where a storm brews
where the crows linger
where the people know them
but not by name
far away from where they had fallen
long ways away
from where they will rise once more

for now
they sit in the corner
of a place they love
building wings from feathers
left behind by the crows
who stare unbothered on the road

the first pair of wings were too small and ragged
a thing of pride but no structure
not meant for flight but holding them gave hope

the second pair took years
knowing the basic formula now
each feather painstakingly placed

the third pair was an experiment
a challenge to push the limits
to use instead of the pristine second

the fourth was a throwaway
born of desperation and frustration
with these they flew and fell
  
the fifth pair was a copy of the second
but fine-tuned and reinforced
and with them the crows left

I hold within me everything
I want to be a concept
A multitude know by some

I bite down
bitter taste welling up under my tongue
since when did these sharp thoughts
become the norm
I spent years training myself
to taste sweet where there’s bitterness
like sticky sweet candy
instead, I became red wine
a hint of sweet, under a layer of tangents
it takes a certain tongue to learn my notes
I always loved the look of red wine
but each sip overwhelmed
maybe I will learn to love the taste

The wind today is a lonely one
It calls for spring like a long lost love
yet clings to winter’s solitude.

my body is a prison
i want to go go go
but the thought of moving
is a dreaded and feared one
i feel heavy
and tied down
obligations are a chain
that i must pull
but fear to touch
i need to keep moving
to reach a destination far away
but right now i am too tired
i shouldnt force it
but i am afraid
that i will never get up again

spitting bitter bile from my mouth
muttering “this isnt me”
but isnt it?
ive been muttering for years now
spitting in secret
as to seem clean
is this not me
repetition makes habit
break it all you want
but at the end of the day
im still spitting
i hate this taste so much
when did i let myself turn sour?

when I think of myself I’m never here
I think about who I am
and I think of
closed doors/white walls/music in my head
/patterns beaten into carpet

and I think of
sitting on the bus/living behind my eyes
/blank faces staring out of windows

and I think of
bright worlds/mundane things with people who don’t exist
/wielding a dagger of words/of misunderstandings
and tragedies/surviving and growing stronger
/of smiling in the face of peril

and I think of
betrayal/****** /being missed/growing wings
/becoming goddess/becoming wind/being loved
and feared in equal amounts/of people who don’t exist
still being there

and I blink

-it’s the same small white room
with a window that changes seasons by the hour



I think I don’t know who I am

“i touch it | my hand comes away scalded | i hold it | crumble it between my fingers | wipe it off onto my jeans

when the page turns | it holds the same words as the one before”

my soul aches
a familiar ache
one that comes with
being filled to the brim
pressure building under the surface
  
with practiced fingers
one fluid motion
i uncap

nothing comes out
not even a whisp
the feeling of pressure
does not dissipate

are you real
or are you figment
are you an idea
a self fulfilling prophecy
or a feeling to follow through
what are you to me
if not a fleeting thought
tell me
how much of a ****
do I need to give
before I look the fool

for how many years
did i try to speak through my eyes
for the words i wanted to scream
were forbidden and unwanted
how many times did i scream
behind steady eyes
that if you really knew
all that you claimed to know
you would hear what my eyes
are so clearly telling you
i could read your eyes
              and his eyes
              and their eyes
clear as day
yet none could read my own

I won't fight for the hollow

It won't echo in me

Little girl
I want to hand you a truth I learned
Far too late

And I'm sorry I havnt kept up with
the war you claimed against apathy

i learned from a young age
that no one wants to hear
what you have to convey
so you must say it with words
or failing that never say it at all
i learned from a young age
that i must listen to everything
everyone else conveys
but to expect the same returned
was just far too much
i learned from a young age
that i simply did not know
how to be taken seriously