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Literature Text
I laced a ribbon
between my ribs
tied a pretty bow
around my heart
pull it tightly
ripping off
a tacky giftcard
pinned to an artery
(toss it over my shoulder?
if only it was salt.)
the little beating thing
laced in yellow strings
can't tipttoe to my sleeve,
stain it in crimson truths
(such an ironic display)
pretty bows
and frivolous silk
are no more than
a ribcage jail
between my ribs
tied a pretty bow
around my heart
pull it tightly
ripping off
a tacky giftcard
pinned to an artery
(toss it over my shoulder?
if only it was salt.)
the little beating thing
laced in yellow strings
can't tipttoe to my sleeve,
stain it in crimson truths
(such an ironic display)
pretty bows
and frivolous silk
are no more than
a ribcage jail
Literature
where my soul still sits
my eyes learned colors
then closed
returning to doldrums
too briefly
I dreamt with them open
now sleepwalk
now praxis
now call it
a
day
but my heart knows
thaumaturgy
and yours
is young and fae
the blood speaks
the bones sing
and we are sharing thoughts
and accidentally summoning
why not wake
to reverie
daily
purposely partaking
of the magic
of the glamour
that abounds
cast off
the sad
somnabulant gray
daze
that drapes
for the kaleidoscopic life
patiently waiting
Literature
Silver Lining Symphony
Remember
how summer sings
quietly in your ears;
when your
stray heart
stutters
hold it and wait,
for your cold hands
are meant to hide
the fire within.
Listen,
every symphony,
every beautiful thing
is made
of pauses
and broken pieces;
diamonds do not reflect
the light
until they are cut.
Remember
how the sun filters
through cracked clouds
after a storm;
when the rain
gently kisses your palms,
forgive the scars
for what has been.
Listen
and always
remember,
far beyond this pain
there are
luminous adventures,
thriving,
in the wake
of your
resilience.
Literature
.reconnaitre.
she dances with the wind, not understanding
any of my cares, and yet - she cares
for all of them. I tell her "I deserve better than this
old abyss again and again."
and I am tired enough for an entire forest, but
old pine, mother of wings, stands still and
nurtures many things (me being the smallest of them, only
a whisper of a girl), and in whispers I learn
how to nurture something
not fire or dark, something like roots
or strong rainstorms
or the slow patience, the unafraid confidence that lets her stand tall
and be touched by nothing but wind
and sunshine and all the good things,
none of them human, none of them harm.
one day, I will st
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It appears I might have fallen behind o.o nonetheless here is NaPo 4!
Promptless.. However this is still for both
and 
^-^
Promptless.. However this is still for both
and ^-^
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