burst

I clipped the bud before it blossomed. I couldn’t stand to see the colors– the brightness, the sickening candy sweetness, the beautiful and sacred burst from scratch. It never has grown back.The stem has severed, the sugar gone sour,the sacredness blurred and stained by fingerstoo bold, too careless to fathom regret. –Emily currently listening to:…

Creations

It’s all been done before, they say, nothing can be created or destroyed– but I disagree. I’m consistently surprised by how many stories are yet to be clenched. I’m consistently reminded by how much magic is dormant in the ground. I’m consistently impressed by new additions  to our repertoire. –Emily

liar, liar

My naivety got the best of me— wore her ugly dress to the ball, danced on the white tablecloths and trampled the hand-picked flowers. No—no, that’s not true. I cannot blame a piece of myself, because I was wholly responsible and I’ve deceived myself for far too long. My thoughts are too dangerous to venture…

The Seven-Day Moon

I thank God for moonlight and weddings, and the moon the week before the wedding. Moonlight that called us outside and waved. Our fingers snapped frantically and rapidly to catch the shot while it breathed. I thank God for dying batteries and the desperation, the anxiousness they incite. It was enough to capture our minds,…

That time I wrote six terrible sonnets.

This was my Shakespeare final project.I decided to write six Shakespearean sonnets (iambic pentameter and all) from the perspectives of various characters from the plays we read during the semester, which includes Julius Caesar, The Merchant of Venice, Much Ado About Nothing, Macbeth, and Hamlet. I did it because I thought it would be easy. It…

Buried Alive

I’ve been a phantom       this past month, I know.      I’ve barely existed at all. I’ve been buried alive.      I’ve filled my pockets with stones      and waded into the current. And now, I’ve returned      from the dead, dirt in my nails,      lust in…

Ransom

I caught that quiver and your eye’s hopscotch;your nose pressed to the earth like a bloodhoundchasing after the convict.You judged me in less than a second. I saw it.I saw the thought projected and processedand stored within your mind’s archives,tucked away for future referenceor ransom. These roads are too dark for me to driveand you’ve…