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me and myself and a drabble of words

July 9, 2020


I once clobbered a pineapple with stick, and it’s juice kissed my heart with passion, like the way the ocean hugs the hull of a hip fiercely, and the way I take pen to paper, or ink to white; all gentleness and fierce emotion of lovely moonlit ways.
I could talk nonsensical antidotes all paper long, filling the whiteness with incoherencey that in my head, fit together like a puzzle piece, because it’s what I am to myself; I try to unravel the mystery of what being halfway to womanhood means to me.
Sixteen is a funny number I suppose, and in my meme riddled mind, where I can turn the harshest night into a joke and spin golden threads into a loving tapestry of ocean waves and the beach, it seems to me as if the numbers are yellow-orange; the colour of lemon soda when I crack a can open on a summer evening to savor the stinging bubbles of sugary drinks.
I once pulled a smurf out of a well and beats me if I didn’t realise that the well was but a cup and the smurf blueberry skies. To paint the sky blue is not an easy thing to do, but to sprinkle the night with glitter is marginally easier; baby steps, my love, you need not carry it all alone.
That one time I climbed the stars I saw that the world was way too gorgeous and the way the apple crumble fields and the whipped cream mountain tops embellished the puzzle pieces of tectonics and when I saw the clouds sigh soft waters, oh! I tripped on loveliness and what caught me was gossamer silks of butterfly wings which I had strung between the moon and the sun of today.
If you were the dark sea caves, all still and calm, then I would be the geysers above, ascending into the skies on streams of chatter, fueling my energy with hours of annoying orange videos and kokonut songs on repeat through the winds, showering you with brightness and absolute randomness until the fireflies dim and the oceans rise to cover my heart in softness and quiet; I’m the moon and the sun and you’re the rolling meadows, so would you take me dancing on the mountainside?
i don't really know what this is?? more like a drabble of words in which i try and fail to keep the topic off the stars which is probably due to the countless amount of time i spent watching esa when i should be in bed hehe...? help.


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  • July 9, 2020 - 2:07pm (Now Viewing)

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1 Comment
  • Anne Blackwood

    How dare you write such a confusing masterpiece that somehow still makes perfect sense

    5 months ago