Posts
-
Metamorphosis
Maybe it was the wind whipping my hair every which way,
maybe it was the way ice cream tasted on a hot summer evening,
maybe it was just the delirium of lying there on that cool leaf-covered ground,
but in hindsight, I knew it was you. -
Fiona the Second
Sometimes I wonder if she even remembers me. -
I am enough
Last night, I stood on a stage, my face basked in flashing, colorful lights, and I finally felt like enough.
It took years, didn't it?
Years of hard work, of tears, of overthinking, of doubt. -
Seasons
I. -
June
The blue sky soars with promise
hope
inspiration.
School can barely even count as school
and before I know it
it's over,
an end
and yet a beginning all the same.
And then it's full of
jumping into the pool -
Embers
We have been left the embers
of a fire
for us to burn.
We have been left to create
future generations
who will never see snow.
We have been left with a circumstance
that is the doing of our ancestors
Loves
-
Dinner With You
I only ever came here for the fortune cookies
I don't know if you can tell
when I stare at the menu
under shiny plastic with a red rim
when I glance
-
middle school chorus concert
we stood on stage in black & white eyes tired but we sang til tomorrow anyways // they caught our eyes as it ended raised their hands to clap but i turned quick away convinced our performance wasn't worth more than // the quiet glint of confid
-
Lilac
I bring my nose close to
the Lilac
as I smell it's like I'm smelling a universe of
peaceful trickling streams,
birds softly singing,
-
In that Field
It never happened
that everything was beautiful and nothing hurt
but if it did it would have been
lying in the grass
the kind that surrounds you like the ocean
and flows like a river
-
Life Plans, In The Style of Fredrik Backman
Rori Acher is eighteen years old and dying. Any licensed medical professional would pronounce her perfectly healthy. But there are many ways to be dying that are not physical.
-
velvet ease
Kiss where ink and flesh align,
carved to summon touch.
Skip the space between my lips,
spewing oaths of love.
You feed me want— then starve me dry.
A feast of glances,