she is a daughter and a matchbox woman, hard until you strike her and
she ignites. she is a daughter and she is not meant to drown today and
death with his square toes will not count her among his prizes.
she learns to grieve in whatever skin she's wearing
and the angels cannot smother her shine, cannot
silence her song
though they tied the horizon
round her neck and bent her back with the weight of heaven.
hers is an albatross named beauty draped across her spine but she does not drag her wrists. she is misled and misloved, she is
ten feet tall; she is strong enough to sing again.
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Comments
i wanted it to be INCREDDDDIBLE
because it's part of my ap lang final project...
yikesss!
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let's play a game called you pretend i am an actual poet
Those last three stanzas my eyes just kept getting bigger. XD
"bent her back with the weight of heaven."- damn. O.O
And yay, you used one of my favorite words, albatross. X3
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*****
✶ When you grow up, your heart d i e s. ✶
Heaven's not a place that you go when you die.
It's that moment in life when you actually feel alive ✩
great piece and wonderful work (as per usual).
if you wrote a book, i would totally buy it. <3333
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Avatar made by ~abbyland!
<3
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let's play a game called you pretend i am an actual poet
have you read it?
<3
(albatross is my very favourite word!)
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let's play a game called you pretend i am an actual poet
someday
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let's play a game called you pretend i am an actual poet
someday.
--
Avatar made by ~abbyland!
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