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@metatronpress: We are accepting chapbook submissions of poetry (35 pages and under) for digital publication! Deadline: February 1, 2023 For more info and to submit: https://t.co/LnCZXwJWBN https://t.co/UNmeMmrHpC
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@PlenitudeMag: "The speculative fiction novella is set in a liminal future-scape inhabited by tenacious Black survivors on the Bay of Fundy." -from a new review of Trynne Delaney (@u_got_trynned)'s the-half drowned, published by @metatronpress! Review by seeley quest https://t.co/NCaR81cVOs https://t.co/CYjqZcgAbx
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OMEGA | Nat Emerling
2096
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Nat Emerling

10 May Nat Emerling

UNTITLED

 

I didn’t trust you, so
I let your lips touch mine,
and I took your words from your mouth.
I took your words and I put them in my mouth.
I rolled them around with my tongue to see what they would taste like.
I said them back to you.
I said them before you could say them to me.
I wanted you to hear your own thoughts in my voice.
I guess I didn’t want to talk to you at all.
It’s just that I know you too well,
and you think you know me better,
and it’s my own private joke that I can be kissing you
with your own words
and you don’t even notice.

 


 

MY PROVERBS

 

When I was a child, I prayed for wisdom.
To understand the grey areas.
To know more than the right and the wrong.

When I was older, I liked a boy in a serious way for the first time
and I began to pray for wisdom in love.
But with the boy,
and that boy,
and this boy,
there was always something unwise.
There was always a jagged edge that I could catch on.

He liked the shape of my face better than the color of my mind.
He thought my written words were invitation to criticize.
He was afraid, he was emotionally blind.

[They] liked me
vaguely,
[they] loved me
vapidly,
[they] wanted me
virtuously.

He decided not to try
to know me,
even though I knew it all.

So I became a chaste Solomon.

I could fill a palace with the chances I never took.
Love is not wise,
and I am not loved;

but like a fool, I am still praying for wisdom.

 


Nat Emerling lives near North Battleford, Saskatchewan. When she’s not finding her identity through cozy solitude, she is having sleepovers in the woods with other writers, painting her feelings, and writing in various forms. For more of Nat’s work, and a glimpse at her inner emotional upheaval, go to her blog.

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