Adventura, Poetry
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Body Parts

He said he couldn’t be on his own
so I threaded him through a needle
and stitched him to my bones.

I made steps from my spine to his bed
so his arms could always reach around me.

I forged a silver spoon out of my flesh
and hoped he didn’t taste second thoughts.

I cut open my chest and let him inside,
prayed to God he would know when to stop.

We were begging to be ruined,
we were begging for explosion,
so he set a time bomb in my chest
and held my hands as we waited.

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Hi, I’m Emily and I like to think of myself as a kaleidoscope, but one that ranges from a spectrum of commitment issues to emotional hoarding, all circling around varying shades of anxiety. People say I have trouble ‘staying present’ and I’ve found that daydreaming becomes significantly less acceptable in your 20’s.

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