ashley Jan 7

We are one of a kind,
You and i.

Creatures of a similar feather,
Similar face,
Similar mind.

But we become named
Becomed blind.

The name and the nameless
At best beauty and the               .

The truth is for only yourself to find,

The true names of the blind

NeverEnding Dec 2017

My own words are complicated
they're stuck in my throat,
along with the stories I will never tell.

the bravest thing I've done is stay alive,
and the biggest lie I've ever told,
is the words "I'm okay."

But you didn't know that,
because those words will never leave this poem,
and find their way into my voice.

Is it okay not to be okay?
girl diffused Oct 2017

Everything in the home is new
She curls her toes against the wooden grain of the floorboards
Rain pelts against the window pane, her fingers flex
The dog moans somewhere beyond the walls
She feels like a phantom, her feet light on every surface
Untraceable, she finds him reclining on the couch
Curled in on himself, eyes, half-lidded
Heavy with sleep, pearled water on his eyelashes
She kisses his cheek, presses her lips against his wet forehead
His eyelids flutter open, his hands pass over the thick hardcover
A poet's book in his hand, pages dog-eared on 352, he opens it
Drowsily reads a poem, her words that she'd written late at night
Dripping from his lips, not mendacious, but holding a deeper truth in his mouth

-

This is where she would end up, in this soft-white-walled home
Everything is new and bright
The cat, curled up on the windowsill, seemingly peering into a divided world
Separated by the gentle pattering of falling rain
Everything outside is gray and cloudless
The computer is on but its light emitted is muted
She seats herself next to him, folds her legs underneath her
His hand grasps hers gently, turns it over, gleaming on her finger is the ring
The quiet and unselfish promise

*

The quiet and unselfish promise
His hand grasps hers gently, turns it over, gleaming on her finger is the ring
She seats herself next to him, folds her legs underneath her
The computer is on but its light emitted is muted
Everything outside is gray and cloudless
Separated by the gentle pattering of falling rain
The cat, curled up on the windowsill, seemingly peering into a divided world
Everything is new and bright
This is where she would end up, in this soft-white-walled home

-

Dripping from his lips, not mendacious, but holding a deeper truth in his mouth
Drowsily reads a poem, her words that she'd written late at night
A book in his hand, pages dog-eared on 352, he opens it
His eyelids flutter open, his hands pass over the thick hardcover
She kisses his cheek, presses her lips against his wet forehead
Heavy with sleep, pearled water on his eyelashes
Curled in on himself, eyes half-lidded
Untraceable, she finds him reclining on the couch
She feels like a phantom, her feet and fingers light on every surface
The dog moans somewhere beyond the walls
Rain pelts against the windowpane, her fingers flex
She curls her toes against the wooden grain of the floorboards
Everything in the home is new

énouement
n. the bittersweetness of having arrived here in the future, where you can finally get the answers to how things turn out in the real world—who your baby sister would become, what your friends would end up doing, where your choices would lead you, exactly when you’d lose the people you took for granted—which is priceless intel that you instinctively want to share with anybody who hadn’t already made the journey, as if there was some part of you who had volunteered to stay behind, who was still stationed at a forgotten outpost somewhere in the past, still eagerly awaiting news from the front.

About this poem - a girl gazes into her future once, then again, in reverse.
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