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girlrinth Apr 2020
She didn’t touch
her face.  

She keeps
her hands
on her books.

It’s been
many years.

She’s made
the world
book of records.

The girl who
will forever not
touch her face.

She’s too
busy reading.

She did not
have to
avoid her friends.

You can do a
google search.

Yet she’s not
there at all.

She existed
before the virus.

She sits by a butterfly
of bookcases.
girlrinth Apr 2020
A mermaid with
a tail made of a lilac.

The largest
you’ve ever seen.

Her *******
made of two lilacs.

Her eyes have
fern sunglasses.

Her hair an
ocean of sun
as she floated
down the lake.

Her fingers
spinning the whirl
under the raindrops.

She sang softly
about how she
once saved ophelia.

All the people
screamed with horror
as they beheld her.

Yet it wasn’t her
that they feared.

It was the
flood rising up out of
the mist like a fist.

All the bees
trying to hold it back
did so in vain.
girlrinth Apr 2020
The moon squeezed
through the door.  

Craters shooting
out at the fridge.  

Cheese was
not to be found.

So the moon
would growl around.

Grey concrete
falling off slowly
while going upstairs.  

Stairs trying
to bite with
each step.  

No one
found at home.  

Mice licking
off its glow while
contracting insomnia.

It didn’t taste
like lemon meringue.

Stars had
abandoned
the moon.

This is what
we’ve found
out too soon.
girlrinth Apr 2020
Butterflies moving
the hands of a
grandfather clock.

They’re just
hoping they can
change times mind.

If time
could hug them
they’d love it.

They ache
for attention.

The grandfather
clock opens
his stomach.

He spits out
all the wrong
words.

Letters without
sentences.

Butterflies just
long for simplicity.

Yet they’re
stuck in beauty.

In their wings
are fences
locked forever.

The Victorian
house fell down around
them long ago.

If only spring
had influenced all
the other seasons.
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