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Literature
Simplicity of Compass Points
A boy was born to a savage people.  His mother wrapped him in blankets and she, with her chili-scented breath, spoke his name.  The boy was called Ansu and immediately after he was wrapped up and warm, his mother pulled out her knife and sliced a thin line across his cheek to show him that there was nothing truly good in this world and that he could never expect kindness, happiness or love.  And because she knew that love did not exist, she abandoned him to the North where he was born and she was lost, before slipping away to find where she had come from.
Ansu's mother was one of the Southern people.  They were a violent people--the hot air bred in them an insatiable craving for war and the Southerners always fought amongst themselves.  They were divided and all any of them could taste was hate.  Mothers did not love their children and fathers seldom knew they were fathers. This was what life was and everyone knew it, so they
:iconSuperTaate:SuperTaate
:iconsupertaate:SuperTaate 0 1
Literature
i can't make good titles
my eyes
are burning past my skin--
it is not quiet here.
at the end of my paper-glass memories,
there is you and the sand in your hair,
the way i can't seem
to eat anything without salt.
i am lying on my back
and the sun makes salt
stains across my face because i can't
look at it without
crying and why,
why are you always there in my mind,
even when i do not want you,
even when i do not love you?
i think
i need to get more sleep,
drink milk for breakfast only on
sundays,
wipe the tear-stains
from my windshield.
:iconSuperTaate:SuperTaate
:iconsupertaate:SuperTaate 0 8
sunsunsun by SuperTaate sunsunsun :iconsupertaate:SuperTaate 1 2
Literature
cut grass
you forgot why
the clouds are beautiful,
why the folds of your hands
could pull stories from your
fog-filled mouth.
outside,
a lawnmower hums over
your words.  all
you know is broken stems
and things
even the wind dropped.
you say to yourself –
next year, we will
be drowning to our knees
in smell, in colors,
in sky-soaked grass
because of this sound.
:iconSuperTaate:SuperTaate
:iconsupertaate:SuperTaate 15 26
Literature
summer
she speaks the language
of cats.
beneath sherbet tents
and watermelon ice cream,
she is spinning stories
like cotton candy,
tasting words on her tongue
and handing them to children
on summer-roasted sidewalks.
our toes brush milk-stained tile,
multi-colored creamsicles painting
our sun-kissed hands,
as we waste pastel-colored napkins
on small fingers
:iconSuperTaate:SuperTaate
:iconsupertaate:SuperTaate 43 59
Literature
living in trains
she said
her feet felt like train wrecks,
like water left on stovetops.
burnt, defeated,
she’d washed away
the sun stains,
and stacked stars in glass bottles.
she found silver lining
in her mother’s charcoal-tipped hair.
spun it in her fingers,
because maybe
she wasn’t burnt pages or washed-up sun,
so she’d dance to quiet music
at the tip of her tongue,
with silver hair and iron feet,
toes pointed, hair free.
:iconSuperTaate:SuperTaate
:iconsupertaate:SuperTaate 19 27
Literature
northern winds
minutes drag like barrels
waiting for gas.
a boy’s hand caresses what is left of
sanity,
his feet tap-tapping
to green lights
and the sweat he can feel
beneath his knees.
i was kissed by
a north wind;
its breath twisting my
sun-soaked hair
as it breathed life into
melted airplanes and chocolate-stained fingers,
sweeping barreled minutes
off their feet.
:iconSuperTaate:SuperTaate
:iconsupertaate:SuperTaate 2 11
Literature
queremos paz, y libertad
somewhere,
across this freckled universe
and three hundred sixty-five days
my hands are cupping tree bark
and washing eggs out of frying pans,
hurrying like old women before mass
because i want
to take a shower.
i’m tripping on dust
and words like ‘hilarious’
are echoing in my head like
old men from a psycho ward,
but i’m throwing snowballs in springtime,
and laughing at jokes
about cereal bars.
i can’t stop talking about
pirates, or singing in
messed-up stilted japanese
but the old man and his clothesline
think we’re funny,
and i’ve got queremos paz
stuck in my head.
:iconSuperTaate:SuperTaate
:iconsupertaate:SuperTaate 2 16
Literature
looking for sky
her heart can’t stand itself,
because it wants words
and the ocean
and for crows to laugh at it.
seagulls live in her throat,
but her lungs are torn
and she can’t hear them anymore.
holes are hanging from holes,
and everything
is falling
through them.
her hands know what
clouds feel like,
so she clings to cotton
and knits like a madwoman
because maybe,
she’ll find the sky.
:iconSuperTaate:SuperTaate
:iconsupertaate:SuperTaate 5 10
Literature
dracula
i.
they say we’re made of the same things
as stars,
and if this is true for anyone,
it is true for her.
she can feel sky-lights and daffodils
in her blood
ii.
she finds dracula in the honey jar,
but she thinks she can taste god
she knows this taste;
like iced tea or summertime,
and she can’t find the bitterness
at the tip of her tongue
iii.
she waits, she waits.
she wants swallows,
and rose-colored dragons
to nibble at her finger-tips,
but all she can taste
is stale bread
:iconSuperTaate:SuperTaate
:iconsupertaate:SuperTaate 3 4
Literature
fly
you forgot that air could smell like rain,
like shampoo or old pennies
or cotton-white gloves,
the way that it smelled when you
dueled rock paper scissors and
tasted the sky.
and you didn't know why
there was rain,
or why the stars didn't fall down,
because it didn't matter,
and for all you knew,
they were freckles.
and you don't know why
he brought you your shoes while you slept,
or why he remembered
they were next to
the swing that made you feel like you could
fly.
:iconSuperTaate:SuperTaate
:iconsupertaate:SuperTaate 7 63
Literature
to mother
i lay my head on her lap
and she reads me poems;
poems that taste like cinnamon and whipped cream
and chase away thoughts of ghosts
she says there is never too much cinnamon,
and there is never enough.
she cooks it into bread,
warm and rich and
what love tastes like
:iconSuperTaate:SuperTaate
:iconsupertaate:SuperTaate 2 28
Literature
glue
i’m running out of glue.
but your web is still breaking
i’m still breaking,
falling,
and everything is monochrome,
grey
like your old sweaty shirts,
and your socks
and your stupid hair
:iconSuperTaate:SuperTaate
:iconsupertaate:SuperTaate 3 32
Literature
when i was younger
her earrings dragged down to her shoulders,
heavy-looking and feather-stuffed
and i couldn't imagine how she could stand them,
because she was small and old
and licked her plate
i catch the wind in glass bottles
and spread my arms so i can fly,
and hair whip smy face
as i meet sand dollars and dead jelly fish on the seashore,
my toes curling
we talk about the president
and ignore the number of calories in big macs and chicken sandwiches,
lament the hills' shaven hair,
because it used to be beautiful
and no one needs a million dead trees anyway
:iconSuperTaate:SuperTaate
:iconsupertaate:SuperTaate 2 6
Literature
tight rope walk
eyes felt like oceans,
like green-glass letters and thunder storms,
and shoes left in the rain
fingers stretched and twisted and careful,
i danced,
fell
danced.
and i lost things like smiles and colors and
late-morning pancakes,
my hands twisting like anacondas
i danced on the tight-rope walk,
breathless, barefoot
warm and cold and ice-age freezing,
i danced.
:iconSuperTaate:SuperTaate
:iconsupertaate:SuperTaate 8 18
Literature
influenza
I lost myself
In the rain’s tapped-out tune and whispered song,
My head resting on a thousand memories
Of influenza ,
And warmth just beyond my finger tips
:iconSuperTaate:SuperTaate
:iconsupertaate:SuperTaate 2 39

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I might still be obnoxious, I don't know.  But I was looking things from back when I used this site a lot and I was really, really stupid.  All the time.  I also thought I was unequivocally deep, which was the reason why I never capitalized anything.  So sorry about that.

I don't think anyone is going to read this, or is going to care, because it's been years since I really actively used this site, but hello again.  I'm seriously considering just making a new account and starting over with a half decent username and no stupid associations with my old account, but I don't know.  

So hello, no one.

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SuperTaate's Profile Picture
SuperTaate
Tate
Artist | Student | Literature
United States
Hi. I like things. I hardly ever use my dA, but maybe I'm back. Maybe. I don't know. I don't have a scanner anymore, so there won't be any art anymore. Just writing.
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:iconlindatatewilson:
LindaTateWilson Featured By Owner Aug 2, 2014  Hobbyist
Long time no see.  I hope you come back.  
Reply
:iconesther-duraes:
esTHer-duraes Featured By Owner Jan 19, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Hi! :wave:

Thank you so much for adding me to your watch list! :heart: I'm so glad you like my artwork :)

Thank you! :blowkiss:
Reply
:iconpho0b:
pho0b Featured By Owner Jun 11, 2011  Student Traditional Artist
Thank you for watching :heart:
Reply
:iconformaniac:
formaniac Featured By Owner Mar 28, 2011  Student Writer
thank you so much for the watch :heart: ~~
Reply
:iconlindatatewilson:
LindaTateWilson Featured By Owner Oct 21, 2010  Hobbyist
Hi, I haven't spoken to you in some time. I hope this year's classes are great and that you are doing well. Just a friendly stop-in to say, "hello".

Linda
Reply
:iconsupertaate:
SuperTaate Featured By Owner Dec 29, 2010  Student Writer
Hi--I'm sorry this reply is so late! I haven't been on dA in foreverrrr.

I am doing well and this year's classes are great, if sort of work-heavy. -____- XD

How are you? (:
Reply
:icondrufolio:
drufolio Featured By Owner Oct 5, 2010
hay... wishing u a very happy birthday :D may you have many return -hugs-
Reply
:iconsupertaate:
SuperTaate Featured By Owner Dec 29, 2010  Student Writer
This is really late, but thank you so much! :D
Reply
:icondrufolio:
drufolio Featured By Owner Dec 30, 2010
u r always welcome.... ^^
Reply
:iconmister-fuzzy:
mister-fuzzy Featured By Owner Oct 3, 2010
IT'S YOUR FRIGGIN' BIRDAYYYYY
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