Every winter i fall sick. My limbs frail and my skull splits into demanding migraines. Other girls giggle with their sharp eyes and i wonder whether i'm cursed. My mistress, miss Murdeena of Talltree, is not a kind woman. She gives me 3 bruises- on my ribs, on my thigh, on my arm. I pull my carcass from the bed, tie my hair, and flow into the backyard. While we work the snow falls and buries our sins.

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Everyone is always shaking. with their hand over their ears. breaths coming in like crashing ships. I asks a soldier to listen to my voice. it is all i have to give. to those too busy gagging on their lives. He tells me he cannot. my fingernails are too short to dig into the skin. and that makes me want to push them into my palm line all the more. My head hurts just above her neck. I dont know how to fix them. To give them all my love.

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As i child i hated birds who sang me awake. The song too loud their throats, too strong in my ears. And yet now i sometimes sink into the earth. And sometimes i grow out of it. I suppose it depends on how the sun hits the sides of my face. There is a throne somewhere for the young gods like me. Knees for the people like you.

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My darling. My ocean-child, let me tell you a story: once there was a moonbeam who fell in love with the tidal devotion of the sea — but of course you know this story already; of course - it was the lullaby, the salt-breeze hummed to you as a babe. Sweet One of the night, have i told you before of my childhood. of the way the ocean salt stuck to my tongue. of the way i grow weary without the lapping kisses of the ocean on my shins. without love

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Hi and thanks for geting this far !!