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See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna
lifeinpoetry
lifeinpoetry

Look—even my awestruck is half-assed.
But I’m so tired of the small steps—
the pentatonic scale, the frequent flyer
hoarding, the one exquisite sentence
in a forest of exquisite sentences.
There is a globe welling up inside of me.
Mountain ranges ridging my skin,
oceans filling my mouth. If I stay still
long enough, I could become my own world.

Catherine Pierce, from “Because I’ll Never Swim in Every Ocean,” The Girls of Peculiar

lifeinpoetry
lifeinpoetry

And how am I here? With my life intact?
I’m painful to the touch only when I don’t light
a candle and praise oblivion, give myself over
to nothingness—and is it every day
or was it long ago,
that I’d slid shut my teenage self’s veranda doors
and stepped
onto the world’s fancy balconies
and was prepared to do something drastic
like live and live and live.

Bianca Stone, from “Ones Who Got Away with It,” The Möbius Strip Club of Grief