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Saige May 2021
the sampling of amniotic fluid using a hollow needle inserted into the ******, to screen for developmental abnormalities in a fetus.


Not everything about you
is on that little screen; 
not in your number of chromosomes,
not in your misshapen genes. 

Yet everyone talks about you,
as if they know you:
"impaired cognitive abilities"...
"50% chance of being stillborn"...
"impacts the family unit"...

Your life and capacity for love
will never be defined by your DNA,
but rather by your smile and
your laughter and 
your heart

In short, my love, 
you cannot be defined by what is missing
but rather by what you can
and will be when you arrive 
in all your humanity
Saige Sep 2020
reflections on wet cement
like frosted glass
show the periphery,
the indefinite form
of me
as I stand in
line, waiting
for someone to validate
my humanity
my definity
Can you see me?
Saige Aug 2020
When I am outside I am content,
until I grow too warm
and humid
and long to be

And when I am inside,
I long for the sunlight
and the lazy summer wind,
and I shiver
and can’t make up my
Restless on a Friday afternoon. Where's the compromise? I can't stop looking out the window...
Saige Aug 2020
The black cat sat on the road of the sideways door and asked me to ask a question unanswered by the universe, for it seemed a little trepidation to ask such a stranger as me whose permanence like the door has gone beneath the waves of light and into darkness below the sun and stars, deeper than the night-cat’s fur. Yet I knew the answer and asked the question, and the stars gleamed brighter that rust, and the galaxies I saw were within the slitted eyes before my face, though I did not fall to my forgottenness in that galaxy, but lived in my ghostly form, unanswering questions of old and trying not to remember my thoughts. The cat was unknown to me after that, the tail like a feather duster leaping among the moons of my world, crowing down at me from branches and constellations. I wonder how the universe would think of such a black cat, one who does not mind the coldness of ghosts or stars, or the unknowingness of such things, and who asks for askers and questions them until the dust settles and transforms around it.
Is this prose? I don't know. More like a train of thought ascending to the stars...
This is what I do to procrastinate writing essays for school.
Saige Aug 2020
I                       I
hear                guess  
you're             I                    G
somewhere    should         o    
new --             have             away          H              
                        known         at                 o
                        you'd           some           w
                                             point.           s
                                                               ­   a
                                                            ­      d.
Maybe you'll remember me...
Saige Aug 2020
As I was watching the clock,
the little gray one in the corner,
I thought I saw the hands falter
at one.

And when I blinked again,
the clock I could not see,
for it had blended in with
the night.

Time warp-wraps around me,
tendrils pulling my hair
and floating across
my eyes.

Like dragonfly wings,
an iridescent sheen
plays behind my eyelids
unfocused blur

But when I look in the periphery
I see my tangled self and
the short days blending
all together.

Like milky cataracts
quarantine is blinding.
And so begins
What day is it today?
Saige May 2020
When I woke this morning
the tears were there,
brimming like a lake behind
the mountains of my skull.

But I pulled back the heavy curtains
and golden light suspended me above the flood.
Hope swam, scales shining, and bloomed on the shore.

Then died
as I peaked through the blinds
to see ashen houses huddling in the rain.

Light lies.

And so the tears rose,
cold and silent behind the dam,
waiting to be released --
a perfect equilibrium settled on the surface
yet one stone would send ripples through my veins.

So it came.
An avalanche of stones smothered me,
the lake rising until it spilled over the edge,
through my sockets
and I became the rain.

Nothing can distract me from the storm in my head.
Some days are just rainy days... on the inside.
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