Monday, February 7, 2011

Morning Freewrite

I don't know why I'm back in the habit of posting, I might just be THAT lonely.
Freewrite I had to stop writing before it killed me.
Good morning.

Sangre* or Sangria
I am 16 but I have always looked
like that Frida painting
And overflowing pitchers
in the middle of an earthquake
in that hall way spilling light

How do you say,

I ate but didn't know how to
I was forced to live but didn't know how to
so I sat in the hall way of a hospital
and let it poor, the sangre, all of it
how it wanted to
I've never seen so much from myself

How do you say that shit poetically,
How do you say I didn't try to kill myself,
but I would have let myself die.

* for some reason,
Las Dos Fridas is titled Sangre or Sangria to me

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