The Pen and Book Files

Two spritzes of confidence on each cheek, makeup for shattered skin and shaken  dreams. Wrong, wrong, wrong, the fruit isn't ready and neither are you. Bills fly away with burning wings can objects be of Icarus' spirit with age running delayed to her expectations? Colorful dolls in layers of shine match the beats of a younger heart laugh without lies, smile without cries Take me home so I feel warm inside? Maybe I should be warm all on my own nothing to offer, no sweet to balance out the sour burn that diploma so no one thinks I'm a liar after all, age is just a societal number Don't got a job, don't have a life, does that mean I'm failing on both sides? Sometimes I forget I don't feel ready to know the ocean won't sweep me away for knowing that I am behind you. Mind and biology pull in opposite directions pushed in front of an oncoming train with no sense of being ready. Phases of joy smashed into a thousand pieces on a pre-marked date of expiration  Li...

 Each heel, snap.  The models walk in circles in Azure’s daydream. Each of them wears a different color dress, covered in sparkles that are sewn by hand but don’t look like that from far away. Their heels, too high to be considered comfortable, are labeled in black marker along the sides with words like *freedom* and *trust.* One by one, the heels snap off. The models tumble to the ground, their ankles twisting at unnatural angles as they fall.  *peaceful.* Snap. *Support.* Snap. One of the models in the pile, all limbs and a sky-blue dress, is bleeding from places that she should not be. The trail of blood flows down her throat in a scarlet line, as the people around her scream and yell at the models to leave.  To get up, as if they are responsible for the cracking of their heels and the breaking of their trust in people who were supposed to assist in instances of injury.  Bring ice packs, not indifference.  The model in the blue dress is lifted into the a...