All The Senses.
. . .
Sometimes when I’m freshly showered, with a spattering of lip gloss and my legs cat-curled up under, I feel a distant memory blooming.
The air in my nose feels fresh, sharp.
There’s a whimsy, an eyelash curl, a playground smile.
I wash my hands in scalding water to kick-start my spirit.
And the tinkling piano in my brain makes me feel like a gull out on the ocean breeze.
The girl who crossed The Walt Whitman all those years ago still lingers; she breathes and steadies herself against the weight of this fucked-up world.
Listen: she’s alive.
. . .
SnapDragon is a writer and artist who has no tattoos.
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