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Tomorrow is BelievingYesterday I considered myself a dust mote
and climbed out of my window into the helixes
of peoples' ears.
I think I am a monarch butterfly surrounded by
peppered moths here.
They're all a hive of bees and what am I?
Perhaps a bluebottle on the wall.
They are ever-ready to say that there is no tomorrow
'I give up' 'I quit' 'There is just nothing for me
or for anybody anymore.'
They pulled me with their hook fingers and sat me down
and told me that there was once constellations, the clink
of champagne glasses against curved lips and they
once rode in the passenger seat of a car doing a hundred
and twenty down a motorway with the windows open and
the hot summer in their billowing hair.
They tell me that they wished at eleven minutes past
eleven and spent years perfecting recipes to what they call
'the perfect life' only to one day stop believing
when morning came knocking for them.
'Tomorrow I'll be sailing off to a new state
of apathy' I hear a body breathe.
'No, you won't. Tomorrow is m
Spamano One-Shot“God dammit Spain!” I yelled my hazel-green eyes wide with fear as the blade of his ax lodged into the wall next to my head. He hated it and I knew that, the way his grass green eyes suddenly lost the insane glint and filled with utter sadness and regret told me I struck a nerve by saying just that one word.
Time stood still before the Spanish Nation hovering over me said anything. “What.” He said barely above a whisper, his hands tightening around the hilt of the ax as he stared down at me. My heart was pounding in my chest as I glanced cautiously at the ax still lodged into the wall. I was at a loss for words as I tried to keep my breathing under control, how had this gotten to this point? I asked myself and could only stare at the intense gaze that bored into mine.
It had all started off when I slipped up and used his Nation name rather than his human one, but he wouldn’t listen to me until I had. He came home upset about his brother and some fist fight
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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