 50s lawns 
movie sets with pastel houses.
You forget 
you have a body 
lose your mind in the possibilities.

Above all,
don't tell them 
you are insubordinate.
You read porn in your spare time 
eat chocolate black enough to rot your insides
watch illegal movies instead of doing work, 
get splendid grades anyway.
You write terrible prose
worse poetry, 
words a piercing addiction you cannot shake.
You close the doors and make art, laugh, scream.
You are not stupid: you see the lines drawn in the
sand and neatly step over them; you are the invisible
ghost of what they will never admit to wanting,
what you will never admit to having.
You know that rules exist --
they are not for you.
You refuse to hate yourself 
your desires, 
if you could be paid for them you would flaunt them.
It's a matter of money, really.

These are the things you will think
in a job interview,
when they ask you That Question.
Don't say them.
Lock your lips,
seal away the key.
You are not
to be such would be
to be

You will lie.
You will be steely-eyed.
You will be inhuman.
you will get the job.

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