Posts
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Winter's Demons- a scary story.
Some say that in the winter, when the shadows are long and the bare branches of the trees reach out with long, crooked fingers, that that is when the dead come out.
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What is a Poem?
What is a poem?
Well, a poem is a song.
What song?
A lullaby, and the lyrics are your dreams.
A poem is the river rushing, carrying thoughts and words.
A never ending sky, and the caw of a lonely bird.
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Who Is Autumn?
Autumn is a woman with a top hat and golden eyes atop a horse as dark as night.
Autumn is the auburn hills glowing in the light of the harvest moon.
Autumn is the pumpkins and the squash and the nostalgia.
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The Storm Inside
Before the storm,
I see the darkness,
an ominous silhouette on the horizon.
I feel the wind, making the trees sway from side to side,
a gusty swoop of exhilaration.
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Dream song
An obsidian stallion gallops over hills of jade,
crying sapphire tears.
A lunar eclipse in a lavender sky
Enchanted forest with wisps of mist
drifting inside a solarium
Sparks ignite a flame that creates stars, -
Ancestry (Dedicated to my grandparents)
To the ones that came before me,
ancestry, a family tree,
from you to my father, to my mother.
A lifetime of memories
makes a choir.
Though you may have the solo,
there is also a duet,
a trio,
Loves
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belly buttons and beating hearts
I clung to my baby blanket that wrapped around my limbs. my limbs, small and swollen, cushioned by my mother's organs. I was warm, I clung to the insulation of two beating hearts.
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The Art of the Unloved Child
i will meet you on the soiled floor with splintered knees and pointless pinkie promises, bearing the gruesome girth of your loveless little lies / forever fighting to quench my thirst, but your roots will always remain sodden / they say
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Writing Dreams
If I could run away, I’d be gone. I’d clamber up the fence onto the roof and take off running. I’d bound up into the air and across the fields of puffy white clouds, bouncy and weightless.
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Catharsis
If not for the moon
that pulls the ocean tide up,
revealing raw sand,
then when would the sea
be able to thrash waves
when only at stillness?
And the surface water sits,
heavy on its floors
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Just Another Woman: female rage :3
“Honestly, she had better come around, but it isn’t her fault. She isn’t emotionally stable.”
After everything, this is what you told them.
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Transfiguration of the seasons
In the quiet hush of dawn, The weather begins to change, As winter's icy grip unclenches, And spring has come into range.