I am a YA author living on the West-Coast of Canada.
Find my book reviews at: wonderbreadreads
Chicken Feet We talked about chicken feet. In you car, flying above limits we collided opinions. "At least they use the whole chicken." You said.
By A. Stewart6 years ago in Poets
I'm tired of being a metaphor. I want to be concrete. The creaking of a door, the flickering of the streetlight outside,
That time I saw a hummingbird's guts was the day you took me to twist copper into my insides. I whispered under my breath to get through the pain
Like a ferry terminal is for passing through, my heart is like a home. A in-between home where the visitors are loud, eat all my food,
I was born in the half year in the between of spring and summer the Clementine daydream of never ending twilight. I am a half child
I am pale flesh against the skin of the dead Veins cross me like the crowded street maps of the city white intersections red stop sign lines across arms and thighs
By A. Stewart7 years ago in Poets