Posts
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To Relive or to Remember
There was a vacant bathroom outside the church park.
I crawl in beat, destitute, feeding off the radiant waves.
I stare into a warped mirror punched by drunken twilight boys, -
In Knowing You, For But a Moment
On the porch, with grooves of woven twine
embedded into the underbelly of my thighs,
I sit and listen intently for you. My ears perked,
with unruly fire-streaked hair tucked behind them, -
Emily Dickinson, What Did You Feel?-
When you languidly grazed hands with a Woman,
had you seen your reflection in Her irises?
Had you wished you could drown in that yearning black void? -
A Newborn Sentience?
Let Her come out of the womb, varnished,
moved so miraculously by phantoms and auras.
Oral embodiments of asking and wonderment.
Ingesting the simplest forms, phonetic emotions. -
Let Me Search
- let me search
- spread across the earth like a wave of miraculous light
- let me search
- where movement makes undeniable sense
- where psychedelic circles vibrate l
- let me search
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Only a Little Out of Twelve Pages
- I Felt no obligation to be apologetic or to hate myself
- I welcomed all of the Love of the world into myself, and it was Beautiful
- mystic and Indomitable.
- (now, today, I am miserable ye
Loves
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ode to washing my face in the sink
this old sink,
hanging onto the wall by a thread
and a rusted pipe,
gushes water that still runs clear,
even after the generations of girls
(in pig- and pony-tails, braids and loose)
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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 second 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
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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,