She

I don’t have the words for this…it’s very special.  Comments closed, please see the original.

My Screaming Twenties

She visited me tonight,

pressed her hand

against my heart,

caught my breath

in her palm

and asked me if I felt,

her anger, her apathy

and dismay.

She visited me tonight,

pulled apart

each knuckle

and asked me how,

many times

I’d held your hand,

then threatened

to pin loss

in my sides,

to lock her heartache

into my ribcage.

She visited me tonight,

promised I’d keep you

only as a whisper,

as a love letter

written and stowed,

as a postcard

never sent,

told me I’d lose

you, to the aether

she’d enchanted

with lies.

© Kristiana Reed 2018

Image credit. 

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Kristiana Reed/Learning to Braid

#MeToo Writing Contest First Place

Beautiful! Comments closed at HoH

Blood Into Ink

Learning to Braid Kristiana image

Years of painstaking practice had taught her fingers to interweave three strands of hair, into one cohesive thread. Just like how she’d pencilled birthdays into her mind. Just like how she’d learnt the knowing smile she needed to give your mother, an unspoken indictment of your forgetfulness when it came to saving a date. Just like how she knew every name you felt she needed to know, ready to say with lips pulled over the teeth you said she needed to show.

It took time to marry the strands; her hair was thin like silk and would often slip through her fingers. Or her arms grew tired, suspended behind her ears, biting her bottom lip trying to create perfection without a mirror. Just like how she patiently etched each facial expression of yours into her mind, only to read you wrong and pay in silence. Just like how she attempted…

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