dear oliver,
and as the lights blur in front
of my eyes, and as my body
screams for the brakes to work,
and as i fall into the rabbit
hole, i realize:
each angel is an infinite
myriad entity. each angel has a
voice, aching to be reborn, to
rejuvenate into a million stars
―a million screams.
a thousand angels,
a thousand voices,
just one story.
every person wants to
feel the beauty swimming
through their veins. to
look past the scars and
crooked smiles, the jagged
noses, the silver lines
on their arms. their thighs.
that they're beautiful.
e v e n t h e s i n n e r s t o o.
will the ocean ever be beautiful?
quinn
YOU ARE READING
zero
PoetryQuinn scribbles tainted emotions across thin layers of white paper. But to who? To someone who blinks once, sees her, and blinks again-just to make her disappear. To someone who sees her as a symbol of the ocean. To someone who thinks the ocean is...
