Rue

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My bloody memories
Could crack these walls
Horrible things happen in bathroom stalls
Our baby that never came to be
I can still feel you both inside of me

Look what I’ve done with my life
You let me become someone else’s wife
If I’d had an inkling
If I’d had a clue
I would’ve fought harder for you

Prompt: Inkling

Swan Song

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Frenzied winter wind blows
I am in a place that doesn’t know my name
I walk slowly in this world of cold
All that is wrong begins with this chill in my heart
All that is wrong begins with my longing for the mate of my soul

I feel home calling
My skin smells like the hot sun
I wake up with sand on my feet, my hair wavy with salt
I lay languidly in the tub for hours, I am safe when I am in water
It is my sanctuary

I feel home calling
I find shells scattered on my floors
Sea glass winking in the meager sunlight
I dream of waves crashing, spinning me around, laughing at the fish darting around me
Telling me its time
Telling me they miss me

I feel home calling
I will freeze until the fierce winds coming off the water slash around my body, pulling me towards the foamy sea, until my toes meet the shoreline,
the hot sun turning me into walking fire.
I will become one again with that which calls me sister, lover, family, friend, twin.

Home is calling
I will be whole again someday
I will return to the island and never leave again
It will be my swan song

Daily Prompt: Calling

Toxic Waste

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I wrote a long piece about how terrible you are. I accidentally opened the door to the black hole in my mind where you reside. I published it. Then I remembered it doesn’t matter WHAT you are or WHO you are. Whatever I feel for you on occasion is as fleeting and temporary as we were. 

So my long theory has the simplest conclusion: you are nothing. 

Daily Prompt: Theory

The Aristocrats

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Our flawed brains ordain us as elegant beings
Synapses misfiring, like broken shooting stars
Our wholeness ebbing and flowing like the tides at sunset
A graceful dance between what is and what should be
Gliding in our minds haunted hallways
Misfortune named disease whispers our name
It can bring us to our knees, begging for sweet mercy
Somehow, its careless cruelty is deafening to the irrelevant
So we are always sure to carry ourselves as sovereignty
Dignity is our gift and your curse
We are not well, a truth
Only a slight tear in our universe separates us from orderly
We are like well-oiled doors that develop a sudden squeak
Or a clock that suddenly stops keeping perfect time
A slight stumble, unasked for value lost, but not useless
Like the tired hands of an elderly person
Beautiful with their impurities, sacred from their story
Still blessed with a painful but triumphant epoch
The majesty comes from the struggle
For who else can carry this burden than the bent?
Average we will never know
For our hearts beat in time with the Unknown

Daily Prompt: Elegance