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Cweeta Cwumble Aug 2016
when i was a little girl
i sat at my window every night
and dreamed about flying away
then i would tuck myself into bed
and dream until the next day

then one night as i sat on the sill,
the moon and stars were shining so bright
i flung that window open,
grabbed a bouquet of balloons,
and set off on my flight.

the wind carried me, in my nightdress
up, up, up
to the stars and the moon
with my little toes dangling below me,
away i went with my birthday balloons.

i flew over my neighbor's house,
then over the twinkling lights of the city.
i flew over rivers, lakes and trees.
from up there, everything looked so pretty.

i flew over farmlands with cows and chickens
then over parks with beautiful fountains,
then i crossed over great, wide oceans
and floated over snow-capped mountains.

i never wanted to touch the ground
so i continued on my way.
if you look up in the sky you just might see me
flying with my balloon bouquet.
Cweeta Cwumble Aug 2016
eyes bloodshot and burning red
like two swollen bags full of
acid tears staining my cheeks with
hot red blotches of fiery
guilt clouding my head like dense
fog settling into the room
between us is a thousand miles.

my eyes feel like bee-stings,
my heart a stone.
with my dead-tree body, withering and
wilting, i lay my heavy head and plead
for sleep to carry me away.

you already dozed off hours ago
like a sleeping child worn out
from throwing his toys 'round the sandbox.
your side of the bed is warm, soft and dry,
while the cold rain still pours over mine.
i guess tonight i'm sleeping in a storm.
  Jul 2016 Cweeta Cwumble
Jacob
I bask in the loveliness of the moon
Letting every star lift me off my feet
Into a lifeless body with no moral compass
I'm sorry, Mother
I can't help that I like living precariously
I was born a ******* night owl
Seeking the brightest lights I can find
In the search of pure happiness
They might dig up my grave one day
Because of this desire
But I don't mind.

I am notorious for finding the light
In the crevices of a sullen world.
Written on 6/21/16
Cweeta Cwumble Jul 2016
the doves that fly from my mouth
are simply crows painted white, plastered
with the lies i tell myself every day.

there's no master magician
behind the curtain - just a person.
a hypocritical, delusional illusion of a person.

and these sparkles that you see,
nothing but smoke-bombs and trickery,
a costume to hide the reality that i'm a sham.
Cweeta Cwumble Jul 2016
i still feel the low rumble of my heart
when your key clicks open the lock
to this old house

i still feel the quick-skip in my belly
when you hang up your work-worn bones
after a long day

i still feel the twitching in my fingers
when your skin is close enough
for them to wander

and i still feel the fire in my chest
when you wrap my body up
inside your arms
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