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John Green's The Fault In Our Stars:
"I'm in love with you," he said quietly.
"Augustus," I said.
"I am," he said. He was staring at me and I could see the corner of his eyes crinkling. "I'm in love with you, and I'm not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I'm in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we'll ever have, and I am in love with you."
"I'm in love with you," he said quietly.
"Augustus," I said.
"I am," he said. He was staring at me and I could see the corner of his eyes crinkling. "I'm in love with you, and I'm not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I'm in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we'll ever have, and I am in love with you."
bought a new book of poems
"You can't get pregnant
if it's your first time.
You can't get pregnant
if you do it standing up,
if you don't French kiss,
if you pretend
you won't let him
but just can't stop.
You can't get pregnant
if you go to the bathroom
right after,
if you ride a horse
bareback, if you jump
up and down on one leg,
if you lie in the snow
til your bum feels numb,
if you do it in the shower,
if you eat garlic,
if you wear a girdle,
if it's only your second time.
You can't get pregnant
if he keeps his socks on,
if he's captain of the football team,
if he says he loves you,
if he comes quickly,
if you don't come at all,
if it's o
Poem
Without Hands by Lorna Crozier
All the machines in the world
stop. The textile machines, the paper machines,
the machines in the mines turning stones to fire.
Without hands to touch them, spoons, forks and knives
forget their names and uses, the baby is not bathed,
bread rises on the stove, overflows the bowl.
Without hands, the looms
stop. The music
stops.
The plums turn sweet and sticky and gather flies.
Without hands
without those beautiful conjunctions
those translators of skin, bone, hair
two eyes go blind
two pale hounds sniffing ahead and doubling back
to tell us
of hot and cold or the sil
my new favourite poem
Miriam Waddington
"Thou Didst Say Me"
Late as last summer
Thou didst say me, love
I choose you, you, only you.
oh the delicate delicate
serpent of your lips
the golden lie bedazzled
me with wish and flash
of joy and I was fool.
I was fool, bemused
bedazed by summer, still
bewitched and wandering
in murmur hush in greenly
sketched-in fields
I was, I was, so sweet
I was, so honied with
your gold of love and love
and still again more love.
late as last autumn
thou didst say me, dear
my doxy, I choose you and
always you, thou didst pledge
me love and through the redplumed
weeks soberly
I danced upon your words
and garlan
Because I need a new journal
hush, little baby, don't say a word
papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird
and if that mockingbird don't mock real well then
papa's gonna buy you a freedom bell
oh, and if that freedom bell don't ring
papa's gonna buy you a cubic zirconia ring
oh, and if that cubic zirconia ring don't shine
you're gonna give your papa a real hard time
now ain't you...?
and if that real hard time don't pass
papa's gonna get wrinkles all upon his face
and then he'll blend in with all the other papas then
screw the whole mockingbird situation, we can't even afford a medical plan
now can we...?
this song won't do, let's start this over...
hush, little
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