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A PrayerHoly light, happy sight!
Halt my spirit's endless flight
Dead in its restless trace.
Seventh height, inner white!
Bring me waves of holy fright
From God's stern, gentle face.
Hero's might, kingdom right
Brace my feeble fractured fight
With solid beams of grace.
I have an idea
Stings with the pleasure
Of making your acquaintance.
Burns with frosted rigor.
Is the frustrated frustum of a cone
Shrouding its vicinity in majestic silence.
Is broken down into pre-digested proteins
For ease of assimilation into the
Bloodstream of tribunal archives.
Wants to perform dancing-bear tricks
For an audience of potential capital.
Is a cerebral egg
Whose time has come at last.
Listen and consider and obey
And leave a donation on my plate
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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