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emilyjohnston
23/F It's said that seeing red means being angry but to me--it means lust--because being born on Valentine's Day makes you cupid and rose-colored glasses are just my eyesight.
When I see a bug crawl across my peripheral, I take a small piece of paper, and I softly push its legs under. What feels like miles to the bug, I soar paper toward an exit, the nearest window or door, and I put the bug down and watch it crawl. I imagine the 70s, when road trips' tallied by dots of dead bugs on the windshield was as common as Amazon packages on front porches. Now, dead bugs are a rarity as cross-country pelts are made of dirt and Guns, the true Americana experience of the 21st century. Before I let the bug go, I take a digital photo on my cell phone, a document of the species, my tourist attraction.
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Nov 7, 2023
Nov 7, 2023 at 8:46 PM UTC
Bugs
I see freshly picked produce in even slices atop white plastic stained by multicolor droplets. The colors blend like plants under packed ice. Later, I'm walking, and I'm reminded of an espresso machine's buzz. Of my childhood, family dog cuddling close, of Warm. Back in the kitchen, where the produce sits, there's a dead zebra fly on the snow-lined windowsill. Not farther, there's a dead basil plant, stuck in its *** If I let it free, if I watered the plant, if I, if I, if I... But it's early spring, I'm reminded. Under my feet, crocuses bloom.
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Jun 4, 2023
Jun 4, 2023 at 11:27 PM UTC
Crocus
If I pick my scales off and prink, move mountains to paint my flesh, turn red lilies the wrong hue, I can live in a world where I choose the color until blue and burgundy spots form on each windowsill. Look inside to join them watching me dance my large dance.
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Oct 21, 2022
Oct 21, 2022 at 9:14 PM UTC
Prey birds
The effluent swam out in front of me floating with motley leaves down the street to the sewers. My clothes slowly spotted, color slightly darker than the original, and I smirked as pools formed in my shoes.
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Jan 15, 2022
Jan 15, 2022 at 10:25 PM UTC
I like when it rains
As your feet peddled down the hilly street, I leaned back from the handlebars to feel your body pressed to me— skin to skin, morning dew. I closed my eyes to let laughter guide us. Ballerinas pirouetted in the wind, their dance wafting lime juice & tequila from tendrils of my hair. We were a pirate crew without a compass, but we still managed to steal the night.
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Jan 15, 2022
Jan 15, 2022 at 10:23 PM UTC
One bike, two drunken riders
I didn’t know how to explain where I go until I realized the feeling is the same as when I was a child in the town swimming pool devouring youth until the corners of my mouth itched blue, and shivers took over the goosebumps, and I only focused on the icy way my arms stirred in the unheated pool. That’s where I go— to the cold.
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Jan 15, 2022
Jan 15, 2022 at 10:21 PM UTC
To the cold
I danced through a sea of pomegranate seeds, my shoes red and brown from the muck. I bathed in it. I felt like a sapling sprouting out from dirt. Persephone rising from Hades, a rebirth in the spring. I then bit an apple and watched as it browned.
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Dec 16, 2021
Dec 16, 2021 at 1:21 PM UTC
Party girl
Droplets form mid-air and cool on my red, blotchy stomach skin. They echo the ocean, a whisper of water, cycling from land to sea to land.
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Aug 17, 2021
Aug 17, 2021 at 2:29 PM UTC
Hawaii
You ripped my lace ******* and I laughed because the broken white fabric looked like a waterfall and your hands looked like the jagged rocks waiting below.
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Jun 16, 2021
Jun 16, 2021 at 9:08 PM UTC
On pleasure and pain
“How do you deal with a dying friend?” asked the child to the tree, who had lived for so many years, the tall giant much older than he. “You remember them in the wind, and in the dirt beneath your feet, you remember their laughter in the forest, even if you do not feel complete. You remember their name in every person you meet, you remember them by being strong, so the goodbye can be bittersweet. For in life we are who we care for, both the sickly and the sweet, so remember those who said goodbye, and hope that in the next life you’ll meet.” The tree replied these words to the boy, hoping he would heed, for soon the poor boy will realize, the tree is much wiser than he.
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Mar 29, 2021
Mar 29, 2021 at 2:55 PM UTC
How do you deal with a dying friend?