I keep using my apartment key on my childhood home. As if home was transitive, as if the locks should recognize the same kid they used to know. As if a door could say, oh you, of course I remember you, swinging open.
-my poem
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I keep using my apartment key on my childhood home. As if home was transitive, as if the locks should recognize the same kid they used to know. As if a door could say, oh you, of course I remember you, swinging open.
-my poem

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Maybe my cynicism grows tiring, I imagine it must. I know I wish I could leave my mind, walk out the door and let my vices rip me to shreds. I don't blame you for walking away.
-my poem
Maybe my cynicism grows tiring, I imagine it must. I know I wish I could leave my mind, walk out the door and let my vices rip me to shreds. I don't blame you for walking away.
-my poem
*
joy sullivan
every reread kills me a little bit more
reread and enjoy <3

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What a beautiful thing, the rainbow after a storm.
-my poem
Someday you'll look in the mirror and your body won't be a project.
-my poem
Someday you'll look in the mirror and your body won't be a project.
-my poem
I only feel safe when I'm fighting
[image text:
(I am absent because I am the teller. Only the tale is real.)]

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What a beautiful thing, to die in your home, cherished by those who you died saving. What an honor. What a blessing, to have those who will miss you.
-my poem
They're throwing stones at the house they built for you. You're in the nursery, building cradles as they scream at your door. Leave, golden boy, run to the desert and never look back. Let them burn the city down as you watch your son take his first steps.
-my poem
Sometimes when you come from a place, they love you a little differently. As if you belong to them, a piece of their own, a free for all. Go ahead golden boy, walk away.
-my poem
James Baldwin, from Another Country [ID'd]
I excell at burning bridges, burying bodies, hiding skeletons in the closet. I can't bring myself to kill you. Instead I stand outside your door and smoke, watching the cigarette burn closer and closer to my skin.
-my poem

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I don't wear jealousy very well, something turned dark and melancholy. Watching a echo of me call you baby while you slip me compliments behind closed doors. I think about telling her, but we're both losing, loving you. If I can't be forever, maybe she can, maybe you can lie to her while you lie next to me.
- my poem