Adventura, Poetry
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This May be Wishful Thinking

…but maybe one day I’ll be able to look
down at my hands and see hands
instead of pointed fingers.I’ll look in the mirror and instead
of fingerprints and bruised skin,
I will see my body for all the wild
it has survived.

Every time he walks by with
his world so barely touched,
I won’t shrink for him, no,
not me, I won’t shrink for him,
not this time.

I mean,

I may not stand too tall or
maybe not even at all but

he won’t be able to miss
the lights under my skin,
still twinkling where he
used to crawl,

he won’t be shaking me of this
worth I scratched and climbed
my way to build, and

he for sure won’t miss these medals
now wrapped around my neck,
engraved–

THIS USED TO BE HIS HANDS.

This entry was posted in: Adventura, Poetry

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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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