Poetry

And it tucked wildflowers

Between the pages,

Petals and pollen spiralled

Like constellations,

Still whispering of the breeze

And of the shooting stars;

An apology that will never happen

From either side. 

Cursed with your pride, 

Instead of emerald green eyes.

 “It was her fault

She was wearing that skirt

Practically asking for it”

No

No she wasn’t

She was 15 years old

on the night that you broke your eyes open,

cried into candy packets you found at the petrol station smelling like gasoline and regret

in your still-standing baby teeth like slabs of sugared marble there were

sometimes, i lay my head against my mother’s chest. i think. gaze up at her. and this time, when i look at my mother, i see. i see a powerful woman. she is nothing short of beautiful.

Your beauty is unlike any other

Your smile and laugh are like a fire on the coldest day of winter

Your cold hands when they touch mine bring me warmth

Your sparkling eyes are my guiding light

gold highlights the scars 
gone but can't be forgotten 
the gold reminds us 

that 

we did this we're corr-
-upted We spilt red blood from 
gold veins Remember 

I looked 

otherwise       unaltered

used to stand

Shattered moments

Gathering in my mind

Like when we went blueberry picking

And gave up on it

Because there were only a few ripe ones

And Z taught me that the green ones are actually pretty good 

I close the windows

Lock the doors

Turn off the lights

I don’t ever want to leave this room.

I am tired of drowning

In a world

That has never prepared me to swim.

There are ten days left until the first day of my freshman year,

And I am fearful.

Fearful of drowning under the thrashing waves,

For I have been taught to survive 

but never to truly live.

The island on wheels in the middle of our kitchen still smells new on the inside

If you've ever put your nose right up against an old plank of wood, you'd know the smell--that, and Styrofoam painted blue