Writer in San Francisco, CA
The words in my mouth grow stale
and I think of Sylvia, and think of Woolf
how they countered so much sadness to keep on writing
how hard it is to write, like Adrienne, like Austen, and Bronte
to keep going until there is nothing left but words and passion.
Thank you for reading my work! I hope you will return in the future!
-Alina
What the world does to me,
how can I be anything other than what you see?
Thank you for reading my work! I hope you return in the future!
-Alina
The space between the words
a pause, that can silence or rip
a apart, a person, with the same severity
as a glance.
If you are reading this Thank You for taking time out of your day to read my writing!
I hope you will return in the future!
-Alina
And light looks down into the crowd, and spotlights on your body
the day that climbs up and into the mouth is regurgitated. Hold me
down until my bones crack and break from strain, my blood runs
runs, runs, there is nothing left of me. Just this light, my mind, my ash.
If you’re reading this Thank You for taking time out of your day to read my writing!
I hope that you will return in the future!
-Alina
These bold letters keep me occupied inside
a world inside a world that is no longer
a reality for anyone including me. The words
lose all meaning, in their contortion in their
twisted malfunction to do as they should.
They become meaningless echoes of
what they once meant.
Thank you for reading my writing! I hope you will return in the future!
-Alina