dear delilah








Fathers, be good to your daughters; daughters will love like you do.

you are the strength and the weight of her world

poetry

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Stream her with roses and daisies, dear mother,
let all that she speak be all that that she hears.
For no higher, no higher let her forehead doth grow;
and so dote, dote my mother, my mother so dear
and let her run free with a conscience so clear


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Saturday, 30 June 2007
what it feels like to cry

when you cry, you get a salty taste in your mouth, and your face starts feeling icky because the tears dry almost immediately on your skin when you wipe them off. If not, they'll drip down to your chin, and leave a crusty line there, like someone took lipstick and drew a line from the edges of your eyes to your jaw. Your lungs start pulsating like you're running out of breath, and you find your stomach sucked in, as if waiting for the ordeal to be over. Your throat gets dry from breathing after awhile, and your nose gets too wet from liquid snot. Your eyes start feeling puffed up, it annoys you just to close them, because you can practically feel the increased volume of your tear glands under your skin; and because of all this, you wished you never cried in the first place, and it confuses you whether you wish someone was there to hand you a tissue, or you're glad for the solitude so no one will see you as you are - the messed up freak.

he told me that I've done alright
and kissed me till the morning light