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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Settling

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. 

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Desperation

is worn like a cheap perfume 
and the room fills with its heavy odor 
when you walk in. 

Yes, love, 
go take a shower. 

You deserve better. 

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It’s the calm after the storm. 

The relief of knowing the worst is behind you. 


That the universe would need to build up the energy, 

to cause further chaos, 

and the consolation of knowing, 

that must take time. 


Though you don’t know how much, 

there is some time you can rely on, 

in which you may rest.

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Volatile Child 

I sat with my Father,
And He spoke to me,
Softly,
As we watched the sun descend,

With my weary head rested,
On His chest,
I told Him of the skeletons I hid,
Behind the coats and boots. 

“That one’s named Val.”
“Ahh Val!” He recognized fondly, 
As He gave it skin and  flesh and a face.
“He’s been here a while.” 

I nodded. 
“I killed Val.” I whispered.
“A dream of yours?”
“Nightmare.” I shook my head, “Recurring.” 

The ache in my heart drew out the admission, 
“Father, I’ve been volatile.” 
He smiled, “Volatile child,  
I am your Father.” 

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