Posts
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camp.
If I close my eyes it feels like I'm still there.
I can hear the clatter of plates and the clamber
to be first in line for breakfast,
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Sun descending in a sienna sky
The basketball court is slick with freshly-fallen rain, black nail polish hardened into enamel after spilling weeks ago lies on my desk, forgotten and right in front of my eyes, as I watch them play that game on my tiny screen, their feet sliding
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Realities
She pressed the cherry into my hand,
Smiling, it didn’t mush,
Didn’t leak red juice all over my summer-calloused palm
Like fake blood, too bright to be the real thing.
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Closer to spring
Darkness falls quickly now,
the feeble sky overpowered by the black pull of eternity.
Snow turns to rain, rain turns to mud,
and every month, I bleed and I cry.
It's almost Christmas, but
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My Heart Will Heal
Your eyes are dark like midnight, filled with millions of tiny stars
and I don't know what to say to you, what to do
because when I see you,
my
heart
breaks,
not in two but in so many scattered pieces,
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Lose you to the night
We talk as the twilight turns to dark ash,
sit out on the porch and catch fireflies in mason jars--
only for a second, then let them fly.
You tell me about friends I barely know, and I nod and smile at you,
Loves
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The Words Aren't What I Want
My eyelids stay together
every blink
a little longer than usual wishing
I were still asleep
I don't remember not sleeping
last night
but I guess
that's just the way it is
first block
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Monet's "Woman with a Parasol - Madame Monet and Her Son"
The swirling, hazy perspective on a long summer's day. The feeling as if time has halted. Expansive blue sky dotted with lazy clouds, watched from patches of warm, tickling grass. The swish of clothing, movement.
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some abstract fruit
Juice tastes like your spit on my lips
It overflows, slides down the point of my chin--
I can see the dirt, the darker spots
It smells like my backyard, like orange blossoms in the spring time
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yom kippur
the world was gray and cold when i rolled out of bed,
the first frost of the season just barely
kissing the ground. i tied the morning
into shoelace knots and hugged forgiveness to my chest.
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Hey, Jess(i)e!
I am afraid.
It is a pale thing,
for a dark body.
There are little particles
of dried skin on my
elbows and hips and knees
that are so white
he could only ever know
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waiting leaves
thin veins rush through with
green blood and water. As if,
yearning for full boom.