Tag: writing

in six days

I’m one year older

learned of worlds yet none the wiser

kissed words to life and lips not once

but young blood runs my veins to pieces

since I became my god and priestess

one day, you will have to explain. you will have to look at them and mumble an apology to calm the hurt that makes their voice tremble, because who are you to not believe their feelings? how can you scoff after the word love leaves their mouth? and you’ll stand there looking at your feet the sky the trees anything but their face, and you’ll have to find a way of saying that you don’t take them for a liar but that your disbelief of love settling against your skin takes them for one. 

Calling someone a flower name because they’re pretty: boooring.

Calling someone a flower name because they absorb deadly star rays to expand in size and expel a substance that would likely be lethal to most alien life forms: photosyNTHEXCITING.

We’re too young to worry this much, they say. We’re too young to ask for that much change, they hiss. When else will we worry, we scream, and how else will we bring change, if we can’t be sure to grow old enough to be allowed worries and anger and actions by them?

We are born in September. We are children of autumn, daughters of the wildest storms, sons of the ancient equinox. Change does not come for us. We bring it upon the world.

who even has time for slow songs. we’re all catapulting towards death at a cell-decaying speed so turn that tempo to ribosomic vivace and unleash accelerando mania in your mitochondria

If magic was only alive for one month a year, that month would be September. It’s a time beyond what I understand, but I let myself get lost in it every year – because nothing says home like autumn’s gentle whisper of “welcome back”.

so I was on the bus today and just as I got up to press the stop button, something hissed behind me. I’m not talking cat hiss here. the sound that emerged behind my back was a lioness-worthy almost-roar. it was terrifying. I had to know what it was.

and of course I turn around, ready for everything because when I entered the bus, there was definitely nothing and nobody there that would have been capable of making that sound so what even could that be – 

an old woman. just an old lady, and she looks at me. I swear I didn’t notice her when I got in. the bus stops. the doors open. I step outside and turn around, and there she is. I have no memory of what she wore or what her face even looked like, except for one thing: her eyes. bright like a young woman looking at me, not an old lady. I am unable to move. she stares at me, and then she says:

“don’t trust the little children.”

the bus doors close. the bus leaves. 

I stood there and it took me a good minute to put myself back together. until now, I have no idea what entity I met there, and maybe I read too many books, but I sure as hell will not trust little children or old women any time soon.