Posts
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November 6th
This morning I woke up at six am. The country was bleeding pomegranate red and I, so sure we'd be drinking in a giddy paradise blue, stared blankly for minutes if not hours at the flashing computer screen.
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the definition of election day:
sitting in bed close to 7 am waiting for the election tracker to light up.
sitting in bed close to 8 am doomscrolling through election websites knowing it's all futile now.
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cold realizations at 7:46 am on election day
no matter what we pray,
no matter what we cry,
no matter what the news anchors deadpan
away,
no matter what the truth is,
no matter the color of the sky,
no matter the eleven years i've waited
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not
every day my friend asks me
how many days.
every day my answer shrinks
and we shudder
willing ourselves to believe in light and truth and good
but can't help whispering
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first breakup
you were the first person my age i'd ever met
who loved The Simpsons as much as i did.
you nodded when i said i was secretly Lisa Simpson,
or maybe Hermione Granger,
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heartbreak
you'd think i'd hate the way i'm bleeding
out
through the cracks in my heart
but it's an exhalation,
relief
because the worst part is when you
turn
away from me and the worst part is when you
Loves
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Paradox
Love is a paradoxical thing.
I want desperately to be loved.
I want to wake up to a "good morning, my favorite person" text.
I want the last thing I see at night to be a little red heart emoji.
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I want to tell you I love you
I want to tell you I love you
I love you and your smiles
Your voice even though I’m still learning your language
The way your hands hold things
A basketball
Your sisters hand
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The GreenSpot
Once, there was a little girl.
She was around 7 years old at the time,
and lived with her mother and father
in a little red house, in a little green forest.
They made chicken soup on their little stove
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Final Words
Intelligence is both a beauty and a curse, a double edged sword gifted to humanity.
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17
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
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dear mother, are you really mine?
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.