Probably not as funny as I think I am
Insta @chloe_j_writes
silent, heavy air, where the tension lives after you said, “I’m pregnant.”
By Chloë J.3 years ago in Poets
purify decay, so I can send ash handfuls of love to the wind.
jumped into the flames like I would the sea; only way to swim, safe, through.
crest and break over my head, I’ll stay still so I melt into the sea.
leaned in, with lips lit my wick, stayed just long enough to watch it burn out.
wind-swept and battered, water caressed to yielding, Nature’s craftsmanship.
If I could yoga and coping mechanism my way to freedom, don’t you think I would? If journaling could stifle these unwanted flames,
I only missed the wind when in one, harsh, blow, you knocked it out of me.
return, innocent peace of a sister-shared tub, stories in bubbles.
sip flame through a straw; “smile, say you like it, and show some damn gratitude!”
vibrant, flaming locks, a beacon. he, like the moth, cannot keep away.
it took me too long to learn that what I thought was nectar was cruel flame.
