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Flat Poem for a Formless Feeling -- poetry by Josephine Howe

There is a certain morbid satisfaction in

the realization of something terrible.

The longer my sadness sat, the more i

found it twisting,

mutating

my loneliness sat for so long that it turned

into rage; a desperate hunger;

the ravenous desire to sink my teeth into

Life and feel

the hot blood red juice run down my chin,

pool in my collarbones

stain my skin.

I don’t want to call it white hot

-such a cliche-

but it is, it is white hot,

blistering,

My skin, that effervescent armor,

the thing that makes me real.

Turns cold, liquid mind to warm, solid flesh.

I am so worried that this rage

is ruining it.

Twisting in on itself and taking away my

power even as it cements it-

for what is the closing scene of girlhood,

if not this.



 

Josephine Howe would not consider herself a writer. She loves to sing, she loves to

cook with her best friend, she loves to walk in the woods around her small

Massachusetts town, and she also loves to write. A sophomore in high school,

Josephine hopes to continue to explore and shape her world through art as long as she

can. She has honestly never shown her poetry to anyone before. This is her first publication.

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