yes.

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Image courtesy of: Frida Aguilar Estrada

don’t remember the taste
of stars so we fill ourselves
on vodka and rum. dilute
the night with bright, fizzling
expectations so we can
shoot down disappointment
in familiar tumbler glass.

watch the hours drip-tick by
as all these soft sticky souls
search for more than sallow
shadows of self in fellow
stranger’s gaze. alas, it is in
the peripheries that I remain.
how can one win without
being told how to play the game,
nothing to blame beyond birth
and poor choices after
that have led to what I became.

as drinks tip and lips slip,
I find myself floating amongst
the sea of people, sway in
humid-breathed wind and breathe
the sweatied salt-spray. hold onto the
rainbows reflected in buoyant
disco balls to remind myself that the
spectrum of colours in my veins
spills an infinite greater than the
circumference of circumstance,

Continue reading “yes.”

What of

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what of hope
but empty promises
if you do not
dream of dandelion fields
and look for four-leaf clovers
in pavement cracks
sometimes?
(even though you’ve never seen one)

what of ambition
but unbridled fantasies
if you do not
bellow your wild ideas
to the skies?
(the ones that make
the earth tremble
and the seas part way)

what of love
but heartbreaks and mistakes
if you do not
try to swallow it
but find its fluttery wings
tickling the pit of your stomach
leaving feathers on your tongue
when you least expect it to?
(the 2am I miss yous
and 2.05am tinder convos
tastes strangely like vodka)

Continue reading “What of”