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Some of her Parts

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Some of her Parts

Jennifer Schecter.

For you the words from a salted tongue

Used to pepper pages of precious thoughts


Words shrivel from your tongue

Your eyes a glacial picture of togetherness and sanity

But behind them rots the dream of oneself

An ingénue, a writer

A naive, complicated saboteur,

A puzzle

A monster.

Jenny Schecter.

You are the demon that tempts me

A child immortalised behind the fictional facade

Of a tragic alter ego – Sarah Schuster

A girl washed up on the shores of a daydream

Fastened into place with a full stop.


Words are the best thing we can give to another human being.

They know the reality of your mind.

At the end of your fingertips, the world is sublime

A place of freedom, pontillised reality and realist fiction.

It is only when you look up

That the categorical distinction between brains that know reality and brains that don’t

Comes into play

And the weather vane that points so accusingly in your direction

Takes on a much more sinister charm than before, when the mere sight of it had tortured your imagination with pleasure


For you the fruit of my thoughts

Masquerading as something divine when you want to eat them

And something detestable when you don’t.

Whatever your intentions toward them,

They will always be thoughts,


The rattle of the train next to your own leaving the station

The flicker of something in an empty room.

The creak of something unexplained at night.

A monster.


You could never have the freedom of a bird,

With the weight of such glorious stories upon your shoulders

The sheer weight of your human body

Shackles you to the ground.

And now you will sit

Forever weaving tales

Perpetually waiting.

For the wind to lift you off of your feet.


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