Juliette Storm Hunt
- poet
Juliette Storm Hunt
- poet
- poet
- poet
Leopards never change their spots.
the roots
which we grew from
are cemented into
our patterns
of growth
that we pursue
throughout this life
and the next,
if we keep the same
roots as the first life.
we cannot escape
where we came from
where we find ourselves when
we think of where we started.
we should not
we cannot
yet those who are not content
with the flaws that come with
their roots,
t...
shoot you up
my veins
it’s cold,
but it will take me away from this place
to another that is far away
to a place where only i matter.
inject you in my arm
my ankle
my toes.
i’m addicted from the core of every one of my bones
and you’re laughing out of flatter
but you’re bringing me to the place of disaster.
i love it.
my eyes are red now
everyone has left
even you,
only the thought and h...
I haven’t written about you in a while,
Forgive me.
I am trying to create a life of my own, a life separate from yours,
Forgive me.
I am trying to be unapologetic about it,
Forgive me.
There was a time when you consumed me, but now I’m trying to forget what it felt like to always have you at the back of my mind and make me hyperventilate every time I saw you with my own eyes
Just
Forgive me. ...
A moment or two,
Let me tell you,
About the time I died
And came back to life.
Let me tell you
About the time
My frown faded
And my smile pervaded.
Reborn in a silk blanket,
After I hit my gong.
The snow was cold enough to
Embark a cry within me
An empty looking weep.
But it was my mourning where
Everything from the past had
Detached itself from my hair,
A relief like no other,
I hit my gong...
“Pass the salt, will you?”
She passed the salt so slickly, her fingers and hand shone under the light of the moon. And the crystal chandelier of course. She did it with such hesitance that he raised his eyebrow in surprise.
“What might be the matter?”
“Do you know where that salt comes from? What we’ve done?” She met his gaze with the ultimate lack of fear for his reaction.
“We’ve been over this...
Nights spent in my bedroom,
Sleeping on my chair
Because the imprint of your body lay
On my sheets and my pillows
And your imprint, with the absence of your body,
Is enough to make a grown woman cry.
Sleeping in my chair,
Dreaming about the day I let you become
The one that got away.
I wake up and break a sweat,
Or maybe those are just tears,
Because you’re gone,
And only your imprint remains...