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sweater weather: viii

viii: leaf piles of elves
i’m so cold, my lips are bleu, sad and empty, and honestly, nothing else can really be done for them.
for halloween i want to be an ice queen, a queen not a princess because i am not meant to have a prince charming; i am not a cutie pie, i am a falling around with a crown of leaves at my coronation.
i’ll rule alone,
but it’s not by choice.
I’ve woken up each time, a new soul implanted in my body at the break of day, blinking my new core into focus like a pair of contacts my optometrist shoved into my corneas. beneath the table, i’ve crossed my ankles, crossed my hands, crossed my eyes trying to get it out of me.
it’s not me, it’s not me.
i’m a queen without a king, i’d wanted to be a nun in the woods, and praise Goddess Earth with the little elven children who snatched up my sister from her crib when i was seven-eight-nine.
(i know it was them, i saw them, i saw i her, it wasn’t her in that crib after they left, it was them.)
but i got put in a crown anyway, and it wasn’t a flower crown but one of ice cubes that froze me down from head to toe and once i was froze i couldn’t leave again.
or i’d melt.
(or i’ll find a prince, i’ll kiss and thaw, and i’ll give my body back to Mother Earth)




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