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I can hear my bones talking to God, they ask him why he hates us and he says he wrote the fracture lines in our skin with perfect precision, he did not create us with the knowledge to heal.
And yet.
I spin in slow symphony around a heart that beats to the song of the dawn and is broken by sunset
He is all lines and sharp angles
I am soft curves and extra padding
But it doesn't matter so much
When he's holding my hand
Intertwined and all jumbled up,
Or when he's kissing me
Closed eyes and only nerves
Igniting
How strange to think the knife
Could learn to love the butter
Prayers and whispered wishes
To Greek gods, false gods,
Rulers of fictional realms
And still prayers echo
For strength, love, compassion;
You hold Hera in your soul,
She never bowed before mortals.
Nor averted her eyes from Zeus,
Not when storms thundered
Not when the skies shook
Lift your head, child of time,
Look them all in the eyes
And know that you have a goddess
Coursing through your veins
You are infinite, golden, ageless.
They will write songs about you
And men will weep as you leave

You've no need for prayers
I guess you could call it poetic how by the age of 12 I had no recollection of what happiness tasted like on my tongue. Some would say it was tragically beautiful.
But it was not poetic, nor was it beautiful,  but it was tragic. It was so very, very sad, and that sadness is only doubled now that people see sorrow as glorious.  It is not glorious. It is not strength. It is a lump of iron in your chest and stomach and it eats you from the inside, out and you have no right to think that blood stained wrists are anything other than tragic. So very,  very tragic.
 Aug 2019 Connor Armenti
Cecelia
The world is so new
Yet you have lived here before
Your eyes are gold
But your mind is old

Wisdom possess you
Wonder and patience runs through your veins
Your beautiful blue eyes
See more than just the surface

Creative
Intelligent
Innovative
Logical
And
Emotional
Angel of goodness and imagination
8/12/2019
-cc
Cecelia C.

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