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Found 2 results

  1. this too will pass

    you have grown out of misery loves company and into this too will pass. maybe this growth mindset, the kind that looks for sweetgrass in the lawn and daisies among the thistles, is what sets you apart. and trying to reacclimate into a group of misery loves company sort of close friends acquaintances after a calendar year is like eating a durian: messy, thankless, and better off left alone. it aint their fault, you suppose, heavily considering the cut and run option. you dont know them anymore. youre too happy for them. in this one year, you have learned six notable things: staring contests arent about who blinks first, theyre about whether or not youre aware enough of the big picture to see your opponent's friend stealing your TV in the background friends dont send friends dick pics scars heal over twice as strong communication is half of what keeps love going not everyone is an asshole but most cis men are this too will pass now is a great time for you to drop off their radar for three days, just to see what will happen. it's not like you have a choice, being out of town and all, but youll pretend you did, and they wont wonder. they didnt wonder for eleven months and seventeen days, but who's counting? not you, of course. not you. youve been displaced but that displacement left you kicking hard in the ocean undertow, learning how to swim with lead fins and salt eyes, and your acquaintances in the kiddie pool watched mayflies lay eggs in the filter and the algae discolor the concrete or stagnate by the wall. they floated easy on their backs and unlearned how to grow, or to dive, or to stand up (and thats a kind of stagnation too). you had begun to love the afterthought, the lost time, the idea of someone, the nostalgia for something half-remembered. and that too will pass.
  2. flowerbound

    i open my red, red mouth & from it sprouts a garden of poppies and golden pears, a thing made to beg: stay, stay, stay. pull me safe through the winter, palms laid out across the fragile frostburned petals running tearlike into my eyes and sticking. my vocal cords thrum. & the winter persists, & you stay chilly, & once i wake up to you kissing me, careful as you pour poppyseeds into my voice box, pretending this opium won't flood my veins with sweet tar, pretending you never knew this need to be needed. i spit you out, & sugared pears follow. i vomit false summer, & winter ends. i dice you into soil & my garden flourishes. im wine-drunk & boundless, worshiping anything i can taste.
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