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november child

the curse of a sentimental heart & a skeptical mind

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fear

Handwriting

His handwriting is recognisable
in the count of her shallow breath,
her measured,
minimalistic movements,
and the smouldering pit
that used to be her stomach.

The weight of insignificance
instiled into her,
is reflected in her
hunched shoulders,
and suits his delusions of grandeur,
and sense of entitlement.

 

© november child
photo credit: maqaron.jp

Measure

Journeys

I sit quietly,
in sync with the rhythm of raindrops
and the veil of solitude
that morning mist drapes over
an abandoned landscape.
All the while
savouring the bouts of excitement
and the tingly feeling
that anticipation sends
through my veins in tiny currents.

I pluck words
from the rusty railroad tracks
and the rain-laden clouds
that tell stories of
a life on the road
under foreign skies
and will finally fill
the empty pages of my life.

I discover belatedly,
I am more addicted to the suspense
and the promise of adventure
that the idea of a journey instils,
than to the actual departure.
So I keep waiting,
though I have lost count of the trains,
I have let come and go
for fear of where
they might actually take me.

© november child
in response to: Michelle Toussaint Photo-Fiction #68
photo credit: via pixdaus, author unknown
Discover

Evidence

You have cordoned off her heart,
declaring it a crime scene,
while you meticulously search
for verification
that she once loved you.

Without substantial proof
you are unable to elicit a confession,
so you assume that
either the evidence has been
severely tampered with,
or else she has committed
the perfect crime.

 

© november child
photo credit: Brandon Anderson via flickr

 

Elicit

Fort

A fort of pillows and blankets
she has built,
a clumsy, pitiful refuge
from the thunderous battles
fought outside.
Clashes she is too young
to understand.

Her future fort
will be made of elusiveness,
boundaries, and distances
she will meticulously maintain.

© november child
photo credit: Wikimedia.org

Clumsy

Dark Clouds

Of all the arguments
the ones that scare me most
are those we never had.

I feel them weighing us down,
hanging over our heads
in dark, threatening clouds.

I feel their charge in the air,
in the distance I already hear
the rumble of approaching thunder.

© november child
photo credit: Dennis Amith via flickr
Argument

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