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I've been listening to a lot of Fiona Apple lately and finally gave some space to this years-old poem and collage combo.
I remember when you said that I have a sun inside me— a light burning so brightly brilliant, colossal in its warming radiance to all I touch. But it’s dimmed, my sun, dragged through the mud of my own choices, smothered facedown, ruin, madness, such a damn shame. And you said you’d never say you loved me. That word, unimportant, I hadn’t worked enough for it yet. Hadn’t inspired love to slip past lips, hadn’t spit-shined that sun of mine to gleaming mirrors admiring your face reflected. How many years did I let smolder to coal? Conjure meaning behind every gesture, every ashen fleck affection, when what I deserved was whole, bonfire passion that danced, licked flames just outside the stone ring against a tender, balmy darkness. I finally saw the truth— that lack inside you. I left you gaping, wanting as I snuffed out the last gasping ember of your quivering lust for control. I raze earth and build new, blue-burning rage to cauterize the ways I was made to doubt. Sunrise bursts through my chest with the most gorgeously golden-jagged rays.
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