• Hannah Flowers

grasping at straws

trying to find the words

anything, in any language,

that could possibly do you justice.

an impossible feat

writer's block returns to me

flabbergasted, swallowed whole

by this feeling without descriptor.

though i’ve written

about a similar emotion

nothing i’ve ever touched

could dream to measure up.

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We Can Still Be Friends

it’s a weird place to be, stuck right in between i’m still in love with you, and i deserve more than you gave me when both are, at once, true i liked you much more before i loved you i liked you bette

the wool

you made me feel like you loved me even when you don’t. it was just enough for me, ignoring reality for a dream. though the wool was thin, it sat snug against my eyes, nonetheless. i could sculpt it i

loudly.

i miss you so loudly. the whispers of morning and your delicate hands, wisps of hair sweeping against my face as i dig myself deeper into you. i will not go softly. i tell it to anyone who listens ho