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katiekerr

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Literature

Peach

The next time you call me “peach” Remember there’s a pit inside me, Heavy and hard and ichor-slick. Remember, next time you tell me You want all of me, every part, You want to swallow me whole, That pit is full with arsenic And there’s no room left for remorse.

All

37 deviations
Literature

The Siren

Given half the chance, she'd rather sleep Alone, half-frozen on the ocean floor And picked apart by eels like so much seaweed, Than undertake the chore of your affections. Understand that you are not the first: So many so-called "well-intentioned" men Have thrown themselves upon her reef declaring "Rescue!" she needn't even cast a net To catch her keep. Yet still you come ashore With vows to make your world your gift to her As though her own were somehow wanting. You claim the siren's singing lured you here? You listened to that hoarse, rampageous scream, "Away! Get back!" and called it music? No, Though you and she may share a mother tongu

Featured

7 deviations
Literature

Atlantis

Sometimes I think Atlantis was Nothing but a sandcastle Built below the tide line, And maybe so were we.

Autumn

11 deviations
Literature

Peach

The next time you call me “peach” Remember there’s a pit inside me, Heavy and hard and ichor-slick. Remember, next time you tell me You want all of me, every part, You want to swallow me whole, That pit is full with arsenic And there’s no room left for remorse.

Winter

6 deviations
Literature

Ice Sculptures

She used to swallow her words Like cotton balls— She used to choke. She used the hollow of her throat To stencil targets on her Favourite body parts: Her inner thighs were treasure Maps, all dotted lines and islands Still waiting to be kissed By the white marble bridges On the slicks of her wrists. She couldn’t make a fist With all the ice in her veins. She used to choke Down antifreeze and hope Against hope, but she knows She’ll never stop carving Ice sculptures.

Spring

11 deviations
Literature

Five Seasons (Alternate)

   There was this moment, early last May, when I could have glanced up from the book I was reading at the breakfast table.    I could look out my window and see you standing on my lawn, this waif in a windbreaker grinning at a daydream you're probably too old for. I could bring you an umbrella. I could invite you in for coffee, and we could lose the whole day debating questionable Scrabble plays. We could take to the streets after dark and try to find an all-night diner that will feed us both for less than fifteen dollars. I could fall in love with you.    But I don't. ...spring    You go home with nothing but a story about how springtim

Summer

8 deviations
Literature

haiku

The trapped quarrier Will spend her life, digging Till she strikes a vein.

Scraps

5 deviations