Photo by Stephen Crowley on Unsplash

I wanted more to do with this patch
of dirt, this sad unsquaredanced
bald spot, where no grass grows
and where the spotlight shadow
of the neighbour’s fence stops
shy of this stage. I wanted to plant
a tree, where I could have built
a treehouse, because we know
colonialisation comes in steps,
and what better place to see
the same grey house replicating
itself in every visible direction?
When I feel like knocking on the
door to Death’s shack I think of
redecorating, I vase dead flowers,
pretty little things stuck in their
dying makeup, I throw away
stacks upon stacks of poems
by people I no longer care about,
because my capacity to relent
has relented, and given way to
ugly ugly humanity, and must
now take names at the door.
I’m kicking a can around,
walking in circles at 3pm,
the pebbles of a more
interesting possibility
rattling about inside.

Freewriting Explanation: Every day, Valen shall use 5 minutes to write completely unprompted and uninterrupted, letting the words lead the way. There is no end purpose to each piece, but rather, the pieces are allowed to develop naturally in their own way. The pieces are then uploaded without edits.

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