"When we can no longer dream, we die" -Emma Goldman

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

my youth and my childhood, locked into submission by metal clasps
drowning like a witch, my hands tied with lace and leather.
my palms get sweaty and screams are found by little girls in rain boots
your smiles lie to me and make me weep
the trees grow tall and fill with sorrow
filmy blue gauze envelopes the searing pain and yellow words make it feel
alright, okay, just fine
hindsight is an afterthought and
billowy dresses cover the truth
la verdad
the only thing i really want right now

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