Tenure of a Sort

As unofficial house-poet of a borderline accredited girl’s junior college, Schwaa U’u had committed many acts that would almost certainly have been considered socially unacceptable outside the confines of the ivory tower. Such was the charismatic seediness of his reputation, that when, following his death by mystery, it was found his entire body of work consisted of little more than a handful of largely inscrutable bits of esoterica, the legend of his eccentric genius was assured.

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How to strike loose a writer’s block.

My hands wouldn’t write what I wanted them to, so I went at both of them with the largest hammer I could find in the house.

As I slipped in my own blood and fell towards the floor, it occurred to me that the pain I felt was more satisfying than any poetry I’d ever scribbled down on the blue-lined tear-streaked pages I called a journal.

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Flake of Snow

Before I had you, I was a snowflake— cold, lonely, and lost. Now that I have you, I am in love with the thought that perhaps, just perhaps, we both are
snowflakes holding hands so that when we fall to the snow on the ground, we will fall warmly together in perfect harmony.

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