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writeandleft

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About writeandleft

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    Nymph

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  1. city girl dancing

    hey, city girl, with your blonde-tipped waves and three dollar lashes, you're gorgeous. I hope you travel the word like you always wanted to spending your money on lipstick and sweet dark coffee and shining spray paint, I hope you turn that dusty alley into a work of art. dance like the leaves on the wind because one day you'll be dancing in front of millions people will line up to see you sparkling under the spotlights. swing your ponytail and keep doodling on those high tops, handmade earrings bouncing. I hope you realize you're a diamond in the rough I hope you get on your bike and pedal as fast as you can and pass all the buildings you've known your entire life belting off-key song lyrics to the starry heavens. I hope you ride right off the edge of the world and keep on going into eternity.
  2. Exquisite Corpse, January Edition

    reach down from the pedestal I place you on; though it rises crystal sharp above the exosphere
  3. intro things :D

    ooh awesome to know you love lin manuel miranda's stuff too! And as for waitress and les mis -- actually, I've just recently gotten tickets to see both of them off broadway! so excited! if performing entire musicals when I'm home alone counts...(what do you mean it wasn't meant to be a one-person production???)
  4. intro things :D

    hi all! (am I late to this?? also am I doing this right???) I’m Becca. I love writing and photography and musicals. that probably sums me up. I adore broadway shows but I’m usually stuck with online bootlegs/off-broadway productions/soundtracks (not that I’m complaining!!) in the heights, come from away, dear evan hansen, amelie, hamilton anyone? also I do write some poetry but I don’t actually read a lot of it. recently I’ve been trying to do so and I discovered a freakin GOD, e. e. cummings!!!! his work is beautiful!!! I’d heard of him before but never really read his stuff. so anyway now I want to find more poets..anyone have suggestions? (by the way happy new year everyone <3)
  5. Exquisite Corpse, January Edition

    and swear to me not by all the stars in the sky, but by the empty space in between
  6. delirium

    *alright so the thing is I have all these little magnets with words on them and such, and I thought why not try to write a poem using only those words? so this is what I came up with. and this just made me think about how much I freakin adore the english language!!! like, it's just so amazing!! I love words <3* I see an elaborate picture from beneath a rose petal sky: sweet pinks blowing lazy fingers of mist from the smooth lake, wanting sweat is a thousand tiny diamonds on my skin a delirious whispered language of milk and honey, hot blood pounding in my breast and a spring symphony I am drunk on the moon lusts over daylight, the sun soars through raw peach summers with singing wind a frantic red haired goddess of life, mad beauty, black seas my feet in bitter stormy waters are bare blue shadows, never still; with a languid purple tongue one timeless rusted cry dresses me in a luscious fashion of music and rain and these gorgeous lively things I achingly need.
  7. speak

    my head explodes with meaningless thoughts awkward smiles, shy laughter, stumbling one word answers. I want to scream because no, no, here I am again, before you at a loss for words when all I want to do is speak, and my thoughts are countless. but what do you talk about when you talk about nothing? I wait too long and my traitorous lips stay shut
  8. Collective Slam Poem: Nov/Dec 2017

    Too many metaphors break us into idealized clay-footed statues, and we forget that we are only human in the end.
  9. Collective Slam Poem: Nov/Dec 2017

    Clinging to faint wisps of hope that this universe, this vast fresco of burning cyan and cushioned crimson, will one day take pity on us pitiful ones.
  10. medusa

    *ok I have no idea what this is, but I saw this art on instagram titled "Blind Woman in Love with Medusa" and I just melted??? it was so beautiful and cute?? so I wrote this thing down. first draft.* I should be dead, really, I should his blade should have slit my charcoal-gray neck in one raw, stinging swipe pulsing, spitting thin liquid crimson his shield baring my repulsive reflection, the one I despise so much the one I hardly ever see because I try so hard not to look. I should be dead, really, but seeing myself ugly and monstrous in his shield gave me the fury of Hades (no pun intended) and I struck him down. now I am alone again in my lifeless garden the only flowers here are the ones tucked gently behind a young maiden’s ear she is cold, gray stone now, and I have memorized her features the flowers are violets. I do not know how much time passes after that and I truly do not care two more mindless travelers stumble into my garden two more mindless statues adorn the withering grass. but then one day she comes a woman’s footfalls treading lightly over stone I do not see her, but I feel her anticipated breaths in the air, almost scared, almost intrigued and I wait for her to come into the light to scream, freeze in shock at my hideous visage the writhing nest atop my head my ashen, hollow cheeks my dark eyes, deep like Tartarus with monsters lurking in the abyss the one Athena condemned. but she stares and stares, unaffected, beautiful, delicate and I stare and stare, wondering, grotesque, pained I realize, now, that she is not looking, her eyes are milky and useless. no, she is feeling and smelling and tasting and listening but not seeing, never seeing I laugh. I laugh and laugh and laugh, “has somebody sent you to kill me? you are the perfect weapon. immune to my ugliness.” she tilts her head, chestnut hair falling in a sheet “nobody sent me. I am no killer. I am curious, however, as to why you are.” “I do not try,” I say “my face is hideous enough. whoever sees me is finished, and I cannot control it.” I think of the maiden with the violets in her hair and how full of life she seemed now trapped in an eternal wide-eyes raised-brows open-mouthed fear. I tell the truth. “An unwanted curse,” the woman says unseeing eyes blinking, “I am sorry.” “what ever for?” she smiles slightly, and a giddy uncertainty takes to trembling wing in my chest. “for nobody ever taking the time to ask if you created your garden on purpose.” I almost smile back, but I remember that she cannot see. “either way, it is not beautiful,” I say. “it is not,” she says, “but the fact that you know that, is.” I smile this time and I know it is ugly, gray and unnatural but she doesn’t see of course she doesn't mind. the woman leaves and comes back the next day and the next, and the next, and the next, and the next and she tells me about the way the salty sea smells after a storm and I tell her about the way the leaves look just before they flutter to the ground like butterflies on gilded wings she brings me a woven basket of grapes and nectarines we laugh at the way the juice drips down our chins, warm and sweet she tells me my laugh is beautiful. I tell her that she is beautiful. she is silent. whenever she is with me and a traveler approaches, unknowing of my danger she directs them away so they do not lay eyes on me. my garden does not grow at all in an entire season. when I tell her this, I find that I have begun to weep and I cannot stop she embraces me and kisses me lightly on my marble-cold cheek. the warmth of her delicate, rose petal lips stays on my skin until she comes back the next day. she arrives, carrying nothing she sits on the grass next to me she says, “I love you.” she takes my hand. I say, “I love you,” and I almost begin to weep again but I tell myself that it would be foolish. then she begins to weep instead, a quivering smile on her lips, tears clinging like dewdrops to her lashes and I tell her about the way the sun looks as it rises in shades of rose and marigold. she says, “you’re beautiful,” and I do not protest. I gather her in my arms and hold her close she does not protest.
  11. Collective Slam Poem: Nov/Dec 2017

    We are rough and jagged, uncut diamonds scratching once smooth skin.
  12. reverie

    fictional candy coated lovers, take me back to when you were kissing by the fireside, imagined yellow light illuminating flat white pages and black text. I could almost smell the fresh ink. take me back to when I was younger and stupider and still so much better to crackling red and brown, cannonballs in messing up the yard we just raked. to secrets hidden in the knot of a tree leaves for blankets, and an acorn cap on a flower petal tablecloth, wild strawberries I picked like they were precious rubies growing among the grass in this backyard world, staining my pale fingers a delicious red. take me back to catching snowflakes on my tongue tasting the promise in the air as it melts in my warm mouth, it may as well be sweet toffee crystals disintegrating for the way I savor it. take me back to being hungry for adventure and praising a skinned knee, to when I could yell on the breeze any nonsense and sing to the sky, in tune with the cicadas and chickadees. take me back to when the trees would whisper in a soft language of peaceful summer days and cool nighttime mystique, when the drafts into my darkened room were the breaths of a giant coming to blow his misty dreams through my window like fluttering smoke, and the moonlight shadows flitting across my wall or car lights flickering from one wall to the next were lost boys finding their way home.
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