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Triscuit May 31
I lay dormant
Subdued but in whole
I manage my being in stasis
At peace, I am cradled by the light
The long and gentle fingers nestled into the ether
A lengthy slumber is ahead of me
What comfort may it bring?
Time it took
time still
to sort through
what was retrieved
still trying to
figure out
what bits are
worth keeping
and what bits
are temptations
to rebuild
the life
I was never
meant to
lead.
Bone tired, petal and stem
still crave the light.

The fug has muted us
putting aches where shines were
but the yearning for the thorn and burr
of every normal day persists

My skin is ready to be kissed
with burn and nettled rash again
to give me pause for actual thought
Buckle-eared, sitting,
the ditch giving shelter
against a trying spring,
a hare with no immediate worry

just the usual stuff:
fox, buzzard, kestrel even,
the background mix of dread,
while to the left
snowdrops shine

and behind, carefree daffodils
begin a brief, incandescent grin
to draw life from

leverets will appear,
new-normally
on sugar paper cards,
if through our hurt grip
the ditch will hold
Sabene Dec 2020
I faced the world at a young age,
I found those dearest to me to be complete strangers,
Society tried to cut me wings,
And when they grew back,
They burnt them,
And then left me injured alone,
To die,

I remember sitting alone in the dead of the night with my burnt wings,
Nothing but ashes surrounding me,
Scar tissue forming,
Blood falling,
Heavy breathing,
Screaming,
Pain,
So much pain,
It wouldn't stop,
I couldn't breathe,
I couldn't breathe no matter how hard I tried,
I tried to scream for help,
But no sound came,
It felt like I was drowning in my own tears,
Chest rising and falling,
Each breath felt as if it was the last,

But no I couldn't let them win,
Not like this,
They thought I was dead,
I was alive,
Barely,

I'm pretty sure death was sitting waiting for me to die,
But I was so stubborn,
I chose to stand,
No matter how bad it hurt,
I walked,
A trail of blood formed behind me,

My wings were gone,
But that wasn't going to stop me,
I built my own wings,
Built them out of gold,
So that no one could cut them again,
No one could burn them again,

My dreams are my own,
And I am never going to give up on them,
I look at the trail of blood,
That has long faded,
And it reminds me how strong I am,
And that your dreams are yours to achieve,
Don't believe a word they tell you,
How dare they try to cut your wings,
How dare they let their own get cut,

Let me leave you with this,
Fly darling,
Fly,
Reach for the highest sky,
And then space,

Your wings are your own,
And if you don't have them,
Build them,
No matter how long it takes
Hey y'all. Hope you enjoy this piece. Follow my insta for more @poetrybysabene
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
I look at your fences
and your flimsy nests.
The wind comes in and breaks them.
You rebuild, the bear comes in and breaks them.
Yet you still rebuild.
Why do you do that when you know it's pointless?
A S T E R I A Sep 2020
Let me rebuild myself from scratch
From my fears, from my past,
But this is a process and ain't by batch,
And I'm not escaping nor forgetting
The pieces that brought me where I stand.

But let me ascend my soul
From doubting my goals,
From my insecurities and people's expectations,
Cause I was born with imperfections,
Dealing them was my detention.

I no longer want to be on a mission
From this society's impression
That even comparison became a norm
And self sabotaging is daily worn
And saying yes is the only thing you can moan.

Let me fly on the sky
Without fearing on falling down.
Let me take risk again fully
While learning to love myself deeply.
Be patient dear self for your becoming a phoenix.
Riley OHalloran Jul 2020
Braid the broken strands ‘till it’s like they’re meant to be there,
hold yourself together like you never fell apart—
rip at all your seams ‘cause you hate feeling fragile,
rather be a broken bone than a spindly work of art.
Grace B Jul 2020
We need to start building again,
When I can’t sort though my own anxiety I can barely appreciate this pavement, or these colors,
or you, or me.
I don’t touch any love surrounding me.
It’s acknowledged on a dimly left surface level,
like wine & cheese.
Without this looming concept of all the other places I ‘should’ be, I can finally be here and there
And anywhere I actually want to be.
We don’t have to constantly build.
Love is already seeping from our pores.
We started cracking,
Now all of the bandaids are too small.
And stop blowing kisses!
We’re all sitting down now and were listening!

How can you not see that?
Open your windows.
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