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habit

seeking eldorado in finery and garters
enshrouding every flaw with the vigour of a martyr

commit cheap parlour tricks to relinquish prying eyes
stifling your melodies to melancholic chimes

buried deep beneath your velveteen cordon of pretence
pearlescent dreams swim slow in marbled confluence

won’t you shed the carrion you bear across your back
and relent the mask to bare the skin you buried under rags

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Rhapsody on a Windy Night – T.S. Eliot

Twelve o’clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Dissolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

— from Rhapsody on a Windy Night by T.S. Eliot

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Seventeen.

This is something I’ve had tucked in my drafts for a while now, and I’ve only just had the courage to send it out into the wide world. I have no idea if it’s poetry, a monologue or a piece of crap, but I feel as if it should be thrown out there.

seventeen
taking less time for myself
each
day
talking about
magritte
pipes and relative pipes
stars on your iris
dilated pupils
smoke inhalation
sleep deprivation
cave wall shadows
seeking eldorado
taking less time for
thought
each time i try to try
to stay on feet and ground
that’s level
level up
walking high rise cities
low rise jeans
rebel by any means
taking out more time
than i have
left
left behind to stay
stay to grow away
apples and trees, falling
two seeds to go away
taking more love
than i have saved
growing to
leaning to
towards so-tolds
has-beens
whatnots
nebulous kaleidoscopic
visions of your façade
masqueraded gowns
cloak and needle street battle
taking more luck than i had
planned
hypotheses
appendices
subsidiary entities
that you call ‘youth’
taking less care of myself each
day
sun’s rising
moon’s waning
trying to get my head on straight
straight and narrow
gone curves and open
curving of your silhouette
calling me ‘woman’
like my name has never
met your lips
taking less thought for
myself each day
mirrors are bending
my reflection is sending
shockwaves down
my spine
reading my body like open books
you leave like the others
rip pages out of me
taking less damns for the world
each day
fusty rooms
tobacco plumes
studying me
looking like you’re chewing jaborandi
taking less respect than i was told
when i was
young
taking more time
to find
the space in my mind
taking
more than i can give
taking
myself to be a stigma
to the world

 

seventeen.

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