Posts
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that poet feeling
does anybody else get that feeling deep in their chest, sharp like it's begging to come out but also soft as in fire soft, embers in a hole in the ground?
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poppies are the color of blood
this president can turn even the solemnest of holidays into an opportunity to say whatever he wants. the gravestones crumble in their fields of poppies listening to him speak. all uppercase. all lies.
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& i can't stop thinking about how four men carved in stone actually matter
i'd like to think that the founding fathers, the framers, the men who wore wigs & makeup & helped make all this a possibility for me, would look at our country, at the cherry blossoms refusing to bloom next to the white-columned house engr
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middle school chorus concert
we stood on stage in black & white eyes tired but we sang til tomorrow anyways // they caught our eyes as it ended raised their hands to clap but i turned quick away convinced our performance wasn't worth more than // the quiet glint of confid
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And What Must They Think of Our Golden Door Now?
the statue of liberty was brown once, an unprepared American girl blistering in the sun as if our Constitution has torn sharp green papercuts into her skin.
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remember when it was winter? (soon we will remember spring rains)
it is raining right now but all me and my best friends can think about // is that tantalizing glimpse of // lemonade & too-hot days & all the rage & shorts & laughter // & late nights we can see on the slowly dipping horizon pi
Loves
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ripples
where do ripples come from
i wonder
these little
escalating things
perhaps they come from
the speed boat
a few paces out
sharp short
and jagged
or maybe
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the gift that hope gives
they’ve seen me in passing
without even realising
that hope is what makes me
able to stand underneath the californian sun
hope lets me feel
the ground beneath our feet
the breeze against my cheek
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When the boys grew up on sun and waves
The sun didn’t kiss these boys
It hugged them
The way you would with your best friend before
Leaving for a long time
It hugged them and
It made their skin the color of a caramel
And their hair like the sand
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Grapefruit spindrift
There's a grapefruit spindrift on the kitchen island where I’m sitting. The digital clock at the top of my Mac Book Air screen reads 9:16 p.m.
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Two Birds and No Stone
Don’t kill my birds.
Tommy pays taxes.
April runs a side hustle selling cursed bath bombs on Etsy.
They have dreams.
They have a 401k.
They just bought a tiny house in a haunted forest
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The View
Only those looking were stunned silent.