Posts
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An Afternoon Moon
Somewhere outside of Philadelphia,
there is a small island in a pond shaped like a boomerang.
When I tilt my chin to the heavens,
I wonder which foolish god
threw it to this barren part of earth?
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Cowboy, Come Home
He is a toy cowboy on a horse
and is dragged off into the sunset
while my stuffed bunny heart
waits in the backdrop to be held.
Our God is the small Girl who hides
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Rest Now, Carriage Horse
You do not have to walk with troubles,
nor carry the burden of those who abused you
through sweltering heat and bruised winters.
You will not be a worker, but an earthen animal. -
On God's God
When You told me You believed in god
I could not help but gawk at the thought.
In Your eyes, we are the will of our fates,
and I choose the word “fate” cautiously.
I do not think Your devotion is my destiny. -
It Will Come Again
It will walk in through the door: insistent like a robber, but passive like a hungry, distant son. -
I Left a Glass of Milk
I left a glass of milk for when you woke up,
but I walked into a sour bedroom.
Our kitchen was made perfect for the funeral.
The living room luncheon was rather unpleasant.
Loves
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death bed
You push me out to sea
With every toll life takes.
My wood is deteriorating
With thousands of years.
I've held village girls
And I've held mothers.
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Unbecoming
The streets have teeth and we hold our fingers with enough space for the others and drink cider on a corner where the ceiling above us blinks blue-blue-blue onto her tonsil-pink dress and someday I hope I never have to see it in a suitca
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january to july
in the months of darkness and cold, i never stopped writing.
i just kept it all to myself. every night, my own religion
pages of pen poised on paper, pouring my heart out
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Acceptance before Change
On September 2 of 2022, I packed three short sleeve shirts, two long sleeve shirts, and four pairs of pants into a backpack and left my house in Sharon, VT, for four months on an intensive expedition semester school: Kroka Expeditions’ L
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A Trapped Poet (inspired by Emily Dickinson)
I am just like her—
Trapped in a sea of white.
My mind is just as frayed—
My heart just as sliced.
By the glittering blades
That contrived all her words.
The letters of her thoughts,
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My lovely ex
I walk through the graveyard, carefully avoiding the flowers on the graves. It’s a yearly trip to keep up appearances. I hated coming here. I sigh stopping at the grave marked William Piller.