Here’s something I wrote when I was twelve years old.
While it’s fairly unsophisticated in its use of literary devices, it’s as genuine as it can be.
I’ve held onto it for this long because I’m still making sense of it.
And it still doesn’t make any sense, even after editing for clarity (I’ve never cared too much about defragmenting sentences, because I irrationally hate “Clippy” from MS Word. I’LL CONSIDER REVISING YOUR STUPID LITTLE FACE. YOU ARE A PAPERCLIP WITH EYES. YOU AIN’T SHIT, BITCH. I changed my assistant-type-thing to the cute little dog as soon as I figured out that I could).
Not like I’m putting off typing this out or anything.
I feel weird. I don’t want to feel all weird. All weird and everything. Ew.
It’s been roughly fifteen years, so I think it’s time to get over myself.
why would you reach
for a disappearing hand?
are no use when you’re in quicksand.
what do you wanna save most?
your next breath
or the memory of a ghost?
breaths are easier to hold.
and memories aren’t so easily told.
we are jetsam; aborted forms
and I will hold you above my head.
some people go around causing storms
so the rest of us are left for dead.
Formes Frustes – Not Flotsam (2000 / 2015)