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 Apr 2018 JT
Emilia
Birdcage
 Apr 2018 JT
Emilia
I always tell myself
I am comfortable in the Birdcage
Where it is safe

Until the howling wind hits my cheek
And I yearn to fly again
I've been thinking a lot about the idea of a 'gilded cage' and how I've always seen myself as someone satisfied with living within one in theory...but never in practice
 Jan 2018 JT
n stiles carmona
A town whose people shapeshift everyday
keeps only worn-down roads and festive lights;

the shops, almost enchanted, switching names --
to change at will is to be true to type.

But though it's bittersweet, I must not dwell,
for dwelling simply makes me wish to die:

there cannot be a more merciless hell
than to be self-aware of time gone by -

so I face the days head-on, one by one,
thanking whatever deity's up there

for clockwork rising-falling of the sun;
a beauteous sight we're allowed to share.

Singing 'nostalgia' on our aged guitars
just picks at scabs that are to become scars.
baby's first sonnet. watching the future unfold in front of you is terrifying, but i'm attempting to convince myself that it's wonderful.
 Jan 2018 JT
n stiles carmona
This diet of dirt erodes my teeth.
Perhaps I'm rotting for shock value
-- flashes of cameras --
a bloodborne shortcut to heaven.

I succumb to death a patriot:
red and white and asphyxia blue.
(We can't all drown like maidens.)

You smile and loosen your grip on my throat
to gnaw at and pick the flesh clean off my bones.
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