the science of us.you told me once that a strike of lightningthe science of us.9 months ago in Free Verse
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is five times hotter than the surface of the sun.
and so if i am the sky
then you are the storm,
flawlessly constructed and
elaborately designed to strike me
when i'm broken.
except lightning never strikes
the same place twice,
and your fist has struck
the flesh above my cheekbone
more times than i can count.
"the earth is number two,
and heaven is number three,"
you told me once, as you slipped
your hand beneath my skirt.
your other hand was on the wheel,
guiding us through the storm.
"—because the earth was created first,"
you would tell me,
although i didn't want
to believe it.
"heaven was just an afterthought."
your hand was warm,
and your touch was electric.
i did nothing as you caressed
my inner thigh, and i stood still
as you reached for more.
i allowed you.
i had no choice.
the rain fell on the windshield
like a map of confused roads
and i thought quietly to myself
as our silence burned the bridges.
BlindI was blind.Blind4 years ago in Short Stories
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Not in my eyes, but in my heart. I never fully understood what my child was becoming until it was too late, far too late. There were signs, of course, hints of her true nature, but I was blinded by the love I felt for this child who had become my own.
Blinded. Blinded by love, blinded by beauty, blinded by the utter wickedness of this sweet little girl.
Looking back, I curse myself for not realizing sooner what she truly was. It all seems so obvious now. But thenthenwhen she was growing upit was not so. For who would suspect that such a pretty little girl could be planning such things?
And she was a very pretty little girl. I would dote on her for hours, placing jewels round her neck and ribbons in her hair. I adored her hair. It was long, and smooth, and shiny brown, and I would sit with her by the fireplace and comb it long into the evening.
Once, as I was doing this, she twisted in my arms and faced me. "Mama," she said, in that sweet voice that all yo