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woundedBirds

i am not haunted by the dead

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my god i have half a fear for
each of the things
that live in my shadow--

and the dead aren't
the only ones capable
of haunting-

and the dead aren't
who i dodge around corners
from-

and the dead cannot
reach into the day and
take hold of my lungs--

 

instead:
in my head i apologize
to the boy in my fall-
quarter class who i

can't look in the eye
because his voice sounds
like my bruised knuckles, ribs.

instead:
my heart seizes my throat
and my nails leave crescents
in my palms and i watch strangers

in the reflections of windows,
memorizing pointless features
just in case.

instead:
i weep in deserted bathroom stalls
and counselor cubicles
because nothing is simple

and the dead aren't the only ones
capable of haunting.

  • Like 1

holla holla get dolla

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this is a very pretty poem but also very sad. i’m sorry. 

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they/them pronouns please
i love you all

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This is... wow. 

On 11/2/2017 at 8:02 PM, woundedBirds said:

instead:
in my head i apologize
to the boy in my fall-
quarter class who i

This section in particular really gets me -- the rhythm here is breathtaking.

And the overall meaning of the poem is a sucker punch, tbh. i'm sorry this is something you've been forced to go through.

  • Like 2

saoirse. he/him.

if you really loved me you'd take me to a national park and leave me there.

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