A wannabe awash in metaphors. Seventeen. Pianist, among other things. Eternal runner-up. Cat slave. Jellyfish enthusiast!

Lots of poetry with big pretty words because I am nothing if not extravagant

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I want to someday create something good enough to justify staring at blank documents until my brains ooze out my nostrils, so here’s where I work towards that
"How strange it is to be anything at all"

five rules pertaining to radical acceptance of fate, or taking control for lack thereof

May 13, 2019

PROMPT: Self-Respect

One hundred and forty six days
until I finally breathe out.

        I did not ask you to define me,
        and I wish my stars had never allowed you to.

                If ever I had been a constellation,
                this would have been the reason for my penance.

My next hurdle was not one
to leap over with flailing limbs

        When I learned your puzzle piece
        was never in the original box

                I had to search for the missing ones
                Under beds insisting my only purpose was between sheets

and beside them keys screamed
not quick enough, ordinary.

        It will take a while to scream back
        instead of resigning myself to an evening of silence.

                If ever the universe sings for me,
                I swear I will be the one to accompany.

Six thousand two hundred and forty two days
and counting on merciless clock hands.

        Detachment from youth is the main reason
        all the dying wish for these years in particular.

                I will no longer cower in Time's corner.
                I will welcome my slowing heartbeat.

But only one second
is of any significance.

         I am not yet a supernova, furious
        Thrashing across space to take up all that's mine

                But someday I will stop being afraid of it
                Today I will take up the space I require to grow.



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