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she/her, or: please let me love you by miserabel, literature
she/her, or: please let me love you
you're fire but in a calming way; and this makes no sense at all; my metaphors, I feel, are failing to describe what looking at you is like. I watch them, knock at your door, and you say, hello; you seem to have a smile for everyone. I am jealous, sometimes, of people who get to kiss you on park benches; I bet your smile tastes great. maybe one day, I'll get to prove it.
Untitled by Call-me-George, literature
Untitled
They were such small things, I didn’t even notice
Until I looked at myself for the first time in 10 years
And couldn’t recognize anything I saw
My eyes were the same, yes
But they held their passion and rage behind cell bars
My lips were still full and pink
But cracked and bloody from holding my tongue away from the world
My hands had nimble fingers still
But they weren’t used for gentle strokes of a pen
No, I wasn’t writing masterpieces anymore
But my feet
My feet were the worst
Carrying all the extra weight
All my bad choices
They couldn’t run, or dance
Tender soles, I’ve been wearing shoes
My