I am not my mother’s daughter.
I am her right arm.
cut off.
bone jagged.
bloodless.
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Acepté que eras mentira
y seguí
ya no te soñaba
entonces lo supe
supe que
ya no era parte de tus mañanas
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11/16/22
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I grieve people way before I get to lose them
I can look at your face feel absolutely everything and then remember that I don’t
That I shouldn’t
That I must let it all go
I grieve what was and what never could have been
That is to say
I lose more often than get to keep
I will grieve you or have I already
It’s just a matter of fleeting moments before you’re done and gone
That is to say
I don’t expect things to last or stay or picture a future
I grieved it out by crying, stabbing myself
I grieved the look on your face when I knew it meant nothing
I grieved a loss I never felt isn’t that insane
I still grieve you to this date and I never thought I could
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- little droplet -
From high above the clouds,
A little droplet's journey unfolds.
It fell unto the brances of what was once a tree,
Slid down it's bark until the wind carried it freely.
It landed on a leaf who so gently caught it,
guided the little droplet to it's home, the sea.
Where the little droplet would once again start it's journey with glee.
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Abracadabra by Mia King
List of things to banish
Can include words, people, theoretical apparatuses
Can take the form of a grocery list, a scientific experiment, or a manifesto
Can read like a personal ad of unwanting
Can summon aid to help with banishing
Can be uncertain of what will remain
Can have no positive mission statement
Can be written in a language other than language
Can circulate amongst FRIENDS ONLY
Can evade being imagined, written, embodied, archived
Can go like this
Can make itself irrelevant
Can include buildings, brushstrokes, and other abominations
Can mean my way of life is unlivable
Can mean my life is as yet unlived
Can mean I must become a menace to my enemies
Can undo futurity forever in favor of *******
Can remake futurity into someone who doesn’t recognize herself
Can punctuate the present like a cup of coffee or a Monday
Can be dreamed up and shot down and elongated
Can tell us something
Can include forms and fantasies, even the ones getting us by
Can instigate an interregnum
Can be unfinished
Can include hope hopefully
Can be blank
But don’t kid yourself
It isn’t
And it can’t include
History
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i’ve always liked the rain, the ocean, the sky.
something about the blue i could get so lost in. i feel soo at home. something about the mysterious outlook on it all, not knowing everything to it yet staring at it so in love, because it’s beauty is so capturing.
i guess that’s why you catch me staring so much, your eyes are the same blue.
that’s what i’m thinking about when i see them, you question why i’m staring, i shake it off and joke “your eyes look like the earth because you’re my world.” you laugh along, not knowing i mean that fully with every bone in my body. whenever you’re next to water you blend like you belong, like it’s your home, or possibly mine..
i know you’d choose mountains over the ocean anyday, i guess we’ve never seen eye to eye. i love the ocean, because i love the blue.. maybe that’s why you love the mountains so much, because my eyes hold the purest shade of green.
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Perfectly broken pieces of little cuts.
Easefully bigger than my sea of fiddled cuss.
Now that I saw it for what it was,
Broken pieces of perfect little cuts.
One day, I woke up.
Sleepwalked as I trailed your scarlet of blood.
My glass-stained windows remained boarded.
Our stain-painted walls still highly guarded.
In that lone day, I woke up.
Stood up and cleaned up,
Our broken pieces of big little cuts.
Your remains and my carcass.
Devoted church-stained pieces I worshipped,
Now sparingly fitted in my locket.
A tiny locket that fitted in my pocket.
You were bigger,
Bigger than me.
But when all had come,
And everything had been done.
You simply fitted.
Fitted in my tiny locket.
Painting credits:
*Woman at her Toilette, by the School of Fontainebleau
*Young Woman Fastening a Letter to the Neck of a Pigeon by Johann Christian von Mannlich
*Ophelia by Sir John Everett Millais
*Portrait of Mrs. Hubbard by Nicholas Basil Haritonoff
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Feeling nothing isn’t that bad, because then I know that I can find peace somehow.
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Sunflower dreams
Evelyn Judy Buehler
In pink mists,
sunflowers aren't seen,
craving sun,
of June noon.
Midday blooms laugh in meadows
of ageless summer!
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I want to crawl beneath his shirt
and sit there
- skin to skin -
breath bare on his chest.
I want to be near him.
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The right people will walk towards you and won't let you run after them
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untitled
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afterthoughts
you and I
a match impossible
I didn’t know until
i walk the isle down
your eyes weren’t on me
i guess.
you said otherwise perhaps..!
afterthoughts
didn’t trigger until then
i wanted to be mine and mine alone
they hunted me down
sleeping
a series of what ifs..!
I tried to tailor
the alterations
i tried to perfect
to suit your taste..!
guess
it was a match impossible
it took a pen to sign on papers
next day
we signed the separation papers
afterthoughts
i have now
should have had then
i wouldn’t be in such a fix today
-sea
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