#writingunspecified

[writingunspecified]

Blackberry Blood

I don’t think I dream of violence (I’ve never dreamt much at all) But blackberries stain hands bloody, And I can’t help but feel that I’ve been here before. I hold my hands out. Sunshower rain doesn’t do much Besides wash the juice down my wrists, And my fingers become claws as I watch. Do you see this? Do my teeth sharpen as I smile? I have no blood on my hands (I don't think I do, at least) But I think I’m meant to. I don’t reach back into the blackberry bush. I don’t know what I’ll do if the thorns break skin.

[writingunspecified]

They call you "grit," they call you "determination," they call you "knocked down seven times got up eight." And... and they're not wrong. You've never met a challenge with anything less than more than you should be able to give, you've never given up before you've won.

[writingunspecified]

Fruit Flies

Sticky sweet hands And fruit flies in my room. It’s all rotten now; How long I waited for you.

And if you come to find me, Do not weep at the sight. Though bruised and molded I might be, Your tears cannot change time.

From the soil I came and to it I must return, My existence will have no skeleton for proof. Death and decay are my destiny, For all I’ve ever been is fruit.

[writingunspecified]

Death is not the only path towards vengeance; as such, even if vengeance is my destiny, death will not be my legacy

[writingunspecified]

(Just Poisonous In Our Own Right)

We both know how this ends It isn’t a well-kept secret Held tightly in the greedy hands of the cattails Or buried deep in the mud of the lake’s center It isn’t a secret at all

How could it be, When the wind gossips with the trees Until we aren’t the only ones Who have ended up in flames

Maybe the medieval kings had it right A foundation of stones burns slower than thatched roofs. But our words are often catapults Good enough to reach over the castle walls And destroy all they touch

We both know how this ends As does everyone else And yet We continue

(No one ever said we were smart, Just poisonous in our own right)

[writingunspecified]

Soft is not a word often used to describe her. She’s all sharp elbows and pointed words, glaring eyes that act as a spear, not a shield. She is not a cushion to lay on, rather the unforgiving ground upon which I stand. She is not soft, but she still is mine.

[writingunspecified]

The Girl of Many Lives

She comes back with me Always to my house Never to hers The night is rarely long And all it does is leave me empty Wanting more She’s not a one night stand anymore Though I don’t know when she became more Perhaps it was when I stopped being surprised That she returned Even when I didn’t ask Even after I stayed away for awhile She doesn’t stay past eleven Though I want to run my hands Over her decorated skin forever Its covered in scars and tattoos Whispers of lives she’s lived I type their ghosts long after she’s left

[writingunspecified]

The air is thin where we stand Too high to breathe Yet we’re too young And not good enough To die