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.
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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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You have no choice, but to age like dairy. Though the choice is yours, to age like milk, or cheese.
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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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I frown to myself as my friend complains about her mother. It seems sinful to speak with such heat about the woman that gave you life and taught you how to live it best. I was unsettled by the familiarity of this heat, knowing it comes from the same venom I use to sting those I love.
“I get mad at mom for crossing my boundaries too.“ I almost say, but hold my tongue. It’s an odd sentiment after all, what if it’s not shared?
The truth is, mothers cross boundaries, not consistently, not irreverently, but there are times where those boundaries seem to hold no weight.
Can you blame them? They see their child in danger and can’t help but run to tend to their every injury.
It’s the scraped knee from falling off your bike as a kid, it always is. She’ll spot you from across the park and come swiftly to your side.
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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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