she wrote love letters
when she was eight. her insides
were all over. once, she drank
a bottle of tears until she drowned.
but she didn't.
she breaths in it.
in the long grass, she walks naked through the strong wind
as cogon danced against her skin,
marking her in lace.
years
ago, she stopped writing letters.
she drew her face across the wall
and stared for hours until she could
look at herself no more.
i saw her
on a rocking chair, singing softly as
she looks far away. she sings
the letters she used to write --
how warm and clear the waters were,
how gently the breeze whispered.
she closes her eyes
to remind herself
how it is to be kissed for the first time.
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 9:30 AM UTC
she wrote love letters
when she was eight. her insides
were all over. once, she drank
a bottle of tears until she drowned.
but she didn't.
she breaths in it.
in the long grass, she walks naked through the strong wind
as cogon danced against her skin,
marking her in lace.
years
ago, she stopped writing letters.
she drew her face across the wall
and stared for hours until she could
look at herself no more.
i saw her
on a rocking chair, singing softly as
she looks far away. she sings
the letters she used to write --
how warm and clear the waters were,
how gently the breeze whispered.
she closes her eyes
to remind herself
how it is to be kissed for the first time.
