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Kit Scott Feb 2021
the daughter of my mother
sleeps inside my chest.
murmurs in her sleep
"i could do it better, i could be loved for it"

                      my mother loves her daughter.

it's hard, letting her go
my home of many years
no matter how uncomfortable the bed was
how cold the rooms
i lived in her
was loved in her

sometimes i take her out
drag her out of my soul like old laundry
like nostalgia, like a party dress
i slip, quietly, into her skin
wear her face, her family.
she doesn't fit right.

the daughter of my mother
is coated in broken glass on the inside
but as her
i can do it better, i can be loved for it

                      my mother loves her daughter.
Kit Scott Jan 2021
I wonder, if I drifted off
Would he come for me
Would he brush his fingers through my hair
And take me in my sleep

Would he bring me into his arms
And cradle me close
Though no heartbeat could sound by my ear
Behind his pitch-dark robes

Would he carry me away
My prince on a pale horse
My own heartbeat fading, dwindling
Lost forever in pause

Some part of me wishes to greet him
Quickly, without delay
But my sweetheart knows his work
And I know I cannot stay

So I will place my feet on the ground
And spin with him once more, once again
Yet another parting flirtation before
I spin back into life’s fray

I cannot dance long with
This on-and-off lover of mine
Because when I run to him
He (always, always) leans in, whispers, gently

"This is not your time."
Haven't been having the best time lately! But I have enough spite to keep me going! But sometimes I just want to leave.

Trying to tag this makes me feel like a proper emo though ****.
Kit Scott Aug 2020
you are an unholy sort of beautiful
a rejection of divinity in every freckle and curve
in the dirt under your nails and the blood in your smile
your crooked nose and clever fingers screaming that you are godless

you dress yourself in an artless kind of humanity and revel in the shock it brings
hair and skin and dirt and all the warmth you can gather between two hands
you cup your heart in scarred palms like the very opposite of a benediction

you wear debauchery like a second skin
darling, you could **** god with a grin
this doesnt flow very well but i like it
Kit Scott Aug 2019
oh my dear, are we not made of starstuff
are we not glittering like the night sky
smiling like nebulas and laughing like galaxies
we'll swing together in tandem
dancers to an antimatter beat
gas giants and red dwarfs watch on but
we only have eyes for each other

all the constellations know, dear
are we not the Alpha Centauri of the Earth
Alpha Centauri AB, made up of Alpha Centauri A and Alpha Centauri B, two stars so close together that they seem to be one when seen from Earth.
Kit Scott Mar 2019
Sweat rolls down my back and my stomach swirls in agony
Oh that I am ill for you
Sick for your pleasure
My sweet lilac lady, purple princess of the pyre
Where my body burns and buzzes for your gentle love

Bane of the wolf and you chase the creature from my heart
I snap my teeth no more
The hood of the holy brother who looks over me
But you are the one divine

I cannot move for your care, numb of mind to your affection
Delicately lulling me into restfullness

And oh! There is pain
And I am frozen in place

But you sing my softly to sleep

My lips fail and stutter as you halt me in my breath
I am halfed now, never complete
You my other part, my other half
Stealing away my soul from the pit of my lungs
Your astounding beauty takes over me and
I am gone on you
Gone for you

And I drift- drift away with

My darling aconite who stays with me till the end
Just some practice, as opposed to anything particular inspired. I haven't written in a while and I've been reading some older poetry so the tone here is a little different than I'm used to, a little aged maybe? Anyhow, I hope you like it.

I suggest looking up 'chinese aconite' if you want to figure out just how uncreative I was with more than half of this.
Kit Scott Dec 2018
once when i was a child
i sat in a field
surrounded by woods

and watched sparks leap from the fire to my clothes

i remember them dancing
and stinging skin hot
tiny freckle burns
dotting my arms

like stars

i remember the smoke
rising into the sky
and curling like a cat
caressing the darkness

as it twisted upwards and away away

the wood broke and the
scent of elderflower
filled me to the brim
with heady wild-smoke

and i remember thinking
big eyes filled with fire
my mouth just open and breathing the heat in

i want to run through that fire

to the other side within

i have always felt a particular connection to the smell of woodsmoke and elderflower due to frequent encounters with both - particularly together - as a child. so much so that the barest scent of either sends me spiralling into another mind.
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