Probably not as funny as I think I am
Insta @chloe_j_writes
witchcraft of the clock- how the hated minutes stretch, while treasured ones flee.
By Chloë J.3 years ago in Poets
time’s progression fooled me into thinking I changed; older, not wiser.
history repeats generational curses; only the year’s changed.
slow, unwilling march; keep getting pushed to the edge, but never ready.
old VHS tapes, glass jar sodas, sleepovers, and a dash of hope.
hoop skirts, corsets and rebellion; the guillotine unleashed blood rivers.
steel, silver, raiding; kingdoms fought to exist, then rose and fell, sword-stopped.
acne, team sports, and homework; travelled in a pack, and felt more alive.
Christmas trapped in a snowglobe; the one before it all went wrong; my gift.
slow when you’re a child, then the ball gains speed; downhill; quickly races on.
Blink-the seasons changed. Blink-the years slipped by. Blink-ask, where did your life go?
catch lightning, wield wind, hold a storm cloud in your hands; feel time slip away.
