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Luna Craft Jul 2019
Sometimes I remember the scorn of my family,
Effigies of bloodlines crossed into a tired face.
I remember my mother,
Her vice was appearance-
Not her own but that of others.
Every day was judgment
She’d pick us before we bloomed and left wilted children
Questioned the lack of fruit
Not with self-deprecation but with scorn
How dare we cross the farmer who sowed the seeds and watered the crops?
How dare we look towards the sky for comfort?
When that cold trowel could dig in our necks.

I remember one time my mother asked me if she was the problem
A lie, I’ve heard that question many times
How can you curse a broken human more than she does herself
And somewhere in my head, I justify it
Consider the kindness built on vanity to be kindness nonetheless
Flowers do not need to be alive to be beautiful
They can be so frailed and dried up they become immortal
A crumbling tombstone of decay
And we marvel at them
And I remember that I am a product of my mother
Luna Craft Jul 2019
I knew a kid in highschool
Rather to say I knew him would be an overstatement,
He was a friend of a friend at most,
The boy that sat directly in front of me in my economics class
Second seat from the right, second to last from the back
The corner of the classroom between the whiteboard wall and the windows
I remember that scene like a diagram,
I couldn’t tell you anything I learned from the class but,

I knew a kid in highschool
He was best friends with my childhood best friend
He wasn’t quiet, wasn’t loud- he was a normal highschool boy
I remember the last words I said to him
Well not quite, I remember the vague idea
Something along the lines of it only gets worse
He was talking about the theoretic project where we role played
Each kid acting out as if they were in the real world
He said he was overwhelmed by the amount of work
I told him it only gets worse

I knew a kid in highschool
He killed himself during the weekend
The Monday they announced in I was sick
I was sick
His obituary isn’t up on the internet anymore
Neither is his facebook, he is nothing but a yearbook page
The page to a book I couldn’t afford
He is a memory on bookshelves filled with dust

I knew a kid in highschool but I had to ask a friend to confirm his existence
That I didn’t just make up a daydreamed suicide
I’m so tired of wondering what’s left of us when we die
I spend most of my life running from evidence of my existence
No photos, no yearbooks, nothing with me or my name
I knew a kid in highschool
Luna Craft Oct 2018
Last night I dreamt there was a shooting in my town
At my old high school to be specific;
My and my father drove there, just to see if anyone I knew was dead
The officer was oddly cheerful
He smiled as he said just a few words.

"Only four died"

A handful, not even the double digits, such a small amount meant nothing
I asked for a list of the deceased
On it, I saw my own name
I watched as my father cried and the news vans left
This wasn't a big story, these were just a few lives
A few rounds of ammo, another kid turned killer
Another day for no questions and just bodies
This time it just happened to be mine
I may have outgrown my high school but not my fear
I'm in college now.

I know very well that does not make me safe
So as I wake up in another cold sweat I get ready for my day
Remembering Virginia Tech
Trying to remember the names
Not of the killer but of kids like me

Kids that died before their dreams came true
Kids that died when they left school ******
Physically well but no longer safe

And only then do I remember the killer
I want to ask them if they are happy now
What did we do to **** your mind to the point at which you had to **** others?
And they'll respond simply

"Only four died"

They weren't even frontpage news.
Luna Craft Jun 2018
I hate odd numbers, to be more exact I fear them
That is not to say it applies to every facet of my life
Three at the end of the day is my favorite number
It's just in every other circumstance that they seem to haunt me
Like my nightmares only occurring when my alarm is set odd
Something caused by one of my benign idiosyncracies
-Nonetheless, I'm faced with odd numbers when I sleep
When I awake
When another family member has chosen the grave as a resting place
When times seem to change unexpectedly
I'm anxious about many things
But all seem minuscule compared to those numbers that follow me
Unbreaking and ration
They belong; I do not
Luna Craft Feb 2018
When I was younger I saw stars in everything
But now my mind has turned to cityscapes,
Angular in design
I look up and see only the glimmer of passing planes
Everything has turned into a product of the unattainable
I miss the stars, the past, the memories
But perhaps this city skyline isn't so bad
Luna Craft Feb 2018
Cancerous- that's what she called people like me
Sickly cells, mutations of what is natural
Like alcoholism and angry outbreaks, a familial normal
Bloodlines filled with misuse of all that we are given
Haul me down the aisle on ice, toe tag and all
So I can change my name once I die
So I can change.
Luna Craft Nov 2017
I wonder if I ever truly loved someone
Or these memories of past fires are fraudulent
Tiny lies so I can talk to my friends about the mundane
Useless drama, useless talks, little excitements
Little spats.
I'm tired of these tiny lies I tell to myself
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