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Literature Text
Teach how to read, not what to read.
Teach how to speak, not what to say.
Teach how to love, not who to love.
Teach how to think, not what to think.
Teach how to be, not who to be.
Teach how to listen, not what to listen to.
Teach how to stand, not what to stand for.
Teach how to write, not what to write.
Teach how to admire, not what to admire.
Teach how to fight, not who to fight.
Teach how to laugh, not what to laugh at.
Teach how to question, not what to question.
Teach how to accept, not what to accept.
Teach how to succeed, not what to succeed in.
Teach how to follow, not who to follow.
© Rocio Belinda Mendez
Literature
You've suffered enough...
My dearest child, do not weep, for I am here to wipe your tears away. Come, let us be free of these blankets; let us walk from these dim halls.
There lies what once was your body, fevered and eaten by disease. Your lips are cracked and bleeding, your arms are both thin and sallow. Do not fear them now, for they are long passed.
Come away now, for we must say your final goodbyes. Here to the mother and father that came to your bedside each day. Here to the brother, who shall honour your name. Do not be jealous of them, my dearest child. For you are simply moving ahead; you have not fallen behind.
“But why, why does it hur
Literature
these catastrophic disasters
There
is a storm inside her
chest; a miasma of
thundering insecurities and
flashes of despair. The irony
is, she has
astraphobia—but inside her
mismatched veins there lies a
tempest awaiting to be
set free. The most beautiful
people have the ugliest of
scars,
and hers just happen to be a
hurricane of chaotic
doubt marring the insides of her
soul.
Literature
on yearning to be something I'm not.
I think in a previous life,
I must have been a coyote.
An ugly beast with an
ugly heart, with howls
echoing across ten thousand
canyons.
"Please, give me the moon;
I can no longer stand the heat of
the sun."
This world mocks me.
More love for a
night alone in
a winter's forest than
the lonesome aching in
my heart, I only
want to run with the
wolves; always.
But,
I fear,
this desert-weary soul is
merely chasing rabbits across
empty highways. A coyote only
deserves putrid carrion and
not the thrill of the hunt—I am but a
song dog keening into the night for
the fangs of wolves to keep me cold.
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© 2013 - 2024 rociobelindamendez
Comments26
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Simple but true, my dear. Give a man a fish, feed him for one day.
I think you know the rest... xD