Posts
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Gambling, spirits, faith, and pioneers
There is this unfathomable desire for touch
after love has passed you by for millennia.
You wager divinity like a schoolyard bet;
hoping you do not cry this time when you
scrape your knees on honest concrete.
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Finding sanctuary in showers
- inspired by Emily Dickinson: who saw holiness in most unexpected of places.
Hot showers are almost baptisms
because you have the painfully mortal choice
to either speak to God or wash your hair. -
Endearingly Yours, Vlad III
I had the privilege of stealing your last breath
so that we may kiss each other for eons to come.
Although the disease nearly manifested your death
I wouldn’t change our gothic story for any ransom. -
17
Seventeen is shamelessly begging for an attempt at childhood
after you have devoted each year since birth to the preparation
of becoming a voice to be heard and ultimately reckoned with. -
I’d love you (if) [it’s] {only} |us|
(if you’re wrong.
Wrong for the right reason.
Wrong to reason in gazing at eyes.
Wrong as eyes see and mouth swallows.
Wrong as swallows fly and explore life.
Wrong while life continues in being. -
November
Clothing
There are so many dresses I have bought for events I will never
be invited to, but I do not give them away just in case I am.
I will bring home new hoodies knowing I will wear the same
Loves
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death bed
You push me out to sea
With every toll life takes.
My wood is deteriorating
With thousands of years.
I've held village girls
And I've held mothers.
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Unbecoming
The streets have teeth and we hold our fingers with enough space for the others and drink cider on a corner where the ceiling above us blinks blue-blue-blue onto her tonsil-pink dress and someday I hope I never have to see it in a suitca
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january to july
in the months of darkness and cold, i never stopped writing.
i just kept it all to myself. every night, my own religion
pages of pen poised on paper, pouring my heart out
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Acceptance before Change
On September 2 of 2022, I packed three short sleeve shirts, two long sleeve shirts, and four pairs of pants into a backpack and left my house in Sharon, VT, for four months on an intensive expedition semester school: Kroka Expeditions’ L
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A Trapped Poet (inspired by Emily Dickinson)
I am just like her—
Trapped in a sea of white.
My mind is just as frayed—
My heart just as sliced.
By the glittering blades
That contrived all her words.
The letters of her thoughts,
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My lovely ex
I walk through the graveyard, carefully avoiding the flowers on the graves. It’s a yearly trip to keep up appearances. I hated coming here. I sigh stopping at the grave marked William Piller.