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"It's" all in your head
nature angel's and demon's
the entire staff

have a drink or light a spliff

get my drift
cRaFt
"It's" your draft
I named the clouds just to feel known,
told secrets to a skipping stone.
The wind replied with riddles sweet—
I laughed, alone, on crowded streets.
Driven by red
riding hood,
wheels of eternity run
hot and cold
along the tracks
in her arm.

Around the bend
there are jigsaw
pieces of a puzzle,
scattered as destinations
once towns and villages,
now fodder for
the migrant beginner.

According to fable,
there's a wolf at the door,
home is no longer
a worthwhile rendezvous,
but a trap of origin.

Misery is a train ride,
a stray fantasy,
lingering in the wilderness
of her fractured mind.

She sells her gold bracelets,
for she needs
the dark coal,
she seeks
its deep freeze.

She can then
be many things
along the journey,
just never
a connection,
never a permanent signal.
In the fairy tale of New York
The knave who would be a knight
Rejected by the queen consort
He attempts to throw his light
As gods lonely man
Every muscle must be tight
For one day
A real rain will come
And clean the streets of blight

He rescued the Fair princess
From the beast
And his foul hoard
The queen now was interested
The gas pedal he floored.
In the universe nothing's above the law
Yes
But on Earth nothing's stronger than love
That's my case sir
There in that tear drop
Gripped in a rose's glove.
woke up wrapped
in the warmth of being loved
by him, by the quiet.
the world felt gentle today.
no red lights
on the way to work.
no rush.
just open roads and soft skies,
like the universe decided
i deserved a breath of ease.
maybe,
just maybe,
today is kind.
I’m not ugly,
but I’m not the kind of beautiful
that I see every day
on other women’s faces.

Although I am smart,
and I am kind,
and trust me—
I am really trying to be
the things this world expects
of a teenage girl—

It doesn’t matter.
Because all people see
is beauty and fame.

How am I supposed to love myself
in a world so vain?

If we’re going off of looks,
I am not ugly,
but I am plain.

I am pretty enough
for people to come,
but not enough
for them to stay.

Ask me what I don’t like about myself,
and I’ll pick myself apart—
every little detail I can’t stand—
and I will tell you
everything that is wrong with me.

All the flaws
that only I see
drown out
all of the beautiful, unique things about me
that I just can’t seem to see.

I am more than my face
or how much I weigh.
I am a person,
and I just have to say:

I am smart.
I am kind.
I am loving,
and caring,
and I have a good heart.

True beauty
is more than your face
or how much you weigh.

Because what is beauty
if you are not loving,
and you are not kind?

This world is so vain,
yet completely blind.

If only the world could see
that true beauty
comes from the inside.
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