My brain is where most of my stories go to die. Whatever survives will end up here. Eventually.
Like sitting across from a tarot card reader You somehow find my darkest, weakest moments And tear them from my chest with no warning,
By Kiersten Weldon3 months ago in Poets
your tiny fingers and tiny toes will soon become as big as mine the way you laugh and scrunch your nose will one day be an unimpressed sigh
Hope resides in the space between shadows, In the glittering chasms of haunted goodbyes, When we cannot find it in the truths that we expose,
Every surface of your room, Covered in darkness Like a black satin sheet. Intimacy and anonymity Paradoxically take over my
What would I tell teenage me? Fairy tale endings are never as they seem. The acne goes away, But the insecurities don't.
By Kiersten Weldon5 months ago in Poets
Everything is just great Don't try to convince me that Every waking moment is a struggle and Things won't ever get better
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