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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 05, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 05, 2018



In the chasm of my body, I am lost like a child in a grocery store. I wasn’t yet nine when I tumbled into broken pieces, Tumbled into laundry piles, Disillusioned. I found my way way back to the moment, Fine needles, pine maybe, Bony wilderness. Enveloping. Here, a girl can be swallowed by winter. Here, life is slippery in my hands.

I breath and the air is sharp. The pink flowers on my chest stiffen against the wind. Who was I? Before? The question burns in my nose like peppercorn, Rising. Greeting and caressing my brain like an old lover.

I shudder and I am made of feathers. Rippling. I stiffen against the break of dawn, My words like tiny grappling hooks, Missing their mark.

But then, Here I am in the woods. A walking graveyard of stories. Ankles surrendered to a cold-kiss. Reddening. So maybe I can be lost in existence, And still exist. And maybe, The maybe is enough.

© Copyright 2019 brooklin stormie. All rights reserved.

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