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Tag Archives: Emily Gustafson
the stage was dead and ready to hold the reimagined corpse of your childhood house. all that remained was to set the sagging banisters, the boxes piled five high, a hundred plastic baggies filled with yellowed junk mail, the gold … Continue reading
i am not afraid to get myself dirty in fact i think it is a requirement of living truly and i do not want i will not have a minute on this earth not stamped to its flinching magma core … Continue reading
never will i ever be a mother. i am much too afraid of myself to want to bring a new stronger iteration into the world—a more successful strain that might prevail where i was erased. besides the way the trend … Continue reading
i may not seem much to you but in my opinion i am a sunflower with black roots that stretch a mile deep. i am the cold eons between stars of the same constellation, the building static between two strangers … Continue reading
one day i will apologize to my mother for how my therapist says her name for the embarrassed distance i walked from her in grocery stores as a teenager for shrinking from her embrace or for how i’ve wondered what … Continue reading
should my value depend only on my strength strong woman with her head high and arms crossed stare down the world and make it pay by never getting the grace to stumble or the slack to show your sores rubbed … Continue reading