There is a weight on my chest sinking me further down into an explosion of rubble or a spiral of stairs leading me down into a dark room or a chest of treasures filled with porcelain dolls— and maybe I see hope at the bottom? Or is it a pair of butterfly wings, clipped from the branches of a ripening peach tree? But this fruit isn't native to where I grew up, so I'm not as familiar with the taste of it as I am with salt pressed against my wounds, or antiseptic sprayed on my tongue.
i love how this poem begins like a bottomless pit, touches the dangerous gentleness of hope and then even cruel divinity and circles all the way back to where it begins. beautiful ): <3
The poems really good and I love Sarah kinsley omd
Beautiful work!
Wow wow wow! Words escape me!
I LOVE THIS
❤️
wow unreal
ttooooo kind 🥹🥹
i love how this poem begins like a bottomless pit, touches the dangerous gentleness of hope and then even cruel divinity and circles all the way back to where it begins. beautiful ): <3
!! thank you❤️