the pothos is drowned but i cower still at the foot

of your love, peer beneath it all into the dark

to figure out what monsters i've let hear my heart

beat and steady breath until i am crawling


under myself, pressed against the box spring,

crinkled and groping for a pot to puke in, head

strong and ready slop my contents into the 

mass. but my hand comes up with dry root.

Oh, My Word! Olivia would love to hear from you after reading this poem. Leave a comment below!

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Oh, My Word! is a weekly updated blog featuring fiction, poetry, drama, and essays for the world. #OhMyWordWednesday

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bootleg emily dickinson

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