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astraea Oct 2018
she is drowning again.
this time she knows the truth
-she can’t do this anymore.
and this time she knows that her mother’s hand is not the hand she needs in hers,
and that she walks alone on the only road she’d ever known.

as the road diverges, her feet are spread further and further apart,
so she’ll fall into a deep crevice,
or jump.
she’ll fall before jumps.

maybe there will a river at the bottom,
so ice cold.
but she’d move along,
and she does love to swim.

maybe it’ll be ground,
and she’ll break all her bones.
then she’ll pick herself up,
keep walking.

what if an abyss is just an abyss?
a pit of nothing,
a pit where you’re falling and you don’t know,
how low you’ll go.

and if you expect wings,
how would you create them on the way down
-no one cares enough to strap them to your back,
because no ones cares.

she knows, it’s all her fault.
you know.

she’s been told she’s everything,
and she wants to be everything.
but her heart is gone.

her appetite is gone,
and the once hungry girl
is left picking at her plate.
Hannah Jo Jun 2015
His words said permanent, his words said stay.
His words described forever, lacing their way through my head and heart.
But in the end he was too free-spirited and transient--
he was just another vagabond seeking shelter in the crevice of my smile.
"Words are free. It's how we use them that may cost us."

— The End —