The anger protects you.
So you’re reluctant to let it go.

Stay angry, if you dare.

Or let down that shield, 
And let fear take a stab. 
What have you to lose? 

That thin film that clings to your face, 
Stopping breath.

Just stop.

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So carry on

Too many things are coming to shuddering halt after spinning chaotically for nearly half a decade and in the face of this overwhelming stillness settling in heavy slates within me, I hear the quiet whisper of nostalgia.

It is a weak longing for poison, for the racing of pulse and spinning of mind and hammering of heart that have sustained my being for longer than I can afford to forget. 

I look back to hear the ghost of experience sing a soothing solace: permission to carry on. 

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Perhaps you shouldn’t be talking 
to so many big kids. 

But you spoke,
Talked in circles 
Keep spinning, kid.

Coaxing the eye of the beholder 
to focus on all that’s beautiful, 
And only that. 

Or misstep 
And lose limb and life.

You’re already dead anyway.
It’s only a matter of time
before you realize it.

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I live in the clouds

Supported by the air, 
With no ground beneath me, 
Flying like it’s my birthright. 

I wonder how badly it’ll hurt, 
When the breeze stills, 
And the ground I’ve learned to ignore, 
Catches my fragile form.

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Don’t go into the woods

Fanged tooth girl, 
That they call Red, 
Not so little,
When you loomed over Wolf. 

Will you be wearing his fur, 
As you wait for the huntsman? 
That chivalrous fool, 
Who thinks you need rescuing. 

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I sat down on the dirt because my body was getting tired.

“Set up camp.” 

So I did, just for the night.

“You call that a tent?”

It was supposed to be temporary.

“You can’t raise a family in a tent.” 

I look ahead, seeing the horizon get further away. 

“That’s not for you. You have your tent. Now make it home.” 

This was never supposed to be home. Not a haven. Just happenstance. 

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Unboarded Story

This series of side quests
is strung together 
with a flimsy plot 
and cluttered with side characters 
tripping over plot-holes 
the author has no intentions 
of paving over. 

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Growing pains 

It’s like getting stuck in amber and not being able to anything about it, 
You look around and you can feel your limbs, stuck in place,
You can feel the thick fluid harden around your ribs, stilling their movement, 
You can feel your skin getting cured,
Forbidden from aging for the rest of eternity,
And you chastise yourself for not making better decisions, 
All the while knowing there really wasn’t anything you could’ve done to stop yourself.

After all, 
you were flying blind. 

All rights reserved © 2024 Josephine Joyil