I’ve been afraid to look at the woman in the mirror. Everyday she looks less and less like me. It makes me wonder if I’ll ever find my way back home.
HANNAH PEARLI’ve been afraid to look at the woman in the mirror. Everyday she looks less and less like me. It makes me wonder if I’ll ever find my way back home.
HANNAH PEARLLove is believable. I reckon I’ll just see it when I see it.
HANNAH PEARLI wish I could bottle up this scent for winter days when it feels like this town will never see sun again.
HANNAH PEARLYou have always been enough. Allow yourself to finally feel it.
HANNAH PEARLSurely I could never be certain of how many stars I’ve counted in the sky or of how such tiny particles can be build into wild-eyed stories like Aquarius and Cassiopeia. I could read you as I would the constellations and never tire.
HANNAH PEARLYou ever stare at something so long the colors blend together? Even the most neutral tones take on a life of their own, fold themselves into shapes that morph into creatures – wolves and goblin.
HANNAH PEARLIt’s time for me to dust off this weary heart so that I may open it to one whose only open to me. You’re going to miss me when I’m gone and it’ll be too late.
HANNAH PEARLIndigo child, you hid secret under graves, picked at the lamb stuck between teeth, felt around for monsters we once reaped. But the monster turned out to be free.
HANNAH PEARLWhat a shame – how the taste of you could rot even the cedar and cypress. How you fooled the redwood into believing narcissus’ pond was made for two.
HANNAH PEARLThe hardest part is when the leaves abandon the trees. I seem to always lose a part of me.
HANNAH PEARLCaution! This vehicle stops quite frequently when overwhelmed.
HANNAH PEARLI am hurting. I am angry. I am one hundred and thirty-two synonyms of regret, but atleast its proof that I was here.
HANNAH PEARLIt wasn’t enough fading under surfaces, below waves, swollen pufferfish retracting this inflated love that not even you could believe in.
HANNAH PEARLI hide behind olive branches. So afraid of others knowing what lay beneath the broken rifle. The reality hitting the pavement like bullets that stem from war.
HANNAH PEARLI’m used to falling, calling out timber right before the impact.
HANNAH PEARLI’m from a state that houses too many cornfields and a town that no one takes seriously- in a home where glass cuts hurt less than deeply wounded words.
HANNAH PEARL