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Victoria Apr 2021
There was a sort of whizzer boy,
The tinker blinker clinker boy,
With gears and knobs and springs abound,
A head full of thoughts and gears that go round.

He liked to paint and make and build,
For every craft, yes, he was skilled.
“Working hard but with time to play?
Why, that’s my favorite kind of today!”

But what made him different, you see...
He was always quite metallic-y,
And when it was his time for bed,
He charged his battery, and turned off his head.
Victoria Mar 2021
The sheep in wolf's clothing,
The fraud the fake-
Does that bundle of grey fur,
Hide the mistakes you make?

Sing of sleep little sheep,
Or are you still awake?
Do those howls and growls
leave you too frightened to shake?

You've got them convinced,
So let's hope for your sake,
That they'll never realize,
And that you'll catch a break
Victoria Feb 2021
I am a native woman
It runs in my veins, my skin, my bite
Barefoot to twine and leaves drizzle down
As I walk tirelessly through poison brush
To the lonesome crystal waterfalls, white stones
I contemplate my dagger, entering my being
Do you see now my flesh? My blood? My teeth?
What more must I prove? I would ask
But no, I am a woman
Natively
Victoria Jan 2021
My grandmother sticks sewing pins in the walls
Sharp, invisible pins with the bulbs sticking out
She claims they moved there by themselves
True, I’ve never seen her do it-

But there’re needles in the floor
Tiny, sinister needles with the smallest eyes
She says she doesn’t mind them
Slides on her black slippers

And she walks
Victoria Dec 2020
I saw your shadowed twin last night
Under the open moon
And as I walked I heard your voice
So hushed with an echoed tune
Your scent dragged along the wind
All things I’ve missed the most
Your gentlest touch on my sleeping skin
My dear, my love, my ghost
Victoria Oct 2020
You lie to yourself saying
"It'll get better"
But you're on the verge of crying
In the empty warmth of his sweater

You're jealous of the things he can do
But you know that deep down the problem is you

You think about the days
You wrote him thousands of letters
Of promises and hopes and dreams
Guess that you're a destined debtor

He says that he believes in you
But what am I supposed to do?
Victoria Oct 2020
The homely honey musk that hangs against his chest,
Sweetly soft redolence left behind on worn clothes,
Long forgotten fireplaces, foggy lakes, bike accidents,
Gentle walks on beaten pathways and brisk fall mornings,
Clear showers with brightly fragrant soaps-

A scent that's all his own
The comfort I call home
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