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PassageSpark of yellow, bright like the sun.
Their voice stabs deep into your calm.
Resilient orange, like a loud muscle car.
Memories crashing through your confidence.
Slamming red, like a firetruck rushing past.
Shards of your facade crash down to your feet.
Cold maroon, heavy like blood on a clean cloth.
Pick up the stained shards with your tender hands.
Hidden purple, like fruit under a leaf.
illusionsWater sparkling, reeds shifting.
I remember the time at the point,
a little piece of shore to our selves,
wading through shallows looking
for treasures through the distorting water
that creates apparitions
of plunder, or junk. craning over trying
to find gems amongst stones.
To succeed, we must,
see though illusion.
Reach through the cool water,
fingers grasping for the rock we desire
stuck in the muddy sand, we must
pluck it from its muddy sheath.
we bring the prize back to our pile of loot.
a little mound of underwater treasure.
This is what I paint, our catch.
Blues, greens, browns, paint smears,
across canvas, illusions of treasures
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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