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Literature Text
I
This is me listening for a ghost
with wildfire-wide eyes on a Tuesday at two a.m.
spiking eagerness with anxious osmosis;
I petition for an identity from a circuit court.
II
This is me listening for the ghost of Ariana Nicole David,
who existed solely in the womb and pride of my mother.
Mom says, with renewed vigorous rigor mortis,
she wanted Ariana enough for her to exist
without ultrasound proof.
Nicholas Aaron Swaner was born on April 17th, 1993
without a father's signature or surname;
Nicholas was born with a father's doubt.
There is a letter to write to Nicholas' father
and his father still hasn't written it yet.
There is someone listening for the ghost of Nicholas Aaron Swaner
but only tasting spirits.
III
I'm not an addict, but I got a habit
of writing shit down when I believe it
so I've started signing papers different.
I won't write off my identity with a name.
This is me listening for a ghost
with wildfire-wide eyes on a Tuesday at two a.m.
spiking eagerness with anxious osmosis;
I petition for an identity from a circuit court.
II
This is me listening for the ghost of Ariana Nicole David,
who existed solely in the womb and pride of my mother.
Mom says, with renewed vigorous rigor mortis,
she wanted Ariana enough for her to exist
without ultrasound proof.
Nicholas Aaron Swaner was born on April 17th, 1993
without a father's signature or surname;
Nicholas was born with a father's doubt.
There is a letter to write to Nicholas' father
and his father still hasn't written it yet.
There is someone listening for the ghost of Nicholas Aaron Swaner
but only tasting spirits.
III
I'm not an addict, but I got a habit
of writing shit down when I believe it
so I've started signing papers different.
I won't write off my identity with a name.
Literature
to write to winter's end
i. you are snow, the frost & everything
that can bring untold fragile beauty to
the world you watch from your window, or
reduce it to slivers.
(it's your sharp wit, your razor words,
that will always be a weapon of choice.
don't lose them, for all the damage you
cause with them cannot hold a candle to
what would happen if you didn't anymore)
ii. to write to a ghost, cold & harsh with
her heart of winter, is an adventure in itself.
to mold words that rival frozen rivers &
fresh snows, without changing the landscape.
(i am a summer girl, born in the heart of
a desert and molded by the harsh sun &
heavy rains. i do not know how to be calm,
Literature
dreamergirl
The Last Time I saw you,
you were down in the dirt,
[literally] on hands and knees,
looking for the bit of magic
your father had promised was toiling
just underneath the surface.
You feel it, you whispered in
a cotton hush like the vibrancy
of your voice would intimidate the
dreams you scraped at beneath the
faultlines. Daddy never told a lie
[excluding the usual good things
come to those who wait, and 'tis better
to have loved and lost, and every end
is a new beginning]. You feel it,
you whispered, trembling at the hands
the same way you did for the Pills
that couldn't quite fix the Problem.
.
I never really understood all the ways
you
Literature
Coalescence in (and of) Poetry
Chatoyant stargazer, you with
skin as opulent as spring itself
hair a realm where fairies roam
limbs redolent of riverbed soil
lead me to the illusive seams
of this halcyon of gossamer dreams
over orion and past the eye of god
Grandiloquent desiderata, you are
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A personal piece, written to be performed. Everything written here is true.
An End, Once and For All © 2013 Nic Belroque
An End, Once and For All © 2013 Nic Belroque
© 2013 - 2024 Nichrysalis
Comments15
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Wow! I don't know how I'd never seen this before. I really love it.