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Literature Text
they say
'be scared of the demons
who scratch on your doors
in the middle of the night,'
but they don't scratch on my doors
because i leave them wide open
so we can have company
and someone who knows
how to burden the weight
of tears on your shoulder
'be scared of the demons
who scratch on your doors
in the middle of the night,'
but they don't scratch on my doors
because i leave them wide open
so we can have company
and someone who knows
how to burden the weight
of tears on your shoulder
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Literature
Keeper of Dreams
She turns to her dreams more often than she does reality.
Inside them - those wondrous and phosphorescent fancies - he is always there, waiting for her.
Silver eyes like misty moonlight; skin so smooth and perfect it could have been carved from marble and hair the color of the blackest midnight, softer than swan feathers against her cheeks. A smile that could have put the stars to shame and a voice more saccharine than nectar, washing over every inch of her being like tender waves of satin.
Just like the other nights, he is stretched out across a bed of rich purple sheets and petals whiter than snow. Everywhere else she looks there is noth
Literature
Let Your Daughter Be a Pirate
Let your daughter be a pirate
if she asks for a wooden sword
help her build her ship from empty boxes
and sail the vast backyard
because a box doesn’t only
have to store dead dreams
and she is so much more
than just a vessel.
Let your daughter be Robin Hood,
if she wants to be an anarchist,
a hero, a rebel, a rogue,
give her bows, and arrows,
and arrogance,
let her fight for the plight of poorer folk
because Robin isn’t just a boy’s name.
Let your daughter be a princess
locked in a tower so high
let her be her own prince,
don’t tell her to wait for a hundred years,
let her swing from her own hair
and grasp her own fre
Literature
Red Riding Hood's Cabaret
A dancing girl with fiery hair,
Twirling smoke around her finger
Dances in darkness for a sea of howling wolves
Unclothed, her emptiness is put on stage
To burn in the spotlight
As claws scratch at the floor
She plucks a hot cigarette from one of the fingers
Puts it to her lips and takes a warm sultry drag
"Look, but don't touch" she mutters,
Stepping just close enough for a claw to rip into her thigh
And she whispers into the snarling crowd
"What more do you want?"
as her hips and crimson lips rock smoothly and tempt softly
And while her legs move, her eyes dance and smile,
Unsolvable mazes of golden brown for irises.
A subtle wink giv
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