i. you tie your hair in knots, just to be able to count the little endings you made with your own hands, and how their whisper is a choir in your head and maybe medusa felt the same with her eyes averted from the rough hands of the world.
ii. the sting of incense is sharp enough to bring tears and maybe thatâs how youâre supposed to worship a body without flesh, you wonder whether you could be the same with a ribcage set on fire, but you canât fly high enough to pull the sun into your chest.
iii. and when you put flowers between your legs, it is as if you donât need to fear your own heart. as if the blooming will rid you of the ugly in your smile. as if the scent will cover the stench of the hole in your gut. maybe then people could stop pinning you to their walls.
iv. some days feel as if you could grow roots through your shins while you bend over to kneel in the dark. you read that medea left red footprints in the dirt and when you touch the shape of your feet, the size of your wrath feels the same.
v. the rain clings to the edges of your face and your shoulders while you walk through the woods and its embrace is just as cold as you told them yours would be and that is the thing with your prophecy: youâre the first to put the burden you saw on your back.
vi. how long will it take until you crumble beneath the weight of your own?
kaledo-art
janainaart
annaxmalina
tangentwithtanner
areudirty
romaincrisis
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