Mo

7 08 2015

A boy once told me I was the paper in his typewriter, and flattered though I was, upon reflection, I knew I would rather be the hammer and the key. I was no blank expanse of unsullied white – vessel or container for his will. Some time ago the seal was broken, or perhaps, I was born unsealed, and I have been full up in storms and fire ever since.

The day I learn to fly, I’m leaving all of you behind, your small kindnesses and whispered affection, his snaking arms coming up out of the dark. The day I learn to fly, I’m soaring straight up, into a dawn lit sky as pale and clear as your eyes.


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2 responses

12 08 2015
sameenarr

Dear,
I read all your poems on a food poetry thread on absolutewrite and fell in love with your writing. Hence, I came here and fell in love with the pieces here too.
Just stopping by to tell you you’re amazing❤ .❤

12 08 2015
Ouroboros

That may be the nicest thing anyone has ever said about my writing. Thank you. Made my day.

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