in this place a single body splits not into two but five odd pieces that wriggle back
into one again but soon enough a guttural murmur parts my lips: this is not mine
a soft ravishing anhedonia lulls the same body you could once call your
own, unravels the bindings you wound so tightly around your chest, undoes the
braid of a spine that stemmed down your back
in their hearts lies their true intentions and there they will only
remain viciously still as they speak ill of you through deafening nothings
here: take the dagger, grip it well, put it to good use. let the
words dribble out like sap in the carvings you craft in the trunk of
the family tree;
tradition gave you nothing.
into one again but soon enough a guttural murmur parts my lips: this is not mine
a soft ravishing anhedonia lulls the same body you could once call your
own, unravels the bindings you wound so tightly around your chest, undoes the
braid of a spine that stemmed down your back
in their hearts lies their true intentions and there they will only
remain viciously still as they speak ill of you through deafening nothings
here: take the dagger, grip it well, put it to good use. let the
words dribble out like sap in the carvings you craft in the trunk of
the family tree;
tradition gave you nothing.
✱✱✱
 Stella Yoo is a seventeen-year-old student hailing from Los Angeles. Some days she hopes that she can ditch planet earth and move to outer space, but for now you can catch her on Tumblr @weaverfestival. |
