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zero Jan 2018
People have aesthetic childhoods.
With parents that understand and cuddle them when lightning strikes.
I remember the teddy bears in my bed,
and how they smelt of mum and dad,
how I would hold Odettes ear with my finger and thumb,
my head ducked under cover in fear of an alien tickling my toes.
But now the teddies are placed high up on a shelf
away from me, out of reach.

When I realise the ear isn't in my hands,
I look around and see the dust at my feet,l like I'm down at the bottom,
I look up,
my family are at the top
and the red cord of family love bounding us together is thin, and I fear we are soon to have a disconnect again,
When I make it to the third or fourth level
I see their faces grinning with pride
at their daughter succeeding and waking up before noon,
and I say something funny to lighten the mood,
but I tumble lower by one or two
depending on how fake the laugh I hear was.

I sit in the gravel and wonder.
I don't understand why I can't touch them anymore because I'm like my mum,
we're both alike,
and I'm like my dad,
we're also alike,
but I feel lost on a planet when I meet their eyes,
like I'm somewhere I shouldn't be,
I wallow in the dust for days, until I feel
them prodding me with a stick from the top shelf,
asking me when I'll finally reach the top.
Telling me that I'm seventeen now and that I used to be on the sixth shelf when I was sixteen.
How I used to do so well with my homework,
and I would get great grades,
but now I get dark stains around my eyes,
and a tearstained face,
but from their great  height, they can't see my shoulders shaking,
they just see me carrying my baggage,
too heavy for my small frame to handle.

I force my way up the mountain,
until I see their faces,
they smile and I tumble right back down.
I feel like screaming;
LOOK AT ME!
I AM HERE!
I EXIST!
I AM ON MY PLANE,
AND YOU ARE ON YOURS!
but however hard I do scream,
the wind picks it up and carries it away,
and all they hear is;
'Look at me, I'm on your plane!"

They smile.
I tumble three.
Mood for last week,
yesterday my mum talked to me about my future and it turns out, we are on the same plane, just different stepping stones.

-Z.xo
brian car Jul 2015
“Trust me,” it says.


Momma never let the kids in. Daddy never came home. The dog won’t stop barking. There is no help for the graceful kids at the wishing well. The grass keeps growing, but where has all the water gone?


//follow me down the rver, past the trees wthout wnd in ther sals. There are rocks there to buld a shelter together. The place where love lves.
PK Wakefield Jul 2014
at how does gleam the cherry **** of your cylindric pertness–lips–i beco
    me me in two folds of self on each one pressed the drooping brand of y
       our hands stings to cooly touch with the unhinging of cottoned hurt
           ing in when the sun suddenly of gradual imperceptible dying revo
              lves on the apex of youth its own immortal youth; such dreams a
                 s magic become the ethereal toyness of your wrists that fleetly
                    stagger of whiteness with substance wholly girl with two
                       ******* wine for a mouth and darkness for hair even
                          the night is jealous at their fibers and remarks with
                             disturbed violence a shower of stars to mark
                                its brunt, its curling of tight fingers into
                                  fists of foisted heating)
                                              (there
   ­                                         such
                   ­                     brightness
                                 ­      is a circle within
                                      A circle of
                                     tingling bruteness
                                     you have liked me
                                       to be between your
                                         smart ****** of cherry
                                            pertness–
    ­                                                LIPS

— The End —