And warm, Who makes you feel safe, And realize, That you’re not quite as patient As you should be, And fills you with guilt, For your wrongs, In a way That only the innocent can.
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And warm, Who makes you feel safe, And realize, That you’re not quite as patient As you should be, And fills you with guilt, For your wrongs, In a way That only the innocent can.
All rights reserved © 2024 Josephine Joyil
Just by willing it, And refusing to accept “no” As the final answer. Keep digging, And once you hit the molten core, And your shovel melts, Let yourself melt with it, And become part of something bigger. Or cease to be. Either way, you haven’t settled for “no.”
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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? Pride? Ha! That thin film that clings to your face, Stopping breath. Just stop.
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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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Here for you today, But not for you, For you, Unlike it, Aren’t forever.
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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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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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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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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.
All rights reserved © 2024 Josephine Joyil