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 Jun 2017 Inka Brooke
Theia Gwen
That boy is warm freshly printed papers
Stuffed in his overflowing binder
That boy is the leaves being painted
In early November

That boy is Pokémon cards skewed all over the floor
Who never signed up for this 'growing up' thing
That boy is a huge stuffed frog on Valentine's
Lessening the winter's violent sting

That boy is obscure facts of the arcane
A curiosity never satisfied  
That boy has an ever expanding brain
And long hands that reek of formaldehyde

That boy is beautiful freckles
"Splotches of melanin" as he puts it
That boy is compliments I don't deserve
And a love I just can't quit

That boy is a long way down
A relationship that's nowhere close to flawless
That boy is worth the fall because that boy
Is my dear Nicholas
 Jun 2017 Inka Brooke
Theia Gwen
She reads
                                          And she sleeps
                                                      Way too much
                                                            ­           It's her coping defence
                                                                ­               When nothing else will suffice
                                                         ­               She needs to get away
                                                       Without actually leaving
                                             Because she's too scared
                                   And too tired
                                            To leave her bed
                                                      So she cracks open a book
                                                            ­     To escape somewhere far away
                                                            ­             And she'll sob for the characters
                                                      ­                       Whose brokenness resembles hers
                                                            ­                                   And then she'll sleep
                                                           ­                                   And have sweet dreams
                                                          ­              Of realities that are not her own
                                                       Because pretending is so much easier
                                                 Than facing reality
                             So she'll sleep and dream
          And secretly wish she won't wake up
So she can finally escape
 Jun 2017 Inka Brooke
JeanT
Tell Me
 Jun 2017 Inka Brooke
JeanT
You are a wild blur of my memory. Your tousled hair and little kid grin.

I was 18 and you had calloused hands and a soft voice.

One time in the middle of the night I made you laugh, you returned the favor. You were wearing a sweatshirt even though it was hot.

You took my hand and spun me around. We fell into each other and fit like puzzle pieces. Our legs tangle when we sit across from each other. You’ve pressed your palms against mine. You watch over me, your green eyes brushing mine.

I think we both imagined at that moment the way our lips would feel against each other’s, the way your arms would feel around my waist, and mine around yours.

I want to know you. I want to learn all of your little things.

Tell me about the day your grandpa died. Tell me the song that gives you goosebumps. Tell me about how you love pizza and hate spinach. Tell me how your heart beats faster when you hear my name. Tell me about every little part of you. Tell me the words you’re scared to say.

Tell me.

Tell me everything. Tell me you don’t want this to end.

Oh God- I’m exploding and this is a love letter I’ll never send…
You can't escape my wondering mind

— The End —