Lyrics contain poetry We know this; listen But underneath the words The heartbeat That’s the shit I live for If my body can’t help but move Love’s gonna find me again Dancing in that studio The night hot, alive A heaving breathing thing Sweat dripping down my back To Magenta neon blue – Sara Myriad Note: Today I saw…
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A Whim, A Whim, A Whim
Unapologetic in her pleasures Selecting them like flowers Like clouds puffed away; an exhale Ecstasy A whim, a whim, a whim No need to compare to others No such thing as betters Just different talents; inspiration Learning More, and more, and more No greater joy than growing No greater triumph than knowing Tomorrow could the best; believe it Hoping…
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Please God, Let Me be Great at Something
Assembling images, constructing themes Why won’t the words come when I’m proving a point? I prefer my rage with a pen’s edge Knives are for posers Resorting to blood Instead of destroying the mind. Don’t they know The mind bleeds more? So I write my anger and I do puzzles Clicking pieces together Why can’t my brain click into…
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The Alone
The greatest gift I gave myself Is the pleasure of my own company To find in that calming, accepting presence, The grace to exist completely. – Sara Myriad, 2022
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Stripes
The way I see it, there are two types of people The first appreciates the tiger for what it is Rejoices when the animal is alive and fierce in its element, Respects and adores without confining The second wants that striped pelt for themselves Hunts, takes, proudly displays, Not caring the essence of what the tiger was, is lost…
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Seabirds
Today, I am soft, weak; a shell less hermit crab, You’re a seagull, beak snatching, eyes pitch and cold. Tomorrow, I will be that seabird, air-lifted, arrogant, Tomorrow is years away, but my strength is loyal, Shrieking back like cicadas just when I’ve forgotten, So, today, I say nothing, ask nothing, Nothing, nothing, Today, I say nothing. – Sara…
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My Muse is a Bastard
I wish you wouldn’t insist on waking me Early every morning, fingers in my hair, Sweet words on your lips An inch from my ear. I rise from bed, drunk, Full, ripe, words ready to spill forth; Yet, as soon as pen touches paper, They lighten, transform to cotton candy. And melt away gently in the rain, Leave me…
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Farewell to Summer
When my grandpa died, soon after my grandma, I drove up north with my husband, Thinking about an ice cream shop Where children sat and ordered real sodas That melted sticky sickly-sweet with ice cream. Of antique shops with names like Carousel, Matched by charming interiors. Or the flea market Only open on weekends, But I had all the…