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day 17she dreams of the pink swing set under a canopy
of leaves, shoes brushing colours of autumn
of mud slicked steps, rusted spoons and clear
plastic forks turned opaque from grimy hands
of lard-filled jars and broken glass,
glittering teeth hidden beneath tree shadows
of scratchy hay poking ankles and, below, sharp
metal just peeking through faded itchy yellow:
day 3you said: there is just
something about myths.
i thought there's just
something about your lips.
tell me the myths of
your sleepy hometown
and the truths of hands
held proud in public.
i'd like to learn the
stories of your skin,
the loud silence of
heartbeats and bed sheets.
you don't sit beside me in class anymoreyou look like oversized sweaters waiting for
mr darcy vapid vanilla shows up late to
class with coffee cheeks flushed from cold
(but there's more than meets the eye. i like
the flush of your cheeks and last week i
wondered if you bite lips or lick them; if
you'd change my mind on holding hands)
gone is your floral perfume soft breathing
arm brushing mine proximity pulsing legs
crossing blurry profile in peripheral
(but now i almost like it better this way. it's
easier to follow concentration as it moves
along your features and i have always been
more comfortable with distance anyway)
lost in space1
there were words once, listen:
quiet, soft, like fingers brushing over the fabric of a sweater, tickling your ear, warming, small gusts of heat that spread to your toes, a glinting eye, a curved mouth, a promise.
there were words once, listen:
hard, rough, like metal scraping over concrete, bruising, marking your arms, legs, ribs, even your spine, purple and black blossoming on dark skin, yellowing until silence, an apology.
there were words once, listen:
now there are no words, only the deafening roar of silence.
there are words now, listen:
the old stars whisper to each other. they have discovered the secret of patience, a conversation lasting the ages. a single word may take years upon years to travel and you have to know which way to send it. careful, precise, or you may tell a stranger you miss them.
you can hear the sound of these words, like fast cars on a track, restless and enduring. the faster they travel, the slower time moves, slowing rapidly until it sto
sharp nailsthere is a pattern of
veins on my right thigh
that looks like the long,
blue bones of a hand
sometimes these thin,
spindly fingers crawl
up my veins and
arteries to clasp around
my heart, tug on the
back of my eyes,
dotting and blacking
they scrape the nervous
system and i think i
used to pray to settle
from 3429 ft.two years ago from paris, saskatoon looked like a small solar system, hazy with rain and cold. three days ago from toronto, it is midday and foggy, a thick blanket of grey masking tiny grey buildings cut by a tiny grey river. but the feeling is the same and i want to reach across the aisle to hold my sister's hand much the same as two years ago, russell reaching for my hand, any hand, two changed souls unprepared to face the sameness of home.
but the feeling is not the same. we are not two changed souls: we are just happy ones, 'satisfied with the trip' ones, and i do not hold hands when i am happy.
may 3i press tissue paper to the skin
above my ankle, apply pressure,
try not to think about the red and
searing and the itch in my hand.
i decide i want to cover my body in
ink, beautiful and expensive.
my grandmother asks me why i
want a tattoo.
i tell her, "i think they're
five years of thinking pass.
birds fly across my wrist and i trap
beautiful and expensive.
reverberationshey skinny boy, you walk like you know where you're going
and when you kiss me, i don't know what to say
( and it sort of
reverberates between us, doesn't it? )
parenting 101when our children wake up screaming in the middle of the night
or crawl into our beds, we have a list of reassurances:
"it was just a nightmare" and
"it was just the shadows" and
"it was just your imagination"
until they, too, are desensitized and locked in a cage,
condition themselves to be blind and sane like the rest of us
Dear DadYou have always been my favourite ghost
that blurry, little something in the corner of my mind
that never loved me
even when I begged on my knees in front of you like you were some kind of God.
I crawled. I cried.
I called you in my dreams when they turned into nightmares.
I saw a man once, I almost thought it was you but then he hugged a girl and I walked away with a sad smile.
I am writing this on a warm summer night and you don’t even know.
And you don’t even care.
I saw your picture on the news today.
A piece of paper unmarred by the destruction surrounding it.
A gloved hand held it up, like he would present a medal of honor.
But there is no honor to find here, only tears.
Between the rubble and the fire, you are the single recognisable witness.
There are people telling us untruths and half lies, only you know what really happened.
It hurts me to think that I might have known before your family did that you left us.
Television is a cruel thing. I hope they don't have that where you are now.
Because then you would see the chaos that is left, the chaos that is our world.
And you are too young and innocent to learn about these things.
Your picture tells us more than the reporters ever could.
Still, they talk about fault like it matters.
Cause and effect mean little for the one's like you.
You will forever be the face of this day.
You will be remembered.
Love Me | Cap. 5 (( Historia BL ))
Me quedé dormido junto a G Billy. Él me está abrazando. Como para que no me fuera de él. Veo la hora. Falta 1 hora para que inicie la película. Muevo a G Billy para despertarlo. Él es de sueño profundo y es difícil de despertar. ¿Cómo lo despierto? Me volteo para mirarlo. Realmente quiero ir a ver la película. Me le pongo encima y lo beso.
Para ser sincero, es raro cuando yo inicio el beso, pero no me queda de otra. G Billy abre los ojos cuando yo me alejo un poco de él. El solo sonríe.
- Jamás me has despertado así.
- Cállate. – Me tapo la boca.
G Billy se levanta un poco y me abraza. Se levanta de la cama y me carga. Me lleva hacia la sala. No hay nadie. Empiezo a pensar que hay algo raro y que todos planearon esto para quedarnos solos. Pero bueno, ya no debo de tener pena.
- Petey, quiero decirte algo.
- ¿Qué cosa?
G Billy acerca sus labios lentamente a mí. Yo solamente me sonrojo.
Hell Herenone of you perhaps understand my situation/condition..
anyway I have to come out of here myself..but I cant..wont ever..life is hell here..
Dearest SisterDearest Sister,
There are so many things I wish I could tell you, could give to you, for everything you've done for me. I know it's something I can never repay, and while a picture's worth a thousand words I'm not the greatest artist, so I'll try to put my feelings in words. Thank you. For being there for me, not just through the good times and the fun times, but also through the dark times when it seems like all but a few glimmering lights give me reason. If someone told me a little over a year ago, that when I joined Heart Shrine that I would meet the sister I should've known my whole life I probably would've rolled my eyes and laughed. I've done things in my life I regret, but one thing I will never regret is meeting you.
I still look back on that first little conversation and smile. Though it's been only a little over a year, it already feels like I've known you forever. My soul has always known you, my sister. You're smart, and strong, and beautiful. A talented artist, and the tru
What I Want to HearI love you... that's not what I was going for.
I never wanted us to fall in love
And you didn't either
I'm sorry... these aren't the words I want to hear.
You don't need to feel sorry for rejecting me
I don't want you to feel regret
It is okay.
My friend... no, it is too late for that.
The train has left some time ago
It would never be the same
So I let go.
What do I want
To hear from you
What could make me feel better
Even though you mean nothing to me any more?
There was nothing I had to give
I have never been interesting enough
Was I, in your eyes, just a boring, introverted nerd?
Will you see
That you've misjudged me
So if our paths cross tomorrow
I can hear that you were wrong?
Ruined My Lifemy parents and sister have ruiend my life due to their adamant so called righteousness..
its not Petra's cause....honestly...
cfxThey gather in a circle,
an unconscious nod to the times of kinships past.
Sipping from a bottle imbued with the innate power of a dopamine drip.
Smiling faces, muscle stretched ear to ear- immovable monuments being torn by a pirate's rack.
They look at one another, feigning interest through the desolate oblivion behind their eyes.
I see their pasts, presents, and inevitable futures as it flashes like a lightening crack through a marshmallow membrane behind glassed eyes.
All mistakes and regret murking personalities into an undifferentiated mass of voices and faces.
Jolly chuckles to unimportant tales, passing time, existence.
Looking through the trees I watch the deer bound, leap, as if to evade entrapment.
Another joke made, ominous empty mass hysteria- worthy an award.
The sky a dull desaturating mauve, dissociating into oil.
I'm fluid, saturating the disheveled mat, I'm loved.
I'm amusement incarnate.
A torrential st
day one, part threei think your eyes are pretty and your smile is pretty and your hair is pretty and your legs shot heat down my spine.
but you're not that pretty up close you wear your eyeliner like the thick outline of bad clipart and when your legs aren't moving, i forget who you are. the girl beside you toys with the ends of her hair and her thighs are tanned and bare just like yours. her voice is syrup, sugar content too high, and it's all i can do to keep my mouth upturned, to partake in the pleasantries of small talk.
you are just another girl with hair extensions and jeans cut at the pockets. when you speak, it is hard to hear beyond the cotton candy vowels that think you are still a little girl (did you ever grow up?).
i want to lift your parietal bone and look for something other than pretty and legslegslegs.
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
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