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Literature
gardenia
the five-a.m. floor protested
my sleepless dreaming.
i got up to make you coffee,
no sugar: you were never fond
of sweetening things that needed it.
i drank it on the autumned porch
in the stupor of dawn
and watched my breath unfurl,
like the smoke you spew sometimes
when you're stressed or have something to hide.
i'm sorry i took
your favorite sweater with me
but i knew it would be cold
in the soil with your secrets
and the brooch she left behind.
Literature
Mia
She wears a plain floor-length dress, a sweatshirt and a scarf. It's the tail end of winter.
I want to hate myself for coming back here. I try and find I can't remember the drive here. Maybe I drove in reverse the whole way. The air around her tastes like maple syrup, sweet and earthy. I'm surprised by how much I like it.
I sit on her bed and marvel at how little effort she put into this. She used to wear elaborate outfits and burn incense whenever I came over. Today she's more concerned with hanging up her scarf than me. What happened to the girl who couldn't help but belong to me? Where did she go?
The sweatshirt is gone. The dress is so
Literature
11.
the internal oceans are more threatening
come winter
it makes them cold
and leaves her shaking
right to her core
its okay in summer
they're warm
and golden
but the icy blues
and stark whites
leave her shaken
and vulnerable
and scared you'll
slip back inside
trying to warm
but really only intending
to break
and burn
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Comments4
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same here & this poem is so beautiful