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Brooklyn Apr 2019
a cauldron bubbling
with toxic potion

butterflies with
dagger wings

breath wilting
like fading petals

a word spelled
too many times

a thousand takes
on a movie set


I cannot seem
to completely describe
these twists
these ties
these ropes
these knives
these aches
these lies
Brooklyn Apr 2019
I am at home here
among the green.
When sweet birds sing,
I know the song.
I find familiarity
in the slow way
things grow.
I look up
at the trees,
reaching branches
and feel as though
I have bark
of my own.
The petals of
the brilliant flowers
remind me
we are friends.
Nestled into
flickering patches of sun.
Dreaming of
wearing moss
for clothes.

The wind whispers
“you are always
welcome here.”
Brooklyn Apr 2019
She keeps songs
locked away in boxes
like secrets.
She will take them out
like postcards
to help her remember
the feeling of
a different time,
a different person
by her side.
She likes the one
that makes her
eyes close
to see the lights.
She smiles at
the one that  
makes her stand
up on tiptoes,
the one that
helps her forget
she doesn’t know
what to do
with her hands.

The tune
will carry her.

Like it did
the times when
voices broke
like a heart.
When instruments’ strings
would snap
and hurt.
Brooklyn Apr 2019
I had dreamed
that by now
I wouldn’t feel the chill
under my skin anymore.
I imagined by now
I would have
warmed it away.
How many days,
eyes closed
raised to the sun,
will it take?

I feel the restlessness
with every drop.

I cannot fly
with wet wings.
Brooklyn Apr 2019
I will find any opportunity
to have a fresh start.
Sure, I like to use
the monumental ones
like New Year’s Eve
or my birthday.
But I like to find
a blank slate
in the everyday things, too.
A haircut.
A new tube of lipstick.
Looking at the first
blank page of a sketchbook
while I sharpen
a brand-new pencil.
Starting a book
I’ve never read.
Wearing a shirt
I’ve never worn.

I will find any opportunity
to start myself over,
to try to get closer
to the girl I could be.
To get a little closer
to her.
to me.

— The End —