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I missed the stars like they were experiences I would never have,
like homes I used to live in.
I wanted gravity to let go of me so I could float back to where I came from.
So I could be reunited with myself.
I wanted to swallow constellations like little seeds growing inside me,
make a new universe inside of myself and birth a new place for all of us to belong.
Hiraeth(n): a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.
I approach most desires
like a competition; can I
**** better than him;
can I be famous at twenty-
-three since he was famous at
twenty-four -- I must be able
to sink better than him.

God, it is exhausting. I
feel like I'm dancing with
a machine; a phantom that
I can never catch, for it runs
on my blood; my insecurities;
my passion -- and, boy, oh boy,
can I attest to having plenty of
  that stuff, ladies and germs.

I think, truly, that I am
encompassing the American Dream
I think is utterly flawed; that I think
is futile in nature; that I am sure of
is the closest thing to Hell, in this
Godless, spiritually motherless
dark shoebox of sudden collisions;
this space of useful and useless
results, splayed onto and into
our hearts, asking for reverence.

There is nothing  I want more
than to be sure that my importance
is not illusory. I am not sure if
I am real.
 May 2017 Sarah Radzi
Poetic T
Her scent was ambrosia on his lips,
swimming within oceans
hearing the waters calling.

Waves gently lapped upon features.
As the ripples settled, he could taste
the essence of her, drowning in pleasure.

— The End —