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Mori Aokigahara 2021-11-12 20:02:11 -06:00
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poetry/c/choco.txt Executable file
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That Ain't Chocolate, Son
2020-11-15
***
There are nine hedgehogs
in my house. I have nothing
to do with them because, every time
my mother or my brothers
hold one in their hands,
the tiny creature immediately
sets to work
shitting out a log.
I may be evil
and belonging to foreign lands,
but I abhor having
such filth
on my hands.
So tell me, mother,
why do you hate that I
always close my door
when you act as if
everything of mine
is actually yours?
My pad of art paper,
saved for stormy weather,
gone one day
into the paper shredder
to serve as bedding
for ungrateful creatures
who couldn't tell the difference
between a slaughter
and a wedding.
"I don't care
that you're busy having fun
with your brother you usually torment.
That's not the purpose
for which you are meant.
Be a good girl and help him take
the hedgehog wheels upstairs."
How delicious it is to say
that actually I don't have to spend any pains
on those who rob me of the sun:
"Not my pet, not my problem."
Because of them, I have to
live in a house full of
poop and paper shreds and
shit-covered wheels that squeal
at all hours of the night.
Somehow, I don't believe
you're half as "low-income"
as you claim to be.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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poetry/c/comer-beber.txt Executable file
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comer / beber
2020-02-11
***
eat up, drink up, my children
are starving for sustenance
eyes rolling like a madman
trapped in endless raving trance
don't let it all consume you
like your ancestors have before
you despise walking on other's footsteps
stopping short of the golden door
save some for the little kids crawling in the back
they've been waiting for eternity
and will have to wait millennia more
for their turn to hear and see
call me when the roast is done
and I'll bring a hose with me
your flowers are at the verge of wilting
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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confectionery contempt
2016-04-28
***
one of these days in the summer heat
your sweet sugar will rot my teeth
planting a seed inside my chest
and growing a candy cane forest
the last I remember of you
your skin felt like peppermint stew
with a dash of cotton candy here and there
leaving finely spun strands everywhere
every night for my dessert
youd melt into me along with the hurt
like you dumped sour worms into my wounds
the chocolate bubbling on the stove will be ready soon
your presence wont disappear from this house
like the licorice stolen by that one mouse
sticky blue handprints left on the walls
elongating as my “lollipop” falls
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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poetry/c/corner-witch-2.txt Executable file
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CORNER WITCH II
2020-12-07
***
what would you lack
had you a magic cloak
that, come three twirls,
would turn you into a bird black?
the whole world would become my nest,
and I would roam the world,
never returning home,
not even at parents' behest
I wish that I could say
that that would be the end of my problems,
gaining mobility,
that everything would then turn out okay:
but I have not yet come to terms
with the fact I have too much baggage,
too many trinkets I would need to bring along,
unless I wanted to shrink my whole world down to a single worm
and while inside I may be an animal,
divine creature begging to break through my skin,
I must treat this body as human,
lest I break down and become unwell
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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poetry/c/corner-witch.txt Executable file
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CORNER WITCH
2020-04-06
***
what would you do
with a magic cloak
that come three twirls
would turn you into a bird blue?
I'd escape out my bedroom window
and let the wind take me where it will
whether past the horizon or back to my windowsill
to watch the sky's fiery chariot plunge down low
but there's nowhere far I could go
no hope of bringing along my things
with legs like easily-snapped twigs
that bleed lost promises into the snow
and Pernicious does not as much sway
as the wind tousling the trees' hair
to convince me to abandon everything
and seek her bosom in hopes all will turn out okay
and what would Eternal Mother say when
I turn up at her door not to sing of her animals,
but to come one forevermore?
to abandon my voice, a sin
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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poetry/c/crescendo.txt Executable file
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crescendo
2016-03-12
***
sweetness never stays.
no horizon is worth chasing relentlessly
ambition fades into obsession
and crescendos in devastation
a delicate ball of pure glass
wound out of the finest sands
twice shattered and once glued
can never be truly put back together
sticks and stones
may break peoples bones
but scars dug deep enough
never truly heal
where is the peace I paid for?
surely my childhood doesn't hold a monopoly
although countless summer afternoons spent poring over
paper money counts in some convoluted way
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander