gathering ghosts

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uncharted waters

i’d imagine it feels something like
walking on water. take away the
fear of falling in and you would get
something all-consuming, that drowns
but brings you back up for air. self-
sabotage wrapped in a saltwater
skin. self-sabotage mistaken as
sacrifice—because how can you lose
something to the depths that you
were never even anchored to.
she/her




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I just realised you were figmoon, as always it's pleasure reading your poetry. there is such an effortless beauty (which I'm sure is crafted with much effort and care indeed) to your lines and rhythm
Previously Flite

'And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.' ― Friedrich Nietzsche

~Open for business~




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pandora’s box [paradox]

there are versions of myself
that keep unfolding into themselves.
i’ve never had a sense of direction as
strong as stone, because i’ve always
been becoming what i’ll never be.
[ghosts are ghosts are ghosts are ghosts]
are ghosts anything more than
shapeshifters slipping into a second self?
like folklore, i can keep retelling the same
sad story: a girl, trapped inside time,
retracing her steps, searching.
i'll always wind up with the same ending.
she/her




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omg "pandora's box [paradox]" is a perfect title!! and i love how the brackets make the word look like a box too! :]

my fav lines:
strong as stone, because i’ve always
been becoming what i’ll never be.

are ghosts anything more than
shapeshifters slipping into a second self?


your style is amazing and a pleasure to read ^-^
also on second read of "uncharted waters" i am afraid i may have stolen the self-sacrifice bit >.> so i shall credit you for the inspo XD

i'm so excited to read more of your poetry this NaPo!! :D
mint, she/her


.--. / ... ...- -.-. .-.. / - .--. ..- .- / .--- --- ...- .--- / .--- --- .--. .-- / .--. .--- .-.. / .--- -.-- .-.. .... -
=D




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beachcombing

if we were to trace our tongues against
the sand’s skin, i think we could find something.
this is not to be poetic. there is nothing beautiful
about losing a language mid-sentence, mid-story.
our tongues always get cut & we bleed out.

as kids, our parents told us tales of mirrors
burning bright & reflecting sunlight
onto bodies. of temptation & decomposition.
by this, they meant that stories last longer than we do.
& so as we sink deeper into the sand, searching,
i realize: all that will be left on this beach are parts of us,
abbreviated into incomprehensible bits of being.
she/her




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there is no cure for loss

i saw a boy sink into the sand several summers ago, giving in to the sun like it was just another day to be burnt away. sometimes i think about doing the same. i wonder if anyone would watch or wonder. i wonder if i would be remembered, or if memory evaporates as quickly as the body.
she/her




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solitude, an interlude

every night i open up like a wound. the stars are my only spectators, and i let them see me for what i am. they love me like a sister and hold me like a secret. i let my heart bleed out into the night, hands spread to the sky saying sorry. this is all i can do — is to be heard before the world wakes and i scar over.
she/her




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dream sequence

in your dreams, skeletons are scattered like seashells.
they are something to idolize. treasures. but when you
are wide awake, you spend your time searching for such gold
and end up empty-handed and eyes crystallized in longing.
she/her




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obsessed with this thread

i’ve never had a sense of direction as
strong as stone, because i’ve always
been becoming what i’ll never be.

by this, they meant that stories last longer than we do.

the stars are my only spectators, and i let them see me for what i am. they love me like a sister and hold me like a secret.


"they love me like a sister and hold me like a secret" rahhh

everything youve written here is absolutely stunning. your voice is so poignant & polished. i think all of the celestial imagery paired with the darker, more paranormal is perfect. i am in love with the way you write.
like an apparition, you were never even there




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blood red requiem

is there such thing as love without loss?
i’ve wished for a world with no wounds but i
always find myself covered in blood. &
somehow, you say this is good. that a world
without wine-stained memories would be
meaningless. & so in flesh i carve out everything
that could have been. i swim in scarlet.
she/her




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the dog days

stare at the sun & you’ll set yourself on fire. you always loved the heat & summers that sighed into balmy nights. you’d say: i can see myself in the heatwaves. & i’m not sure if this was ever a good thing. you’d capture your reflection within this heat haze. & i’d capture this moment, mirroring your reverence of the season like you’re more than just a mirage now. sometimes when i sit too long in the heat, i feel your presence near me. (it disappears when the sun sets.)
she/her




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Just got caught up again, and oh my word. I have to agree with Apricity - that a word that comes to mind when reading your poetry is "effortless" - it just has this polished and very readable feel, and yet is clearly very thoughtfully put together in a way that has turned out so cohesive - all with your distinctly clever voice and phrasing.

Loving the celestial / sun /beach themes that keep popping up, and how you pair some very unexpected images together too, that makes me want to read the lines over multiple times to make sure I'm catching everything.

in your dreams, skeletons are scattered like seashells.
they are something to idolize. treasures.


Ah - what a fantastic metaphor right here. It's such a disturbing thought; and yet seashells in a way are skeletons so it is very eerie - and poetic! Really looking forward to following along with the rest of your thread. You've got this, and you're doing wonderfully!
you should know i am a time traveler &
there is no season as achingly temporary as now
but i have promised to return




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metamorphosis haibun

it’s something of an illicit prayer — wishing & waiting for change that’s gentle enough to keep around. you give it your heart & hope it holds it close. there’s nothing else to do: for years you’ve been still as stone, selling yourself as secret or sacred or anything untouchable. but like the shifting seasons, you must morph. you must melt. & you must hope this change can hold you together.

shapeshifting does not
change who you are, but how you
are: yourself, anew.
she/her




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there is no name for nothingness

family follows you like a shadow, and it lingers behind you whether wanted or unwanted. you wait for time to take it away — for loneliness to creep in with a quiet coldness, kiss you on the forehead, claim you as its own. you’ve never belonged to anything but anonymous entities that you give yourself to. you’re an offering, wanted or unwanted. you’re a question mark, asking for anyone to accept you as you are, claim you as you come.
she/her



No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.
— John Donne