Minish
*
- Pronoun
- they
NATURAL
solar kisses on my neck, my parched back
to my origins. i've turned to face the moon
and her herd of grey-eyed stars, sent to me
in a tight parcel, laced with your unspoken promises.
you should have used real paper.
ice-speak, i've learnt to talk
it to startling levels. you give it in sickly layers
covered with sweet-smelling soil, makes me dark
with all the dirt, softened with misunderstandings.
i need an escape from you, and your heart.
paper flowers line those fields now,
like vigilantes, perhaps from another time.
desperate, i clutch at the ground, i rip your soil
emblazoned still, with the sun
my fingers dig, i reach through the earth,
i want to understand it like you do,
please teach me
teach it to me until you've forgotten it all
i can tell you now, i found a pair of wings
underneath all of that sad, sad soil,
spattered with tears, as i stare to my new tourniquets
my hands around it all, shaking,
my face is stretched in victory.
Written with the prompt "wings". Please see how it's meant to look! I know just how messy, unstructured and silly it is, but what's new?
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