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What are we,
if not stardust
and bone?

What are we,
if not the strength
that flows through us?

What are we,
if not breath and
blood and spirit?

What are we,
if not feral,
wild, and free?

What are we,
if not human?
I wrote this back in January and completely forgot about it.
Inside, I am nothing more than a child
with a branch for a toy sword,
Brandishing it up against
The monsters and villains of my own mind

Inside, I am nothing more than a child,
Crying out for forgiveness for my
Multitude of sins
Against my ancestors of days past

Inside, I am nothing more than a child
That feels as though she isn’t
Good enough for those she loves;
She isn’t good enough to be here

Inside, I am nothing more than a child
That feels as though
She is nothing more than an inconvenience,
That she is nothing more than a burden
I feel like I'm drowning in all the choices that I have to make right now. I'm slowly slipping under the surface
"Why can't you be normal?"

"Why can't you feel emotions like every other human being?"

"Why do you have to be so sensitive?"

"Why did you say that?"

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Why can't you just. Be. Normal?"
Fun questions; am I right?
I wasn't taken, Mama.
I went willingly, pomegranate
juice staining my lips ******.

I am not helpless, Mama.
I am darkness, power, a Queen.
You gave me flowers and he gave me
his everlasting worship.

I am his queen, Mama, his goddess.
He says that I am the one that
brought him to his knees, Mama,
and he is right. I am a terrible
beauty, and oh, I put him on
his hands and knees in worship.

Do not come looking for me, Mama,
because your innocent flower is
nowhere to be found. All that is
left is blood and bone and
pomegranate juice staining my
hands and mouth and setting me free.
Another one that I've had in my notebook that I never got around to posting.
Icarus laughed as he fell;
The golden ichor streaming
From his nose, his mouth,
His spun tresses behind him
Fluttering as angel wings do.

Icarus screamed as he plummeted
to the earth; melted wax
scalding his shoulders where
his wings once were; broken
feathers fluttering in his firey wake.

Apollo mourned as Icarus fell,
not a sound issued from his
doomed lips. His wings, torn
and broken and burned, danced
behind him, more lively than
Icarus would ever be.
I've had this one in my notebook for a while; I just never got around to actually posting it.
From me to you and back again
The wine of love stains our hands

The night does sigh in jealousy
Of the searing heat between you and me

Our bodies twist and dance and then
Your walls falter and you let me in

I grip your hands and hold you close
Time freezes with us in lovers’ pose

We twine like two codependent vines
I promise you that you’ll always be mine

Despite all the time we lost
It is you I love the most
For him.
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