Melanie’s voice was the tide
Swooping in and around With little delight But never petering out Hallways sung of her strength Of her pride and pain That clung to her breath Pooling on tiled flames She spoke and people listened Ignored red cuts on tan skin The expressions written In the crevices of her limbs Her voice, was the sun The breeze beginning to bud While everything else sunk Too heavy and numb She couldn’t speak Couldn’t even peek At her own mystique The family she couldn’t seek “They’re Indonesian” Was the only information She ever was given for collection All the rest, seen as temptation So, Melanie’s voice wound with the wind And people celebrated her flair Neglecting what was dimmed Will anyone ever truly care?
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Sam knows what it’s like to breathe
Sticky air clinging to wings They know what it means to not They’ve catched pain splattered on hearts They have cried in moist green fields They’ve bitten the apricots Tasted the bittersweetness Time has taught Sam how to breathe Their friend, breathless at fifteen Taken by a swollen lake That drains those who crave to fly Still, Sam spreads their red-black wings Lets the sun dazzle their spots Swoops toward the eve Ladybug |
AuthorI'm Darcy Ridge, creating stories that all revolve around family and identity in a myriad of ways. In the past, I have shared multiple stories and published a novella online. You can find me on Wattpad and many other social media websites. They/them [Image Description: black background with the words "Social Justice and Mental Health Resources" in white in the center /end ID]
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