Let’s pretend like we are little, and I have the power to turn invisible. But only sometimes, since other times my power is, I control the weather. Or maybe, I shoot fireworks from my fingers. Or maybe my power is, I’m so awesome that nothing corrupts me. But don’t worry, whatever
Tag Archives: short story
purple patch of sea
This purple patch of sea inside your acid soul has got me thinking, the fumes can’t hurt more than bleach does and the beach can’t worship if the starfish fuss but the starfish won’t dance if your sea’s a fanta one and santa’s fee won’t pay interest when the penguins can’t prance but comets comeContinue reading “purple patch of sea”
Red
red, bred, red for the breading the breeding and sneezing sit home sick with our sluggish lungs tryna breathe–we concern ourselves here with aftermaths. The revolution revolves the rulers lose the rebels rule new rebels choose a wiser head than the rulers’ abuse unless it’s a ruse then the bread
Hello, Village of My Heart
gonna make you wait and make you pay, takin’ names killin’ fame– oh this typical teenage rebellion just comes sweepin’ in on coatclaws of trepid traumatization and I don’t want this job anymore so please protect them, and there, and these, and here and keep our village safe so the rebels do not actually haveContinue reading “Hello, Village of My Heart”
Made by the Teeth of Lions
In this liar’s bed we don’t speak of lion dens we just speak of marble men– statues done by chipped chisels helD in haNds with imAgined plans then tested by the predators, we are built out of tribulation unchosen and chance– surely you see this presence of mine is just stone surely you see myContinue reading “Made by the Teeth of Lions”
Seen a Town, Squeaky Suitcase
That squeaky suitcase has seen a town or two, a weary, well-worn traveler accustomed to the roads and rows of all customs; this stuttery suitcase has strolled through a town or ten,
Billiards with Books
The rules are, you slide books across the tile, and knock ’em out the doors to score points on classics, but you lose if you hit out the baby books–why the baby books, who knows
Loose Threads
don’t think leave the party don’t think hit the car seat pass out falling off me don’t think scarlet oversheet don’t think don’t think shrink shrink shrink ready blink mouth to sink don’t think don’t think if you wanna talk about it eat up my shame first lose a game to me first don’t thinkContinue reading “Loose Threads”
The Outlet is Crying
My window collects condensation where warm humidity meets winter’s display, but today the outlet on the wall also had droplets, around the socket– those eyes looked sad about something, so I started guessing: the seasonal blues an ache of some kind a premonition of a power-losing storm; or maybe it cried about how I couldn’tContinue reading “The Outlet is Crying”
Dangerous with a Glue Gun
I’m dangerous with a glue gun comin’ for your money venom, decorate the chimney tops with button drops, okay ginger Tay– when they spoke of blood crying from the dust for vengeance they never said the blood would be ours, but my wounds under the peppermint moon knew you weren’t coming back with the biteContinue reading “Dangerous with a Glue Gun”
Jordyn Saelor 