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Alle Aug 2019
when i was a little girl,
the word “crush” filled me
with horror and excitement
in equal measure;
back then, it signified
the tightening of the bodice
of that monster who calls herself love
and slowly compressed my chest
blocking my airflow and shaping me
into the girl that would
be wanted
  Jul 2019 Alle
They’ll check your wrists,
But not your thighs,
They’ll check your smile,
But not your eyes
They’ll avoid the truth,
Believe the lies,
Nothing to sooth,
No reason to cry,
Our smiles are bright,
Eyes are a bit dull,
Wrists are clean despite,
The blade with an emotional pull,
And we’re emotionally unstable,
But they say that’s okay,
We are all a bit of a riddle,
But that’s the only thing we can convey,
And the world will open to swallow us up,
But that’s okay, at least our habits remain,
And when their arms finally open up,
We will show them the reflection they taught us to shame,
So we paint a smile with the color of red,
From the thighs they didn’t check,
And from our eyes we bled.
And they'll only understand,
When the noose hold us by our necks,
And if they had thought twice,

Maybe our eyes they would have checked.
Alle Jul 2019
Mother, my mother,
I no longer recall the sweet sound of your voice
as you rocked me to sleep
in the fold of your arm.
The pitch is long forgotten,
covered by noises of my life now —
the smooth baritone of my love,
the crunch of powder snow under a firm boot,
the lilting melody
of my violin.

Mother, my mother,
I cannot feel the warm embrace
you must have given me
before leaving me to my fate.
It was summer, and yet
I remember no smothering heat
of a clasp to your ***** —
only the sweltering that happened
wrapped in my blanket
in a ditch at the side of the road
under the relentless sun.

Mother, my mother,
I have no more memories
of the homeland where I was born.
You are a distant shadow
hidden in the recesses of my mind,
but you are fading —
fading into the corners,
blending with all my other uncertainties.
I think I used to know,
but I blank when I try to remember
further than the years
I’ve been here in America.

Mother, my mother,
I do not know
even the smallest detail of my former life.
“What have I been writing?”
I am a poet, mother.
I used my imagination.
Alle Apr 2019
she brushes my cheekbones with her thumbs and the walls fall away to reveal the milky way. she leans in and my eyes track a shooting star behind her, hoping with every fibre of stardust in my veins that my wish will be granted. her lips meet mine and the universe explodes around us in a burst of colours, but when i pull away the only thing i see is the gold-flecked green of her eyes.
-he said.
And she fell in love with a man who couldn't decide between hello and goodbye.
In a drop of you, I lost an ocean of me.
Alle Mar 2019
that i cry when i don’t want to
and can’t when i do
that people think i’m fine
when that’s so far from the truth
that i smile and laugh
at school during the day
but alone at night
want to cut my troubles away
that i have friends who care
when i either can’t or won’t
that they love me unconditionally
even when i don’t
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